CERISE HARRINGTON WAS leaning over the porcelain cream-white sink, the sounds of the liquid sinew falling from the metallic shiny silver faucet. The transparent water slithers down the drain, Cerise's labored breaths filling the secluded space of the Harrington bathroom.
A ragged wheezed cough escaped Cerise's lips, her heart rate beating faster. Hunching over the sink, the youngest Harrington let out one last cough, deep from her throat. She opened her bitter shut eyes to see the thick viscous liquid in the sink and her heart dropped to the pit of her empty stomach.
Blood.
The subdued metallic crimson liquid was profusely exerting out of Cerise's body, her mahogany doe eyes scrunching in fear and disgust.
"That's not supposed to be outside of my body," Cerise muttered in a monotone, cautiously staring at the blood staining the sink. Just as she was about to feel the sudden urge of the liquid rising in her throat again, the thunderous voice of her brother crept on the other side of the wooden door. She harrowingly struggled to swallow the blood, but she succeeded without raising Steve's suspicions.
"Ressie, hurry up, you don't need makeup. You're already gorgeous," Steve assured his sister, leaning his forehead on the pinewood door, subconsciously counting the longitudinal arrangement of wood fibers of the expensive door Ms. Harrington insisted to buy.
"No Steve, today is the pep rally, unfortunately, I have to look somewhat decent," Cerise countered. The young Harrington always had struggled with her burrowing insecurities. It all started with the desire of acquiring popularity in Hawkins High School, but the day her boyfriend died, everything fell apart for the worse.
Billy Hargrove was anything but sweet, however, when it came to Cerise, he was a complete marshmallow, squashed in between a melting Hershey's bar in a s'mores sandwich. The day he died right in front of her, Cerise has not been the same ever since.
Her boyfriend's death and the antagonizing traumatic images that were permanently seared into her brain, made Cerise proceed to the comfort of using drugs. They were a temporary distraction from the real world and Cerise felt like she was in euphoria, her stress relief being lifted away. But once the short-term pleasure dissipated, Cerise went right back to hell.
One day, Cerise's mentality was severely hanging on a burning thin line, the gun she had used to kill the Demogorgon back a couple of years ago, seemed to be tempestuous to the point where Cerise wished she was with Billy.
But what seemed to be a godsend, one of the first times where Steve barged into her room without knocking, was one of the most horrifying moments of his life. There sat—a .38 revolver, laying in her innocent delicate hands, Steve instantly noticing her tear-stained cheeks and trembling body. The way she was eying it with enticement, instantly alerted Steve of the malicious ideas submerging in her head. He swiftly grabbed the gun away from her, his heart palpitating out of his chest, and without hesitance, embraced her in a heart-wrenching hug.
