𝐖𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍. ˢᵗᵉᵛᵉ ʰᵃʳʳⁱⁿᵍᵗᵒⁿ ¹

015

015. 𝘀𝘂𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 —
𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘂𝗽𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻.

     "𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 — 𝐇𝐄𝐘, 𝐇𝐄𝐘, 𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄!" A familiar voice was shouting.

The words started out as muffled, drowned out, and sort of blended together as they played through her ears. Only the outline of the words could be hurt as audible hums, blending together into one fading melody. Her eyes were in small slits, slowly peeling open with confusion pounding on them and tremendous ache. There was light coming from somewhere, but with every little second her mind was turning with tiny slips of reconnaissance, and soon, she realized her head was pounding. So first, she'd heard the voices, and then there was a streak of light in a big golden fog, and now her head had a heartbeat. Then she could suddenly hear that heartbeat in her ears.

    For a few seconds, she thought she was in heaven. That she died. That she was dead. That her prayer she'd made in the shed worked in a different way.

    But when the streak of light from the light fixture overhead became less blinding, and her senses were absorbing the things around her— she blinked as her sight slowly came back. And the first thing she saw as objects took their forms in foggy lines, was a head of hair— but a double image. Leaning over her, her tired and paining eyes made out the strands of hair, and an identifiable swoop that she knew too well.

    It was only a matter of seconds before the double imagined aligned, the two heads became one head, and suddenly she realized that Steve was hovering over her face.

"Yeah, yeah, she's awake," his lips were moving, and she could sort of hear what he was saying now. "She's awake,"

    For a second, she didn't move, she just stared up at his face that was now fully in place and until the ceiling looked like the ceiling behind his hair. She laid there for a moment, feeling the noise enter her ears as clear words, no longer muffled.

    So she wasn't in heaven, and she wasn't dead. She could tell by the wallpaper and the cushions of the couch that she was still in the Henderson home, in the living room, was it? Her head had a heartbeat that she could hear in her ears, that clouded her judgement for a few minutes as she took in her surroundings. Slips of recollection were entering her mind, that made her throat dry.

    "Hey, can you hear me?" Steve said, softly. And maybe her brain was still foggy, it was definitely still foggy, but she could've sworn that his voice was concerned— and genuinely concerned. She looked around his face, to his eyebrows that were tightly knitted together with that concern.

    That's when she realized that his hand was on her shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin of her collarbone. His fingers were on her shoulder with the tips of them in her hair. His other hand was on her forearm, which was resting on her stomach, his grip delicate but firm— with his fingertips brushed on her abdomen. And his knee was pushing down on the couch cushion beside her thigh, his back hunched over to hover.

    "Oh, thank god," she heard Dustin's voice approaching, sounding majorly relieved. "Thank you, God,"

    Lori swallowed, feeling Steve's hands move with her body as she did, her eyes looking around the ceiling, to distract herself from the fact that she'd never been this close to Steve before. But still, her eyes found their way back to him, and he too, now looked relieved.

    "Huh," she said, and the words hurt her throat from the way they came out. Her voice had a rasp, and sounded painfully scratchy.

    "You can hear me, right?" Steve said, still hovering and still with his hands on her. He narrowed his eyebrows.