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Gen didn't know how long they'd been driving down the gravel road, nor did she make any attempt to sit up from her lying position in the backseat. All she could do was stare at the roof of the van and prepare for some kind of happy ending for that night, her back laid against the bottom of the row of seats as her head occasionally lolled to the side to look at Hopper and Eleven, the muscles in her legs started to cramp from the bent position they rested in. The felty fabric seat smelled like cigarettes and old spilled booze, maybe a bit of vomit if she sniffed hard enough. Her own stomach churned at the thought.
The silence within the van lasted about as long as she expected: too drawn-out for it to be comfortable, but not lengthy enough to save Gen a headache.
"So, what, we're just not gonna talk about it, huh?" asked Hopper. His tone was always so strangely accusatory, both Gen and Eleven found it hard to not take an immediate defense when he did that even if they knew better in the back of their minds.
She saw El twitch uncomfortably and side-eye him. Her new look was—well—a look, similar to what Gen wore when she felt like putting a bit more effort into her outfit, or when the band had a gig. The hair gel took her by surprise, though. She couldn't help but wonder in silence, normally Eleven told her things she would never even imagine telling Hopper, but that was when Gen could still access people's minds. Maybe she wanted her to initiate first, but Gen simply couldn't, much to her own disappointment. A gaping hole sat in her chest where her power used to lay.
Eleven sighed. "About what?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'm just curious, you know, why all of a sudden you look like some MTV punk." The statement fell from his lips scornfully. So much so, in fact, Gen glanced over at them lazily to watch.
She rolled her eyes at Hopper and looked back out of the window without giving him the satisfaction of a real response.
"I'm not mad, kid. I just want to know where you've been," he paused. "That's all."
