She hated him. He hated her. And that was alright in their world until one night. Everything changed then, conversations exchanged between drags of a shared cigarette having developed a mutual respect between enemies.
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Slowburn enemies to frie...
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≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡ If everyone has one moment in life where they are angriest, this is Joyce's. Her eyes are nearly black and her face is beet red. The Sherrif's waiting room is stuffy and claustrophobic. I feel my lungs tighten more by the second.
An officer forces someone through the frosted glass front doors. The noise makes me flinch and look up from my lap. Steve struggles against the officer, Converse squeaking against the tile floor.
"Hey man, ease on the grip!" Steve whines.
"Shut it, Harrington, before I can your dad," the officer mumbles.
As if sensing my gaze, Steve looks at me.
"Hey, that's her! She was there too!" Steve screeches. He turns against the officer to shout back at me. "You broke my nose, psycho!"
My heart sinks.
"Quiet!" The officer yanks on Steve's cuffed wrists tighter, tossing him around a bit.
Steve's jaw slacks as I give him a shit-eating grin. I flip him the bird right before he rounds the corner out of view.
"That kid's a real shithead," Joyce remarks quietly.
I gasp and clasp a hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing at her immature insult. Joyce realizes what she's accidentally said aloud and giggles.
"Oh, God. I'm sorry," she squeaks, running her hands over her face. "I'm a little stressed,"
"It's alright," I laugh breathily. "me too,"
"I'm glad you were there. Jonathan has a hard time controlling his anger. If someone wasn't there to stand up, we might be dealing with a lot more than assault charges."
I shrug. "Glad I could help."
"Y/N," she suddenly leans forward, taking my left hand in her right one. "Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I don't know how Jonathan would handle all of this without a friend like you."
I open my mouth to say something but don't get the chance. Hopper appears from his office and beckons for Joyce to slip in through the barely cracked door. She gives me a look as if asking permission to leave me alone. I smile and nod, grateful to get an out of the sentimental conversation. Joyce fades into the background as I settle into my thoughts.
A friend like you.
I think of the Monster. Lanky, sickly, and pale. It's rows of sharp teeth on expanding petal-shaped head flaps. The sickening slurping as it devours it's victims, it's hiss when it searches for prey.
