Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Twelve. The Alleyway Fight

TWELVE
— the alleyway fight

SHE HAD JUST been there a few days ago. Standing in front of the mirror, water dripping from her hair, hazel eyes scanning the details of her body. A towel wrapped around her shoulders, bare feet pressed to the cool floor. The fluorescent lights of Steve's bathroom shone down onto her, illuminating each feature of her face. The girl in the mirror was utterly exhausted— Lucy was exhausted.

    Steve mumbled something about stopping by at Nancy's, and how he had just dropped Tommy and Carol off when he saw her. She didn't really hear any of it, though— his words were muffled as she pressed her head against the cool passengers seat window.

He had given her a clean pair of clothes in exchange for an explanation on why she was alone, afraid, and covered in a disgusting substance. Steve was insistent on knowing what happened, he was pressing on the matter. All she ended up telling him was, "I got into an accident and my dad wasn't home."

So, now, standing in Steve's bathroom, she had fully processed what she had seen. It wasn't even that she was horrified of the monster— well, she was, but it was more so the knowing that that creature is what took Will and Barb. It was the kind of feeling that rooted deep in her chest. Weighing her down, twisting in her stomach.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he murmured. She sat at the edge of his bed, hands in her lap, head hung low. "I mean, you don't have to, but—"

Inhaling sharply, Lucy shrugged. She continued to aimlessly pick at the skin on her thumb— the habit was impossible to let go. "I'm just scared," she said, finally.

    He exhaled, unwinding all the tension in his chest. Shaking his head, Steve spoke. "Of what?" he said, almost desperate to understand. "Luce, just— talk to me, please."

    "I can't," she said, firmly. Hands flying up to her face, she pressed the palms of her hands over her eyes. "Steve, is it okay if I stay here? I don't want to be alone."

    He didn't hesitate. "Yeah," Steve spoke, nodding. "Yeah, don't worry."

    Looking up from her lap, the girl sent him a thankful look. A small, genuine smile tugged on her lips, one that told him more than words could. She sank deeper into the mattress, watching as Steve made himself comfortable on the lounge chair across the room. A light weight had been lifted off her chest— she was relieved to know she wouldn't be spending the night alone.

    But, if there was one thing Lucy hated, it was admitting that she was scared. She couldn't control the association in her mind, the one that tied fear with weakness. The pride of being independent was too strong; she would rather wallow in her own worry than speak up. Now, though, the fear was different. It wasn't childish, like a monster under her bed— that monster was real. "Harrington," she said, avoiding eye contact. Gesturing to the empty spot beside her, she spoke. "Can you just... sleep here?"

    Brow furrowed, Steve nodded. He moved off the lounge chair and towards the bed. "Yeah, sure," he said. "It's alright."

   The room was consumed with darkness when he clicked off the lamp. She felt the bed sink when Steve sat, bedsheets rustling below her. Moving one of the pillows, almost as if to create a barrier between them, Lucy let her shoulders fall. He brought a sort of comfort, one that allowed her to let go of some of the fear she held. Moving from her back and into her side, she was facing him, now. "Steve?"