Your parents decide to relocate after an incident the summer before your freshmen year of high school, one that leaves you irrevocably changed.
But after three years away, you decide to stop running from your demons and return to Hawkins High for y...
It was dimly lit, and even more hazy through the cigarette smoke. The place smelled like tobacco, perfume and sweat but you liked the vibe of the place. You hadn't been to a show like this before but this seemed like a perfect first introduction to the music scene. The stage lights cast a blue hue over those standing on the floor, drinking, talking, laughing.
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"I'm going to grab a drink..or have someone grab one for me," Stacy says, winking at you. "Are you going to be okay until I come back?" she gives you an honest look that tells you if you were really freaked out, she'd stick with you for the night. Stacy might've been boy crazy, but it was always friends first with her.
"Yes," you smile, actually meaning it and squeeze her hand. "Go."
Despite how crowded it was, you were okay with it. It felt comfortable. You were surrounded by people who seemed to like the same music as you. You started to wonder if this was your next right place, since you'd been feeling so untethered to your old identity. You wanted to be who you were--spunky, determined--but you knew there was going to have to be an evolution of sorts. You couldn't go back. But could you be...this? Under your parents' roof? You told your parents you were having a girls night in to watch John Hughes movies with Stacy because they will balk at the idea of you spending time in such an...unkempt place. You felt so many constraints around you lately—your impending post- high school future, your past, your future, that you, in this moment, let it all untangle and fall away for the rest of the night. At least tonight. Here, in this place.
You hear a cacophony of instruments; Eddie's band, Corroded Coffin, is tuning up for their set. He plays a few riffs of "Master of Puppets" before he stops to make a few adjustments on the knobs of his guitar and amp. He has a look of concentration on his face, a seriousness you've learned to find endearing. His lips turn down, his brows furrow together and his forehead wrinkles. But it looks more confident tonight than it did in study sessions. He was in his element.
You had to admit: he looked really hot on stage—so sure of himself, fingers moving effortlessly across the frets of his precious black and red guitar, the one he would refer to in conversation as "sweetheart."
It was the first time you had thought about him--or anyone since you were assaulted--actually putting his hands on you. Up your thigh, in your hair, on your hips. The thought makes your thighs clench together.
You shake your head. Stop it. Just be here as a friend. See what he can do as your...teacher.
God, you didn't even believe you at this point...
"What's up, Hideout? We're Corroded Coffin. We're here every Tuesday night for your metal amusement. Are you guys ready to hear some music?!" he shouts, smiling, hyping up the crowd.
You hear a wave of hoots and hollers, which you happily join in on.
"That's what we like to hear," he responds in a playfully low and sexy voice, scanning the crowd with his eyes. "This first one is an original. It's called 'Screams from the Burn Unit.' Hope you all dig it," he says, before his eyes finally lock to yours.
