Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter One. I Love Lucy

CHAPTER ONE
— i love lucy

THE UNTIED SHOELACES of her Converse clicked against the wooden ground with every step she took— click, click, click. The noise was incessant, truly, but they had been untied the whole day and she wasn't going to tie them now, not when she was taking them off soon. Those red high tops were beat and busted— or ratty, as Daniel would say. The soles of her Converse were worn out beyond repair and the laces were turning grey, but she'd rather die than give them up. Lucy was simply a sentimental person; those sneakers had sentimental value. Or, maybe, she was a hoarder— who knows?

She kicked the shoes off and tossed them by their place at door. One landed on its side, and the other upside down— "STEVE" was written in black sharpie on the bottom. She tried with all her might to scrub his name off of her beloved sneaker, she truly did; but he was a part of it now. "STEVE" had been there since freshmen year, and it wasn't leaving anytime soon. As much as she loved those high tops— remember, sentimental value— she'd be willing to throw them away if it meant getting his name away from her.

A migraine was setting in, a particularly painful one, at that. The ache swirled through her brain and blocked her thoughts, the subtle pounding growing into a world of agony and discomfort. She blamed the weather— it was gloomy out, and Lucy always got headaches when the sky was painted grey. It was a terrible curse to live with in Hawkins, honestly, a town that was in a constant cover of clouds. The pounding turned into a dull, looming strain that made it painful to keep her eyes open. She'd be fine— two Advil's and she'd be back to normal.

    Her hair was still wet. She had tried everything to escape the rain; an umbrella, using her backpack as a shield, sprinting through the grass to reach her car. In the end, though, she had returned home and was now suffering from the after effects of an absolute pour down. Left hand squeezing at the bottom of her brown locks, Lucy's eyes went wide as the water soaked the wooden floor. She'd dry it later, when the headache was gone.

Lucy fiddled with the buttons on the television, hazel eyes set on the bright screen. The channels flickered; not much was on, but she knew what she was looking for. Lucy landed on CBS, her pink lips tugging into a grin. "Yes," she murmured, nodding. She hadn't missed it— an I Love Lucy rerun was playing.

Sentimental value, it was why she loved I Love Lucy. Yes, her name was Lucille, and yes, that was partially why she watched it. Mostly, though, she tuned in on I Love Lucy reruns because that was the only show Sara wanted on when she was at her sickest. Sentimental value.

    "Hey, I was watching something," Daniel chimed from the kitchen, annoyance dripping from his tone.

    Lucy hit the television once, then twice to get the sound working. "No, you weren't," she scoffed, glancing in her brothers direction— his back was to living room and he was thoroughly invested on whatever he was doing in the kitchen. "You have the radio blasting on full volume, dipshit."

    It was true; I Want You Back by the Jackson 5 was playing on an abnormally loud volume. Throwing herself down on the sofa, Lucy stretched to reach the radio and cranked it off— Danny was left singing, and he didn't have the voice of an angel.