Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Eight. What Are You, A Stalker?

EIGHT
— what are you, a stalker?

        SHE HAD BECOME one with her bedsheets— her long legs were tangled in the mess, and the pink blanket was pulled around her neck and wrapped over her arms. Her cheek sunk into the plush pillow, a pool of slobber collecting below her lips. She had sheet marks across her forehead, and they were clear to see now that the golden sun was pouring through the curtains and into her room. The cool, November air hovered over the trailer and seeped its way in so even the walls were cold to the touch. Ears perking as the birds outside chirped their sweet melodies, she stirred.

    Lucy hated mornings.

    Not even the baby pink sunrise made then likable. She frowned upon seeing the sunrise, in fact, it meant she lived to haul herself through another day— she was more of a sunset person. Blinking, Lucy's eyes watered at the light that shone through her open window; she groaned, snatching the pillow and pressed it over her head. It was morning, that she knew— but something was different. The television wasn't blaring, Jim wasn't grumbling outside her door, and it was a little too bright in her room.

    "Are you awake?" she heard her brother speak from the doorway. Lucy stayed silent, body sinking deeper into the mattress. The floorboards creaked, and suddenly, a pillow was slammed down onto her body. "Wake up!"

    Ripping the blanket away from her body, Lucy grumbled. "I'm awake, Jesus," she smacked the pillow in annoyance. "I'm awake."

    "Yeah, well, I was startin' to think you were dead," Daniel widened his eyes. "I held bacon up to your nose and everything, your face didn't even twitch."

    Brow furrowed, the girl spoke between yawns. "You already made breakfast?"

    Blinking, he shifted his eyes towards his sister. "It's eleven o'clock."

    "Eleven?!" the girl shot up, eyes wide. "Danny, it's Wednesday— we missed the first three periods."Glancing at the digital clock on her nightstand, evidence that her brother wasn't lying laid before her eyes. "Jesus, eleven o'clock."

    Shrugging, he spoke. "You clearly could've used more sleep," he widened his eyes, gesturing to the mess that was his sister. "Not that serious, alright? We can get there for lunch."

    She pushed her tangled hair out of her face and sighed. "If Ms. Daley gives me extra work for missing a day, I'm blaming you," Lucy pointed an accusing finger at Daniel. "Get out, you're stinking up my room."

"That's your breath," he quipped, the boyish grin on his lips falling at the hate filled glare that was sent his way. Socks sliding against the floor, Danny slammed his sisters bedroom door shut behind him.

The day had been dragging since the moment the sunlight danced in her eyes. Lucy's first straw was the fact that she had missed second period Art, one of the only classes that didn't make her want to rip her hair straight from her scalp. Next, the discovery that her sneakers hadn't dried overnight— she didn't expect them to, truly, but seeing them still dripping wet was enough to put a permanent frown on her lips. Begrudgingly, she opted to wearing Vans, though they barely fit. Lucy was dormant with complaints until she saw her best friend— something about the frown on Nancy's lips was the icing in the fucking cake.