Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Thirty-Five. Just Kiss the Girl

THIRTY-FIVE
— just kiss the girl

"SHE'S NOT WAKING up."

Their words were muffled, disorientated, cloudy in her ears. It all sounded like giant blurbs, random sounds that blended together to make one giant noise. Lucy's eyes fluttered, eyelids twitching, a bright light flooding her vision. Her body was stiff, she felt paralyzed. It was like she shouldn't move, and if she did, the pain would take over. An immense ache shot through her body, the sort of ache that made her writhe with every movement. A small, stifled groan groan left her lips— it was a sign of life.

She thought she was dead. In Lucy's book, it wasn't too bad of a consequence.

Steve held her bridal style, her body limp in his arms. Her neck was bent back, head flinging loosely with every step he took. He rushed from the car, pushed past the others, and into the Byers house. Lucy's skin was cold to the touch.

Her eyes opened. They were deer-wide, hazel irises staring up directly at him. Sounds started to blend, and words were forming. She stirred, face feeling numb. Lucy hadn't blinked— then, she saw it. Steve's stupid face. She was dead. She was dead, and Steve Harrington had taken the form of an angel. She assumed this was hell.

With that, her eyes snapped shut. She heard him say something, but it was incoherent. Words had turned into meaningless sounds, again. Steve laid her on the sofa, his own body tensing when hers writhed. A whimper pushed past her lips, and she sank into the cushions.

"She's waking up," Danny spoke. He blinked, refusing to look away. "Please... wake up."

Nancy turned the corner. "Press this to the wound," she shoved a wet cloth in Steve's hand. He didn't comprehend. "Hello, Steve? Press it to the wound, she's loosing blood!"

Her eyes opened, just a bit. It allowed a slit of light to flood her vision, until it was blocked— she saw him hover over her. His hair was consuming her vision just as she was gaining it back. There was a coolness on her torso. Steve pressed the rag to her wound, and it sunk into her bloody flesh. She pulled away, jaw clenched.

"She's awake," Steve spoke, though she couldn't hear him— she saw his lips moving, but no words left his mouth.

She groaned. "Steve," Lucy said, her voice weak. She wanted to push him away. She wanted him to go, take away that cold rag he was pressing to her torso. But, it was too much. Lucy was overwhelmed— as she pain took over, she wished he'd move closer.

    Truthfully, he had never been so scared. Steve had never been in a situation like this, seeing someone he cared for so deeply, so hurt. His hands were shaky, his palms were sweaty, and he was afraid he'd pass out. He pressed the cloth to her wound, her crimson blood transferring onto the wet rag. She sobbed in pain— it was barely audible, really, and he only heard it because he was so close. But, it was enough to make his heart sink to his stomach.

    Waiting for Will and Lucy to wake was painful. They sat around the Byers house, everyone dispersed, with an eery silence hanging. Daniel and Riley shared an armchair— they were across from Lucy, and he was nervous. His nails were bitten raw, and he had barely spoke  a word.