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You are walking home. This isn’t exactly your home. But it sure as hell feels like it.
It had been three days since you came up to Joyce’s door, maybe crying a little bit, after getting kicked out by your mom. Two days of living in the Byers’ house and two days since you found Joyce crying on her bed, in the middle of the night. Two days and things have shifted. The way she looked at you, treated you. Not in a bad way, no. Not at all. Not even close. But it’s not like you ever talked about it. Both of you pretended, like it didn’t happen at all, whatever it was.
But the night haunted your every waking moment. In class, looking at your professors face, it’s not like anyone listens to class in college. Or after school, finishing classes early to run to your shift at work. Your schedule fits, you have no idea how. Having morning classes mostly and taking the evening shift, you figure. And all throughout this schedule, at least for the last two days, the night haunts your mind. She haunts your mind.
“I wish- maybe if he had just loved me-”
“I can love you.”
The feeling of her breath on your skin, her body trembling in your arms on the bed. The way she had looked up to you, eyes puffy, lips swollen.
“Kiss me.”
And you did. And now she was in your every thought, every motion. Your hands mapping every inch of her skin and that is somehow all you manage to think about. Her smell flooding your senses and somehow you feel her skin while eating lunch at the cafeteria. It makes no sense. No sense.
But nonetheless, you are walking to her home. It’s dark out, the days getting shorter as fall takes over Hawkins and it’s not like you get out of work early anyway. Joyce has given you a spare key, just in case. It feels intimate, domestic, in a way it shouldn’t and you know it. But it does. The thought of her being behind that door, making dinner or watching TV or doing whatever, it warms up your whole body.
You turn the key around, creaking the door open, finding your way in. There is an unusual stillness to the house as you walk through the hall.
“Joyce? Jonathan?”
Your eyes spot a note stuck up on the fridge.
Not gonna be home tonight. Go to Karen’s. - Joyce
Go to Karen’s? Did Joyce think you couldn’t stay home alone or something? Where were Jonathan and Will staying anyway? It was getting late, your headache was getting worse. You couldn’t think about this right now. And if going to Karen’s meant good food, which it probably did, you were going to Karen’s.
So you put on your shoes, grab the spare bike from the backyard, lock the door and off you go. It couldn’t take too long right? After all Will has been doing this since what? He was third trimester or something?
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Karen Wheeler opens up the door, not with a shocked expression but more like she has been waiting for you to show up. She calls your name, like every syllable is honey in between her lips and she guides you in.
“Hey Mrs. Wheeler. Joyce- uh- Ms. Byers said I could come by?”
It feels useless to say because you’re almost inside her kitchen.
“I know. I know honey, she called me earlier today. You can stay here tonight.”
She sits you down at one of the high stools in her kitchen. Her hand rests on your thigh and her eyes are glossy. Like she had been drinking. You want to ask why? Why am I here? Where is Jonathan and Will? Where is Joyce staying? Why is she standing this close now? Why is she drinking?
“Orrr… you can go back to Joyce’s home.” her breath smells like wine and something sweet, like her spit. “Alone.” she keeps her ground. “All by yourself.”
You swallow visibly. She steps away now. There is something dizzying about her presence. You haven’t been alone with her before, you realize.
“Now eat sweetheart. I bet you’ve been tiring yourself all throughout the day.”
She puts a plate in front of you, it smells delicious. You spot Will and Mike coming out of the basement, going upstairs. Then you hear Nancy and Jonathan talking, in the living room. That clears some things up.
“Can I- eat at the table Mrs. Wheeler?” you ask, voice small.
“Yeah, yeah sure.” she points the way with her hand. There is a sloshing to her acts, you try not to pay too much attention.
So you get up, make your way over to the dining table. Nancy and Jonathan wave over but don’t come by your side, bickering in deep conversation. Then you spot Ted Wheeler. He isn’t very hospitable towards the strangers in his house, you know that by now.
“Great.” you hear him murmur in his chair over the sound of the TV, “another member of the Wheeler house camp I see.”
You turn red instantly, the urge to flee, to hide dangerously close to winning over. But then you feel Karen’s hand on the small of your back. She sits you down with a small sigh.
“Don't pay him attention." she whispers. It makes you wonder further. Did she ever love him? Why was she still with him? It was none of your business.
So you kept on eating, savoring the taste of the food in your mouth.
“So what have you been doing lately darling?” Karen asks. You don’t register it at first, not realizing the question was directed at you.
“Darling?”
“mhhm?” oh- she is calling you darling. Shit.
“Oh- Well I- it’s been exhausting you know Mrs. Wheeler. Everything in general. School in the morning, taking the work shift afterwards… It hasn’t been easy.”
She looks at you, her hazel brown eyes meeting yours and in that moment your heart hammers in your chest. Your eyes begin to wander on her face, her hair, her lips, doe eyes, chest, her blouse unbuttoned at the top, exposing her collarbone, her neck. You wish to look away but your gaze seems to be glued on her.
The warmth of her palm against your arm brings you back into the moment. She noticed you staring, noticed the way your pupils dilated, she knows.
You swallow dryly, looking into her eyes hesitantly once again as her hand strokes up and down your forearm.
“You must be tiring yourself terribly sweetheart.” she looks at you and her eyes gleam. From the side of your vision you see Jonathan and Nancy sneak upstairs. It must be getting really late.
You lift your spoon to your mouth but some of the liquid spills out. You curse silently, scrambling to find a napkin. Karen tsks at your hurry.
“Oh no sweetheart here- let me get that for you.” as she is actively wiping a single finger to the side of your mouth. Her bony hand lingers near your face for a second too long.
“So… you like my cooking?” she asks as she inserts her finger through her parted lips. Time slows down, you can only watch. Watch the way her puffy, red lips surround her slender finger and she sucks it in. Watch her keep her finger there as she smirks at the way you fail to respond. You mumble, barely there, a sound that doesn’t convey a particular message, a half-moan.
“Couldn’t hear you well.”
“Uh- yeah. Yeah! It was delicious Mrs. Wheeler. Thank you. Thank you for having me here.” your voice comes off rather out of breath, words too rushed.
“You know you remind me of myself when i was young…” she says suddenly. “You and Nance.”
It’s sudden. But not out of place. You know what she means but wish for her to explain further. The way she thinks of her daughter and you in the same equation warms your heart. You smile up at her, a soft tugging of your lips. It urges her to continue.
“The way you two constantly tire yourselves out, to the brim, on the knife, like there’s no tomorrow… I used to be like that.” Her eyes drift off, her voice wavers. You can see it flooding her senses, nostalgic for a past that cannot save her, no longer offer her anything, not anymore.
You hold her thigh under the table then, feeling confident for a moment, pleading silently for her to continue.
Her skin is warm underneath your fingers, her tights covering her leg under the skirt. And you want to kiss her. You wait, silently.
“I could’ve gone to college… but I chose the safe option. The secure option. And look where it got me.” she points behind herself to a snoring Ted.
You don’t say anything, but you don’t move your hand away either.
“Anyway sweetheart.” she lifts your hand from her thigh, taking it in between hers, patting it gently. “You are not me… Just- just finish your food okay?” she says finally and drops your hand on the table. Her body backs away and she settles in her chair further. Her eyes are distant now and you don’t wish for that to happen. You’re confused, wanting her to come back, come back to you. Her eyes are even glossier than before, like she can cry any second.
The silence stretches, seconds passing by slowly.
“Where’s Ms. Byers staying tonight?” you ask, scared to disturb the stillness of the space.
“Joyce…” she huffs out. Her demeanor hides a meaning you try not to look too hard for.
“Her and Jim. They’re hanging out tonight I’m guessing.”
Heat takes over your face, eyes averted. Karen notices your confusion.
“Oh- oh no no no sweetie. It’s not what you think it is. Him and Joyce I mean- they’re… platonic. As I understand.” there is an irony to her words, like she wants to convince herself of the words she’s saying. “That’s what she tells me anyway…” her voice is quiet again. An implication in the words you cannot truly place. Karen and Joyce?..
You try not to focus on the silence. Not to focus on the way her eyes look, hazel brown, huge. The way she shuffles her hair around or the way she crosses her legs on top of each other.
“I’ll go to bed now Mrs. Wheeler. Thanks for the meal again. You cook really well.” you say and get up with your empty plate in hands.
She tries to say you don’t need to. But you want to. That’s what you tell her. You put away the dirty utensils in the dishwasher and go upstairs to Nancy’s bedroom, in hopes to get some rest at last.
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You are running. Bolting. Someone is chasing you.
Heartbeat louder than the pounding of your feet on the pavement.
There's a man. A man behind you and you're running. Running in a sheer nightgown.
You don't own this nightgown. You have no idea why you're in this translucent thing. But you're running and the thought of the man seeing you in this, or worse catching you, touching you. It's terrifying.
Your heartbeat is louder, steps faster. But he isn't far behind. You know it.
And soon enough he catches you. He catches you and grabs your wrist in a tight hold and you stumble over and-
You open your eyes. The mattress you're laying on, on the ground. The sheets are soaked with your cold sweat and soaked with something… else… shit.
You straighten up on the bed, trying to cover the blood on the sheets. It doesn't help. There is a lot of it, on your pyjama pants too. You're about to cry, feeling the tears forming in your eyes and the faint blood in your hands, the smell. It's too much.
You look over to Nancy, sleeping like a swan. So you stand up and get through the door, the silent creaking fainter than the drumming of your heartbeat. The hammering sound is so loud in your ears that the thought of anyone else waking up is not too unlikely.
And slowly, swallowing the tears in your eyes and with sweaty hands, you walk downstairs. You head to the kitchen, looking for something sweet. Yes, you need to clean it up but you can use the comforting taste this very second. Plus the hurting of your tummy isn't helping.
Visions of your nightmare intrude your mind, uninvited, unwanted. The man. Your gown. Exposed. Seen.
You want to run away again, to hide yourself, to hide the blood. The sobs threaten to leave your throat as you try to eat the chocolate bar in your hand, cold from the refrigerator.
You don't want to cry, you had enough panic attacks over stupid nightmares already. It's not a big deal. Then you hear a shuffling of footsteps behind you. You turn around.
And she's there. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, in her nightgown, like an angel. Karen Wheeler.
She sees you, truly. The staggering of your teeth, parted lips. Your red eyes and messed up hair. Your blood soaked pajamas. The barely-there blood in your hands, holding onto some cranky chocolate for dear life.
You want to hide away from her. But also you want her to keep looking, like she's the only one who can actually see you for who you really are.
Karen gives you a sad smile and walks over. “Let's get you cleaned up honey, okay?"
· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ ·
Karen has gotten the dirty mattress to the laundry room. And now she stands with you in the dimly lit bathroom, comforting you and it's almost 3AM.
You need to change out of your pajamas, the clean ones in her hands as she kneels on the floor, in front of you. Karen is wearing a mid-length nightgown, blue. Her eyes look tired, swollen, like she hasn’t been sleeping at all. The alcohol has worn out of her, you notice it in the way she acts.
And for the love of life you try, you try to calm down your heart, try to take off your pants and clean up so that both of you can go and sleep, try to tell her about your dream, to look at her, talk to her. Because she’s asking you, you realize. Karen Wheeler is kneeling on the floor with fresh clothes in her hands, looking up at you and asking you what is wrong.
And you try. You fucking try but trying is not enough. You’re shaking, so faintly. Sweating, still. You hate your subconscious and conscious in moments like this, keeping you from breathing, from forming simple words through your mouth. The hiccuping gets you, sucking out all the breath from your lungs, her words are echo in your ears, your vision blurs and before you know it quiet sobs leave your throat. Fuck.
Karen whispers something that sounds awfully like “aww baby, come here” before she leans forward and pulls you in for a hug. And you hold onto her for dear life. Frantically holding onto her arms, shoulders, her gown, hair. The way she smells. White wine, vanilla and flowers, lilies maybe. Her embrace is so warm, wrapping you around in her arms and you can crawl into her skin if you try hard enough.
Both of you stay there for some time, some time till you no longer feel the sobs scratching your throat. That’s when she pulls her head away, resting her hands on your knees as she looks up at you.
“You really need to change baby.” she says and her voice. Her voice is so gentle and so soft and- You want her to talk you to sleep, to tuck you in your bed as she whispers sweet nothings.
It takes you a moment to realize you haven’t replied to her, gawking at her with a slightly parted mouth and face wet with spilled tears.
“You want me to do it for you?” A question. The air stills. Not awkward but intense.
You nod firmly.
She stays her ground as her hands find the hem of your pants but your eyes drift away. Her nightdress has a slit on the side. And because you had held onto her with such strength that the material lifted up, revealing her skin and it glows.
Karen lowers your pants, tenderly. You allow her, lifting up quietly. It is all too much, too much to ignore, to suppress. She’s not looking in your eyes directly, your breaths stuck in your throat and the stretch marks against her thigh are visible from where you’re sitting on the toilet lid. Before you know it your arm grows a mind of its own and you touch her thigh, fingers tracing the warm skin and she gasps. Low, scared. You didn’t want to scare her.
“Sorry- sorry.” ramblings leave your mouth. She’s looking up at you, the pajamas in her hands, her eyes resemble those of a lambs. And the only thing covering your lower body are your blood soaked panties. Karen’s face is flushed, the pink coating her full cheeks. She tries to cover it by getting up and turning around, giving you space to clean yourself but you noticed. You noticed.
You clean up and put on the clean pair you snatched from by the sink and a chunky pad. But the pants are in Karen’s hands who is currently still standing with her back to you. So you clear your throat, in hopes she will notice.
“Oh- here sweetheart.” she hands you the pajamas. They’re not Nancy’s. They’re hers, you realize. It somehow makes a huge difference, to you at least. That she cared enough to give you her stuff and you desperately want her to help you put them on like she just helped you take them off. To hold onto her shoulders as she puts your feet through the holes, like you’re five years old. Or the two of you standing up at the same time as she adjusts the waist and you then maybe you can have her hold you close once more, or something like it. How her fingers won’t shake but be steady as she would smooth down the material over your legs, like you’re something delicate, to be taken care of. And then maybe you would look her in the eyes, linger in her space, in her smell a little longer than necessary. Then maybe it would be just the two of you in space and time, standing close, you feeling Karen’s breath on your cheek, in a dim bathroom. Then maybe you would hold her waist, have the courage to touch her skin again.
But you figure it would be asking for too much. Just a little too much.
So you grab the garment from Karen’s hand and pull it on quickly, getting up from your seat on top of the toilet. And you try not to focus on the way her lips form into a small smirk as she watches you, like she can read your thoughts. Or the dimples blooming on her face in that simple moment.
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You are laying on the couch in the living room now, a blanket draped over you. It smells warm and of wool. Karen brings over a hot water bag.
“You sure you will be comfy here?” she asks you.
You nod slowly. She motions to get up and leave but you’re not sure if you want for her to leave yet.
“Can you- maybe stay a little?” your voice is hesitant. Her eyes meets your eyes and she gives you a soft smile. A smile you wish were for your eyes only.
Karen sits down on the coffee table once again. Suddenly you feel terrible for asking because the clock has reached 3AM finally and she looks- tired.
“You know you can talk to me right?” Karen's words interrupt your thoughts. “I care for you just like I care for Nance. Or Jonathan, or Mike, or Will…” she chuckles to herself.
You feel safe. Safe in a way you haven’t felt in a very long, excruciating time. Karen doesn’t take her eyes away and you find all the assuring you need just there.
“You know in my dream-” you begin, slowly, breathing through every word. “I was being chased. Chased by this man.”
Karen’s gaze is still on you, a little worried now. You keep going.
“And I was wearing this- skimpy thing that I didn’t even own and- and… I was scared. So scared that this man would… find me, touch me, get a hold of me.” your breath catches now.
“Oh baby girl. It’s okay. It was just a dream.” Karen holds your face with one hand.
“I was so ashamed. So scared and like I was exposed.” a single tear rolls down your eye, you can feel it warm against your skin.
Karen strokes your cheek with her thumb now and leans in. Her lips lightly brush your cheek, kissing your tear.
Lilies. You are sure she smells of lilies now in that small moment where the hollow of her neck is hovering above your face, Karen perched on her seat as she kisses your skin. Once. Light. But sweet, very sweet.
“It was just a dream. Just a dream baby. You are safe now. And you can go to sleep, okay?” she keeps her hand against your face, her fingertips lazily scratching your chin, leaving trails of goosebumps as she speaks and it is so intimate you can barely focus.
“Good night now angel. Sweet dreams.” her voice a whisper, your eyelids heavy.
With that Karen gets up and turns around. The sound of her footsteps are the last things that you hear as sleep takes over once again, a warm haze encapsulating you, with thoughts of Karen Wheeler and the warmth of her couch as you lay in her living room.