Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Thirty-Seven. Favorite Sister

THIRTY-SEVEN
— favorite sister

      EMPTY SILENCE IS utterly consuming— and, that is what the room was filled with. An empty, all-consuming, panic-inducing silence. Overwhelming stillness, as if they were afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. The air around her was thick, suffocating, and heavy in her lungs with each inhale. Lucy felt her face soften; her brows were knitted, just in the middle, and her lips departed. Her chest unwinded all at once, the shock traveling down her spine, until her body was limp.

Her sister. Eleven was back. She moved forward, her bottom lip twitching. "Mike," El said softly, tears filling her eyes.

    Lucy's throat went dry. She watched Mike and El embrace each other, their faces contorting in relief and shock. She let out a small, shaky breath, and let her shoulders fall. She had un-tensed completely.

Mike spoke. "I didn't give up on you. I called you every night for—"

    She finished his sentence. "Three hundred and fifty-three days," El cried. "I heard."

His face twitched. "Why didn't you tell me you were there?"

Jim split the silence. "I wouldn't let her."

There was a moment of tension. Mike's face fell— his first thought, though, was Lucy. He diverted his gaze behind Hopper, and towards the teenager. His tear-filled brown eyes were set on her. She couldn't read his emotions; his brow was furrowed angrily, his eyes were mournful, and his lips had unfolded in shock.

She blinked. "Mike," she whispered, shaking her head. "I wanted to..."

His face contorted in realization. Mike's blurred gaze turned back towards Jim. "You knew?" he spat. "You've been hiding her this whole time!" Mike stepped forward, and landed a hit onto his chest.

Hopper grabbed his wrist. "Hey!" he shouted, between gritted teeth. "Let's talk. Alone."

She looked down. Strands of hair fell into her vision, grazed her nose, and tickled her eyes when she blinked. Lucy scowled— her left hand was occupied with the vase, and her right, with Steve's hand. She could practically feel her ears turn red; her fingers were still intertwined with Steve's, her hand in his. Gently, but quickly, she unlaced their fingers, and let her arm fall.

    She glanced at him, but avoided eye contact. Awkwardly, Lucy lifted the olive-green vase, waved it in front of Steve, and shoved it in his hands. "Thanks," she muttered, pulling her lips into a thin line.

    Then, Lucy's attention was put on Eleven. She rushed her way, arms extended, until her body collided with the younger girls. She held her, chin pressed to the top of her head. "You scared the shit out of me," Lucy murmured. "I was worried."

    El pulled away. With tear-filled eyes, they shared a moment, and broke into small smiles. Lucy touched the side of her head, "What's with the new style?"

    "Sister," she said, simply. Eleven nodded

    She furrowed her brow. "Sister?" Lucy repeated.