𝖢𝗋𝗎𝖾𝗅 𝖶𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 || 𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖵𝖤 𝖧𝖠𝖱𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖮𝖭

𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖤𝖱 28

Steve

She wasn't okay. She was not okay at all.

The love of my life had spent what felt like hours there, sitting on the cold, hard floor with Billy's lifeless head resting in her lap. She whispered to him, words of love and sorrow, as if he could hear her, as if he would suddenly wake up and look at her again. Her movements were robotic, detached from reality, completely disconnected from her surroundings, with her hands trembling as they ran through his hair and caressed his cold, lifeless face. Her tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the blood on his forehead.

Leah looked utterly shattered, like a dozen pieces of broken glass scattered across the floor.

She couldn't hear anyone, as if she had gone deaf to the world. Not me. Not Robin. Not Max. No one. It was just her and him. It was her and the one she had been desperately trying to save for days. The one who had been brutally murdered right in front of her.

I should've listened to her. I shouldn't have let my jealousy and insecurity blind me. But was there even anything we could have done to prevent this? Was there something I could have done to protect her and her increasingly fragile mind? I guess not.

I was terrified. I felt genuinely terrified. Terrified of losing her to grief, to guilt, to the abyss that was consuming her. She hadn't been okay, and I knew that. She heard things that weren't there, saw things that didn't exist. She even accused me of not loving her, accusing me of still loving Nancy... But how could I ever love anyone else but her? And now this...

So here I was, sitting on my heels, staring at her with my hands clasped together, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. Trying to figure out what I could do. I couldn't go to her, Leah wouldn't let me get close. I couldn't hold her, couldn't protect her from this horror, from her demons.

Robin stood next to me, watching the same horrific scene, this painting of pure agony and grief. Watching Leah stroke his hair, kiss his forehead tenderly as if trying to comfort him, whispering a song to him. Watching her beyond broken, lost in a nightmare she couldn't escape.

My eyes filled with tears, and one ran down my cheek.

How did this happen? How did we let this happen?

Running my hand through my hair, as if that would either wash away all those feelings or spark the most brilliant idea, I saw the army arriving in the distance. Soldiers and paramedics, all likely briefed to ensure no word of this ever got out. And, with them were Joyce Byers and that journalist.

But no Jim...

And as if she could read my thoughts, Joyce looked straight into my eyes. Her eyes filled with a sorrow so deep, tears streamed down her face as well.

"No..." I whispered, feeling my soul cry out, my heart clenching tight.

She didn't need words to let me know what those tears meant. She didn't need to speak to make me understand how this would make everything even worse.

I turned back to Leah, who kept stroking Billy's hair, his face, whispering songs and prayers to his lifeless body. She seemed utterly oblivious to the chaos unfolding around her. It was as if none of it mattered. She looked like a child playing with her dolls while her world burned down around her—like a young girl trying to calm her mind as bombs tore apart her home.

Meanwhile, paramedics approached with their equipment, ready to take Billy's body away. Soldiers followed, casting wary, pitiful glances at Leah as if she were lost in some horror movie come to life. But she didn't notice. Her attention remained solely on him, her fingers tracing the necklace she had found around Billy's neck, as though it unlocked a flood of memories.