― 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒔.
❝ i once believed love
would be burning red.
but it's golden,
like daylight. ❞
or, in which dylan hargrove is the sweet apple who fell far from her family's rotten tree.
stranger things s2-3 ,
jona...
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MAGNETS (book one). °• CHAPTER FIVE •°
" LET'S HOPE SHE'S NOTHING LIKE ME. "
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DYLAN HARGROVE WAS QUITE WELL KNOWN FOR RUNNING AWAY FROM HER PROBLEMS. At least, she was known to do so to herself. It was the only way to free herself from her mind when the worst happened. She didn't want to get stuck in there. It was a dangerous place to be. Dylan could clamp her hands over her ears all she wanted, but it wouldn't block out Neil, it wouldn't block out Billy. It certainly wouldn't heal bruises any faster. No one else saw that part of Dylan Hargrove, the middle child who wouldn't break no matter how much pressure she was placed under. She was sure not to let them. Her mind and heart had one track; if she failed, she'd fall apart entirely.
Make-up would've been useless to paint over the purple and blue splotch on the side of her face that Neil had bounced off the kitchen table since the sweat would've just bled through it. Dylan could easily talk her way out of any questions. Excuses always tumbled off her tongue swiftly instead of clumsily. I fell down the stairs. I tripped on my run and hit my head on the curb. I accidentally hit myself with the door. Billy and I were wrestling for fun and things got too rough. She always had to make them believe her. Neil would be furious if there was a hint of doubt. It was always the same type of story spun with a few different words. However, a sweatband is secured to her still throbbing wrist. A bruise in the shape of fingertips is a lot harder to explain.
Every quick step that propelled Dylan forward is like leaving her troubles behind. Leaving her home. Losing her mother. Neil's A+ parenting. Billy blaming her for it. Max hating her guts. Clara ignoring her after a sudden friendship that she pushed for. Dylan wished it was that easy. That she could jog and go home within the next hour to her troubles vanishing into thin air. It never got easier.
The last thing Dylan needed was to add to her troubles. But when a woman standing on the side of the road is flagging her down with a wave of her hand, Dylan slowed to a stop. She flicked the button that would shut her walkman off and pulled the headphones down so they hung around her neck. Dylan's eyebrows knit as she cautiously approached her. The stranger stood before a small house with a fretful look on her face, eyes clouded with worry, bouncy curls shaking in the autumn wind. She was dressed as any modern-day woman and upon a closer glance, Dylan saw stray, orange cat hairs stuck in the cotton of her clothes as if it was made of thread too.
