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CHAPTER EIGHT

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CHAPTER EIGHT

DYLAN WATCHED THE PACK OF MONSTER-LIKE creatures retreat into the depths of the forest and once their figures were completely encompassed by darkness, she felt like she could finally breathe again.

Then, shortly after letting out her first real breath in forever, her body was wracked with guilt, specifically survivors guilt. Barb had only faced off with one of these heinous creatures and the younger Holland sister had perished at its will. Dylan had been attacked by half a dozen and got to watch them retreat without as much as a scratch.

"Where are they going?" One of the kids said.

"I don't know!" Said another. "Maybe Steve scared them off?"

Dylan let out a noise of protest. "Doubtful, kids. Steve is the least frightening guy I know. They look like they were called off, as if they have a—"

"A leader." Steve finished for her, earning himself an icy glance. He brushed it off.

"We have to follow."

"No way," Dylan shook her head. "Are you guys crazy? They'll maul us to death."

"If we don't, who will?" Dustin pleaded with her, his already doe-eyes growing in innocence.

She frowned. "I can't. My parents—I can't risk it. This isn't my fight."

The four other teens lowered their heads, all knowing what she meant. She was glad she didn't have to explain—Dylan couldn't risk her life, she couldn't put herself in the middle of the exact danger that killed Barb. Her parents would never recover. They were hardly coping now—enlisting tinfoil hat wearing Murray and listing their family home to cover the costs.

"We need you," Steve told her, reaching for Dylan's hand. The redhead yanked it from the boy's reach. "Dyl—this is your fight. It's what killed your sister."

Dylan scoffed. "You waited a whole year to even tell me this thing killed Barb. You don't get to pick and choose when it's my fight."

"I'm sorry guys," she turned to the three younger teens solemnly. "I can't be here — I can't risk my life for this. I can't be here with him."

It was obvious who she meant — Steve.

Dylan took a step forward and flicked off Dustin's cap to ruffle his curly locks. She had grown fond of him in the last day. "Dustin, if you have another emergency—do not come looking for me, please."

The younger boy laughed and flashed her a toothy smile. The two other thirteen olds chuckled as well.

"Max, are you sure you wanna stick around?" Dylan asked with genuine concern. "I can get you home, I'm sure you know that since you exposed my little secret."

The smaller redhead shook her head no. "I'm good, swear. For the record, you're a lot cooler than I thought. Word of advice, ditch Billy."

"I'll keep that in mind, kid."

As she stepped out of the bus, she felt hesitant to leave. These kids, she hardly knew them but felt incredibly protective of them, were heading straight into the danger zone and Dylan couldn't be sure they'd make it out alive—but she was walking away from it all, heading back to safety. Guilt trickled through her brain but she quickly shook away the feeling. Dylan couldn't help them. She couldn't risk it—her life might just cost both of her parents' too.

She sucked in a breath and took the last step off the school bus. Dylan looked back to see the three young teenagers peering at her through the windows. Steve stood in the doorway.

"How are you going to get back to town, Dyl?"

"Same way I got here," she told him roughly. "Walking."

"You're gonna go into the woods by yourself, in the dark, after everything that just happened," he frowned. "At least let me drive you."

She pretended to think about it. "I think I'd rather die."

The other three teens let out muffled giggles at her response that stopped abruptly went Steve snapped his head their way to glare. In his moment of distraction, Dylan jogged off into the woods and ignored him as he called her name over and over again. She was done with Steve Harrington. For good this time.

The walk felt longer alone and it was lonely without Dustin's constant quirky narration. She wished for her Walkman. It had also gotten colder since the sun had set and the brisk air creeped into her jean jacket, creating shivers up her spine. But, surprisingly, she made it back to town in once piece and without any alien encounters.

Nobody was home when she got there which wasn't a surprise to Dylan. Both her parents were constantly working doubles to deal with the costs of investigating Barb's disappearance. What a waste that turned about to be—her sister was dead all this time and there wasn't nothing that Hopper or Murray or all the money in the world could do to change that.

Dylan flung open the door and dropped her keys in the bowl in the porch. She never bothered flicking on a light—after seventeen years in living in the house, she could maneuver it in the pitch black. She creeped up the stairs and instead of taking the usual left that would lead to her own humble room, Dylan turned right, stepping into Barb's room.

Dylan flipped the switch and the room light slowly flickered on, revealing Barb's room in the exact state she had left it. Dylan hadn't opened this door since she knew Barb had gone missing—she just couldn't look at all her sisters stuff, laying untouched. Her mother never even made the bed. Barb's pink floral duvet was crumpled in a ball on the girl's four poster bed and her teddy bear, Daisy, which Barb had won at the state fair at six years old, was curled up against her pillow. Slowly, Dylan made her way into the room, admiring everything—from pictures of Barb and Nancy on the bulletin board to the array of colourful pens on the desk—tediously, brushing her fingers over each object as if somehow that would make her feel closer to Barb. Finally, Dylan stood over Barb's bed and stopped. She hesitantly crawled into the bed, pulling the blankets over her head and letting the tears she had been holding back fall.

Dylan cried until her head pounded and she was dizzy, eventually dozing off into an uncomfortable sleep. She woke up to the sound of the house phone ringing and her mother calling her name.

"Dylan! Dylan, honey!" Marsha Holland called from the kitchen. "The phones for you."

Dylan didn't move a muscle, she stayed curled up in a ball in her dead sisters bed. She didn't move to wipe the tears that stained her face until she heard the stairs creek. Then she hurriedly wiped them into Barb's lavender sheets. She didn't want her mom to see her like this—Dylan had hid her pain perfectly the past year, she didn't wanted to break the façade now.

But it was too late.

"Honey, are you in here?" Her mother said quietly from the doorway. "What are you doing in your sister's bed?"

Dylan stayed quiet, hidden under the blankets. The bed shifted under her mother's weight and Marsha Holland slowly peeled back the sheets to reveal a blotchy-faced Dylan. At the sight of her mothers worried expression, Dylan struggled to hold back her emotions, once again bursting into tears. Her mother didn't say a word, simply she pulled Dylan into an embrace and cradled the seventeen-going-on-eighteen year old girl into her arms.

"Shh," her mother cooed, rubbing Dylan's back soothingly. "We'll find her. We'll bring her home."

Instead of providing comfort, Dylan's mother's words made her body tremble harder. Barb was never coming home.

I JUST EDITED THIS HALF DRUNK SO DONT COME FOR ME OK

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