Chapter Text
I close my eyes, picturing two hands coming from my body, pushing the sides of the gate together, sewing it up. The pressure builds in my head and I scream, stepping closer. All my pent up emotion finally expressed–the pain, the fear, the anger, channeled into my hands. The lights flicker, I taste blood, but I continue.
Something wraps around my ankle, wet and slimy, trying to pull me off balance. A gunshot rings out and it falls limp. More try, vines throwing themselves at me to break my focus, but I keep my feet steady on the ground. Nancy deals with them, one after another.
The air feels heavy, something cold seeping towards me, and I look up. A black smoke pushes its way towards the portal, whispering. I force it back, moving closer and closer.
“Never again…” I mutter.
This creature will never again take control of someone like that. The tentacles closer recede, something growls in the distance but is held back, the seam grows smaller and smaller.
I hear footsteps. For a second, I glimpse someone running, desperate, stumbling over the uneven ground of the Upside Down.
“THIRTEEN!”
The gate closes.
I fall to my knees.
Nancy is at my side a second later, her arm around my shoulders, helping me wipe the blood from my face. The radio crackles, sounds of celebration and joy. We did it. Everything’s good now, right?
I’m sorry.
* * *
I spend that night on Joyce’s couch, listening to the hushed words of the adults trying to figure out what to do with me. Nancy was right, in a way. There was space for me. Space like a storage closet filled with junk, space like an antic piled with boxes. A corner or room to stuff anything unnecessary.
Owens extends the offer to financially support anyone who is able to take me in. Joyce and Hopper discuss who has space, neither having any particular attachment to me. I lie down in a pair of Jonathan’s old pyjamas, staring at the drawings they’ve yet to take down.
“She doesn’t seem to get along much with El anyway,” Hopper says, leaning back in his chair.
“Yeah… I don’t think I could afford it, but with the money from Owens. I’ll replace the couch with a pull-out for the time being,” Joyce decides. “She gets along well with Jonathan and she may be able to help Will, having so much experience with the Upside Down.”
“You’ll take her in then?”
“I’ve always wanted a daughter.”
…
The next day, I find myself on the front steps of my home. The blue walls are covered in police tape, a sign forbidding entry has been posted, and Henry’s car is gone. I swallow, stepping inside. An officer guides me roughly to my room, watching as I pack my things into a box.
Any salvageable clothes make up the foundation, books layered on top. Most of them are library books anyway, which I make a mental note to return later. I pull open my drawers, trying to see if there’s anything I forgot. My eyes lock on a slip of paper.
Good morning. I’m in the Upside Down and will be back late. Enjoy your time in town with these friends you’ve made and get yourself something to eat. I’ll know if something happens.
Henry
I stare at it, the neat curve of his handwriting, the signature at the bottom, the polite tone.
I shove it in my pocket, hesitate, and then place the clock down inside the box, rubbing the dust off the small painted-on bird with my thumb. The officer clears his throat, eyes narrowing, and I nod, picking up my things. He leads me back downstairs, his hand on my shoulder, and out to Hopper’s car.
I don’t want to go in. I grip the note tightly in my hand and try not to cry.
…
I sit cross-legged on my bed, wearing one of my less torn sweaters and a long skirt, looking down at the document in my hands. A birth certificate, a fake one. Apparently necessary. ‘Tina Byers’ is printed in neat letters, along with the date 04/21/1967. A made up birthday. It’s strange to look at, knowing I never bothered to come up with one before now. I assumed I aged by one year every time a year passed. Who needs a specific day?
The door opens and Nancy rushes in, looking excited. “I’m finally taking you shopping!”
“Hm?”
“Jonathan and I are helping out with our siblings’ Snowflake Ball, just a middle school dance, and we said you’d come with us.”
The what? “Oh, that’s cool.”
“You need a dress. Something pretty, that’ll suit you. Plus Joyce gave me like a hundred dollars from Owens to get you new clothes.” She waves her hand, gesturing for me to follow. “Come on, Jonathan’s outside.”
I fold up the document and place it in the box next to the couch, pulling on my shoes as well as an old coat and following her out. Jonathan’s in his ‘new’ car (bought secondhand), Nancy taking the passenger seat.
I try to be normal, to get into the backseat, to smile, but all my limbs just lock up. The early December chill settles in my bones and I can’t move. I can feel the sounds of crashing echoing in my ears, feel the impact of the wheel against my forehead, the tension in my muscles, the weakness of my bones.
I shake my head. “C-can we walk?”
They exchange glances, then I hear the engine shutting off. They both step out and Nancy takes my hand, pulling me down the front yard.
“Yeah, of course. Let’s go.”
I smile slightly. “Okay… yeah!”
I turn back to look for Jonathan just as a camera clicks.
“Hey! What are you doing!”
He shrugs, stepping alongside us. “Capturing the moment.”
“Nothing’s even happening!”
“Shhh,” Nancy whispers. “Let the artist do his thing.”
We walk along the main road, avoiding the woods. The sounds of laughter and conversation mix with shoes against asphalt, no one complaining about how long it takes.
We arrive at the shops with reddened cheeks, shivering slightly but still smiling. Jonathan makes some excuse about needing to check on his mom and splits off towards the general store.
“So, what kinds of things do you like?” Nancy asks, brushing her hand through a rack of dresses.
I blink. “Anything. Whatever I’m given.”
She sighs. “Unhelpful. What feels like you?”
I shrug.
“Let’s try some things on then.”
I’m sent to the changing room with my arms full of cloth, stepping out to twirl around and get her thoughts. I get new skirts, some jeans, a denim jacket, tights, long-sleeved shirts, sweaters… everything. I grab yellows and pinks and greens and purples.
I avoid anything in blue.
It’s all just fun, looking through things, wasting hours. Jonathan reappears near the end and is instantly given a dozen bags to carry, which he accepts with a sigh.
…
I stand in front of the mirror, skin still damp from the shower, dress hanging from the doorknob. I lean closer, poking at the bruises on my wrists, the cuts along my body. They’ll heal soon enough. There’s really nothing permanent.
In a few weeks, there'll be no sign that anything happened. The house is boarded up, the portals are closed. I have no pictures, no record. He’ll just vanish. Will I even need my powers? Should I practice? Will those just fall away too, rotting from lack of use. Years of my life just gone.
What can I do alone? I can’t fix anything. I’ll blend into everyday life, fall victim to the rules and restrictions imposed by everyone else, become normal, become prey. I betrayed the only person who tried to save me.
I wring out my hair, running the towel, a threadbare piece of grey cloth, over my arms, my legs. I pull on underwear that Nancy helped me choose, a pair of brown tights, a lavender dress. It hangs limp over my shoulders and I frown, trying to cinch the waist with a thick piece of ribbon. It helps, I guess.
Distantly, I hear Joyce fussing over Will’s outfit, hear Bob helping Jonathan with his tie. I should join them.
I hang up the towel and step out into the hallway, poking my head around the corner to look into the living room. Everyone’s all ready, smiling and taking pictures.
Their expressions are forced when they see me, lips pulled too wide. This isn’t my family. I’ve invaded their house, their happiness. An alien among regular people. Maybe this is what would’ve really happened if I’d escaped earlier. I’d have run through the forest, rang the doorbell, and that family, already so full with four kids, would look down at my pathetic state and be forced to take in another.
Joyce walks over to me. “You look so beautiful, sweetie. Here, did you want to try some of my makeup?”
I nod, barely knowing what she's talking about. She runs something over my lashes, making them darker, fuller, and smears some red on my lips. I thank her, unsure what the point of this is, and continue drying my hair. It doesn’t take long, so thin from being pulled at. I tie it into a pathetic looking braid anyway and join Jonathan at the door.
Car.
It was simpler when I didn’t have to go out so much. I just want to stay home, maybe run through the woods. I miss the lake.
I sit down in the passenger seat of Bob’s car, Will in the middle and Jonathan on the other end. It’s cramped. They’d all have so much more space if I wasn’t here. I stare at my lap, nails digging into my palms. The engine starts and I force my breathing to stay even, feeling lightheaded. The ride takes too long, every bump and rough stop making my ribcage feel too tight for my lungs.
I stumble out, breath ragged, and grip onto Jonathan’s arm to keep from falling over. I feel the glances everyone gives me, the annoyance, the worry, but no one says anything. Will and Jonathan say goodbye to their mom before heading inside with me.
The decorations are nice, streamers and lights. Everything’s blue. Nancy’s by the punch bowl, looking pretty in her dark pink plaid dress, hair up in curls. Jonathan lets go of me to go set up his camera. Will runs over to his friends, everyone hugging and showing off their outfits.
I linger by Nancy and pretend to be helpful, pouring out drinks while she mixes more whenever the bowl empties.
“You look nice,” she notes, trying to be nice. It feels fake.
“Thanks,” I mutter, staring at the swirling red liquid of the punch.
It’s pink tinted, a sort of berry colour, but when my vision unfocuses just enough it looks like blood.
“Uh, hellooooo?”
I look up, startled. There’s four annoyed looking children standing in front of me.
“I thought you were serving drinks.”
Right. I reach for the plastic cups, hands shaking. I scoop up the liquid, pouring it in. The first goes well, then the second. My movements are slow and jerky, the music buzzing in my ears.
“Can you go any slower-”
I flinch at the sudden noise, dropping the cup. It spills over the front of my dress, soaking into the fabric. I hear muffled laughs. It feels like the lab.
“Wow- Tina, are you okay?” Nancy asks, taking the ladle from me to serve the last two.
“...just clumsy.”
“The bathroom’s nearby. I’ll take over. You can go clean yourself off, okay?” she offers.
I nod blankly, walking towards the exit. The juice is cold, seeping into my skin. My hands fumble for the doorknob, my fingers not responding to what I want them to do. I finally stumble through, barely able to see my feet in front of me.
I don’t realize I’m outside until the cold breeze hits me, goosebumps rising on my skin. I can’t do this. I can’t do anything. I can’t pretend I’m like them. My back presses against the brick wall as I slide down to a sitting position, wrapping my arms around my knees.
I’m sorry.
To be continued