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Chapter one, THE VANISHING OF WILL BYERS »»————- ★ ————-««
There was nothing Clarke Horowitz hated more than bus journeys, especially the ones she took alone from her father's house to back home. Desperately trying to ignore the pain in her shoulder, she lit a cigarette, letting the sharp inhale of nicotine soothe her throbbing bruise.
It seemed that the older she got, the harder the tests her father put in place for her seemed to be. From combat to quick thinking, nothing she did was ever strong enough, fast enough, or clever enough for Martin Horowitz.
He was trying to make her the best, and she knew that he was just doing what was best for her, but part of her wished that he'd just leave her as she was. A stinging, guilty part of her wished she could stay in Hawkins, and that her father wouldn't see her at all.
A part of her hated him, wanting nothing to do with the man, wanting to be free of the screaming, and the pushing and the violence. And yet, another part of her so desperately craved his approval, wanting nothing more than him telling her he loved her.
Hell, even telling her he cared would be enough.
"You shouldn't smoke," An old woman chimed from across her, tutting with disapproval.
"Suck me." She retorted, turning her head towards the moving landscape outside her window, sharply inhaling the cigarette.
The old lady scoffed, gathering up her bags and hastily moving seats, her face pinched together in ugly outrage.
Clarke just rolled her eyes, resting the cigarette between two of her fingers, a bitterness rising surely in her gut.
Who did that woman think she was? She had her own free will, her own right to act and do as she pleased.
Her father would agree, and most likely tell her to confront the woman, claiming that any insult is the brink of a threat, and needs to be handled with the necessary force.
Joyce would say that she needed to control herself, that not everything needed to end in a fight; and Joyce was far better to Clarke than Martin had ever been, and something inside the girl had been warmed enough to heed her aunt's advice.
So, she simply sat, her nails bearing into her skin as she stared at the back of the old woman's head, a string of obscenities running through her mind.
»»————- ★ ————-««
After a long, and excruciating journey, the bus finally arrived in Hawkins, the breaks jerking as it ground to a halt. Clarke stretched, her limbs practically set in place.
Slowly but surely, she got up from her seat, gathering her small collection of belongings, and trudging her muddy boots off the bus. As always, Joyce awaited her, patiently leant against her junky car.
