― 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒔.
❝ i once believed love
would be burning red.
but it's golden,
like daylight. ❞
or, in which dylan hargrove is the sweet apple who fell far from her family's rotten tree.
stranger things s2-3 ,
jona...
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MAGNETS (book one). °• CHAPTER TWO •°
" I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU! I'VE NEVER BEEN AFRAID OF YOU! "
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DYLAN HARGROVE WAS TOLD HER ENTIRE LIFE HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE WAS. She grew accustomed to it and stopped flushing every time she heard what gems her eyes were, how her hair was curled to perfection without the use of a tool while being the color of honey, and her facial features, well... Dylan knew her cheekbones were high and looked as if they were carved carefully into a beautiful structure that just completed the looks. She didn't let it get to her head - not as Billy did - but sometimes they were useful. Dylan hates the parts of her that are just like her brother but once she learned how to sway people on her side with the use of charm, she couldn't stop using it. It became her worst habit, a flaw others couldn't see.
That's exactly how Dylan manages to get out of her Chemistry class. She insisted on catching up on the schoolwork she missed while in California in the library. Every sweet, innocent used word that fell off her tongue was accompanied by a strand of her hair twirled with a finger, leaning over his desk with her elbows propped on the wood. One of his students being only seventeen didn't seem to matter much to Mr. Levy. Dylan saw the way she was studied and swallowed the gag that nearly crawled out until she got her way.
Science wasn't a class she struggled with anyway. The second Dylan was out of the lab's classroom and by herself, her act dropped. Her muscles grew tense with every step after she rolled her eyes to the back of her head and actually did gag. It's revolting how men treated a girl, a minor at that, as an object just because she was pretty. Dylan hated the sweet, naive act she had to put on.
She hated it because it reminded her of Billy.
Dylan wants to block his face out of her mind. It's impossible when she carries it with her everywhere she goes, etched forever in her face, staring back whenever she caught a glimpse in a mirror. It didn't seem to matter how hard she tried to fight it off. The Hargrove DNA was like mold, warping Dylan's atoms until she had no choice but to embrace her last name. She wanted to believe she could be different and yet still couldn't find the ability to do so.
The wooden chair creaks as Dylan chooses a singular table. She winces at the sound as it fills the quiet library and swears the librarian is glaring at her behind thin-wire glasses. Dylan tries to ignore the beading eyes on her as she doesn't reach for a textbook in her bag to study, no, (because she doesn't need one - Clara Rhee was right, she is a fucking nerd), but for the tan portfolio in her bag. The very same one she watched fall out of some boy's bag.
