Evanescent | Stranger Things ¹

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

MADE IT AND WHAT IF

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November 12, 1983.  Saturday.

"ARE YOU OKAY?"

The quiet question comes from none other than Eleven who stands in the doorway of the built-on bathroom in the basement. I look at her from over my shoulder in the mirror, unable to turn around and pull my single hand from the lukewarm water in the sink. The flowing water is the only concealer of my trembling fingers. Thankfully, my cast holds my remaining, dry hand still.

"I'm fine," I tell her shortly, for if I say too much, I'm afraid I won't be able to keep the flow of emotions within myself in tact. I don't like emotions. I never have. I like straightforwardness and a clear mind. I don't like anger or grief, or fear. In fact, I don't like any of the emotions that are coursing through my body at this very moment. I want to feel strong. I don't want to feel weak. If I'm fine, though, I'm trapped in the loophole of neither strong or weak. I don't have to drop a facade that hasn't been risen. I am fine. "I'm fine," I repeat.

The silence between us that follows seems to stretch on for centuries.

Finally, I turn off the water and keep my attention on the sink below, watching as the water slips through the drain and out of sight. For a moment, I wish it was that easy to disappear myself. Then, I realize that it is quite simple to disappear whether you are in control of your own vanishing or not. Will disappeared without a trace, without a say and sound, in the middle of the calm night. The girl behind me, though, disappeared, too, yet in a storm of her own chaos.

"Are you okay?" I wonder.

I hear a small intake of breath. "Better," Eleven confirms.

I look at Eleven again, but I see now that she is entirely entranced by her own figure in the mirror. Her face has been wiped clean of dirt, and blood, and tears. She no longer wears her blonde wig, but she still clings tightly to the pink dress on her small figure. If you don't think about it too hard, she looks like another kid. Not another victim.

"The short hair is nice," I reassure her, watching as she lifts a hand to her shaved head. "I always wanted to cut my hair, but my mom wouldn't let me. She thinks it's so pretty but I don't see it."

Eleven drops her hand, and turns her attention away from herself and over to me. "You're pretty." She says it so simply, so bluntly, with no hesitation.

I turn away from the mirror to face the smaller girl, and I can't help but allow my lip to tilt upwards in the smallest smile. No one's ever told me that I'm pretty besides family, and despite insisting that I don't care of other opinions, every girl in this entire world wants to be told that they're pretty by someone who is not obligated to say so. I wish I didn't like the compliment, I wish that I could be fine without it, but I would be lying. It is like a breath of fresh air to my minuscule confidence.

I don't know how to say thank you, though, and instead find myself merely scrunching up my face and shrugging my shoulders. Then, when it is clear that Eleven does not know how to continue the conversation, either, I clear my throat and finally speak. "I'm sorry," I blurt out, causing the former girl to frown. "For all that's happened in the past 24 hours."

Eleven nods softly in understanding. "I'm sorry, too," She apologizes. "I did not mean to hurt you. Or scare you."

"You thought you were helping. I thought you were dangerous," I insist, frowning. "And it turns out, we both could have handled the situation better. We only did what we did for our friends." I swallow thickly, locking eyes with the brown-eyed girl. "You're not a monster, El. You know that, right?" I whisper. "You saved us today. You saved my brother's life. I don't know how to repay you for that."