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The TV was on. Some rerun she couldn't name. It was playing too bright, too loud, the flicker of it making her eyes burn. She should turn it off.
She should do a lot of things. But the frozen peas on her head were starting to melt, and her limbs felt heavy, and moving felt like the least appealing thing in the world.
So she just… stayed.
Lying on her back on the couch, one arm tucked beneath her head and the other cradling the bag of peas. The towel she'd used earlier was still crumpled on the floor, stained red and drying stiff. Her lip throbbed. Her cheekbone was swelling. Her head was fucking killing her. She's almost positive she's concussed. Again. But the worst of it wasn't physical.
It never was.
She blinked at the ceiling. Her thoughts were somehow both racing and stuck in place.
Stevie let out a breath. It didnt help.
Nancy had kissed her like she meant it. Had held her hand, hand smiled at her like Stevie was something safe, something real.
But then the party happened. And now Nancy's gone. And shes kissing Jonathan, holding his hand. Like nothing ever happened. Like Stevie had just been a phase. A secret. A mistake.
"Bullshit."
That word scraped its way out of her throat, soft and sharp at once. She pressed the peas harder to her temple. They weren't helping. Nothing was helping.
None of it had meant anything.
And god, she hated that she ever thought it could have. That she ever even wanted it to.
She let her eyes fall shut. The glow of the TV still pressed against her eyelids, red and gold and blue, dancing like static behind them. Her head throbbed in time with it. She imagined throwing the remote. Imagined it cracking against the wall. And somehow it felt so real.
But the remote was still across the couch, and she didn't care enough to grab it.
It'd be easier if she could hate Nancy. If she could rewind time and erase every soft thing between them. Every late night giggle, every soft look across the room, every whisper that had been just for her ears. It would be easier, so much easier, if she could forget how it all felt.
But the problem was, she remembered everything. As it seems, no amount of head injuries could change that.
She remembered the way Nancy's thumb had brushed over her knuckles. She remembered the way her voice sounded when she'd tease her. The way her hands felt when she did her makeup. The way she'd whispered "you make me feel brave."
Bullshit.
Stevie dropped the peas, letting them fall on the couch next to her head. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes until the brightness behind her lids turned black. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. It was over. It's been over. Nancy made her choice. And it wasn't her.
It was never going to be her.
She sucked in a breath through her teeth and let it rattle out again. The peas were warm now. Useless. The condensation wetting her hair. Her body ached. Her head was still pounding, her whole face felt like it was pulsing.
And still, all she could think about was the way Nancy used to laugh.
"Stop it," she muttered, curling in on herself. Her voice was hoarse, too loud.
She wasn't going to do this. Not again. She was done mourning something that was never hers to keep. Because it was all just bullshit, right?
But in the darkness, all she could see was Nancy. When she opened her eyes, finally looked back at the TV… she was all she could see. She was in every reflection, every flicker of light. Every face somehow looked like her. Her eyes, her smile.
But she wasn't there. Stevie was alone.
And no one even knew what she'd lost. Not truly. They didn't know everything. And they never would.