ain't it weird || stranger things x female reader (season 3)

twenty two - summer rain

Sunday, July 28, 1985

You had underestimated how much you loved sleep. Deep, serene, restorative sleep. As you lay awake in the wee hours of the morning, just like every night for the past three weeks, you beg to every God you know to let you rest. To be able to tune down the thinking and close your eyes.

Your days were mostly silent, except for the singing of the birds outside, the breeze in the trees and the noise of your parents leaving for work in the morning. Summer was calm, and so were you. Exhausted, you spent a good part of your day in your room, alone and motionless. Of course, this didn't go unnoticed. Mona passed by every two days to hang out and propose going for a walk outside. Alex brought you sweets. Robin came over a lot. You could hear the phone ringing almost every day; Nancy, the Byers, Mike or Lucas checking on you. Steve would tell them you needed some time alone, and he was right.

He brought you meals every evening, when you couldn't muster up the strength to go down the stairs and face your parents. No matter how understanding your father had been, and how supportive your mother was, you didn't want to be around them. Your life had been put on hold on the Fourth of July of 1985, but theirs weren't. You didn't want to hear about everything they had done in the day around the dining table. It was a painful reminder that the world was still moving forward, that people kept on living, working, going out with friends like you should be doing with Mona and Alex. Like you should be doing with him.

And you knew at some point, you would have to go back to living. Start having full conversations again, finish your sentences, wake up early to go to school, leave the house. You hated how still you had gotten, how your day knew no end, just blankly staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to kick in so that the silence of your surroundings would seep into your mind.

Because there was a raging storm in your head that kept you on the edge every minute. There was nowhere to hide from it, it was both overwhelming and frustratingly low, like whispered complaints you couldn't quite grasp. You were in the eye of the hurricane, and stepping out of it would mean swirling into a whirlwind of pain and guilt.

Others couldn't reach you through the storm. You had to do this on your own, but you couldn't. You didn't want to. Here, you were somewhat safe, it was clear what was waiting for you.

But God, did you miss sleeping. You still did, of course, but not at normal hours, and you woke up from a 3PM nap at 9 feeling just as rested as before. Your eyes were burning and your thoughts became more fuzzy with time, which didn't help. You kept forgetting things and being absent for hours. These moments of daydream were probably your favorite.

Right now, you were painfully present. You needed to use the toilet, and were trying to convince yourself to get up, but your legs didn't seem to be working.

You turn your head to the left to stare at your clock. 4AM. It has now been an hour of debating whether or not you should go, and since you were not falling asleep anytime soon, you begin putting more effort into it.

Get up. Move.

A sigh escapes your lips as you lift yourself up and your toes make contact with the floor. Alright, you were up. Now you just had to open your door and leave your room.

You spend another long minute glaring at your handle as if it was the most confusing thing you had ever seen before successfully exiting your room and going to the bathroom. As you wash your hands, you look up at yourself in the mirror and snort. You looked half-dead. You give your reflection a small smirk, a middle finger and a shrug, and it returns them, before leaving the bathroom. On your way back to your room, you notice a ray of light under Steve's door.

It was not the first time you had gone to the toilet late at night or early in the morning and found out he was still awake. You knew he had nightmares, you heard him wake up shouting incoherent words almost every night. You never did anything about it. You didn't want to bother him in a moment you would have prefered to spend alone if you were him. But you weren't him, and Steve liked to talk about these things, you remind yourself as you stop in front of his door.