❛ 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫'𝔱 𝔤𝔬 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤'𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤. 𝔴𝔥𝔬'𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔡𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱? ❜
→ * . & ━━ sara hopper, who
could never catch a break, attempts to
have a nice summer with...
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༉˚*ೃ ¹⁷. 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘!
𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 have most definitely not been driving. Her thoughts felt like they'd been ripped from her head and placed back in the wrong order. The morning sky was simply a blur in her vision. Where Sar's fingers gripped the steering wheel tight, they trembled. What had happened to Billy Hargrove? And why hadn't Sar been there to protect him? Stupid, she thought to herself, stupid, stupid. She should have been there. Now, he was trying to kill her. Fucking great, Sar.
She felt like she'd been belted in the head one too many times. All around her, the colours of Sar's world blended into a blur of the same acrylic paints she used at home. Blue, grey, green, white, all mixed, mixed into one. The red glinting at the corner of her left eye was joining in. Red, like roses, wine, rubies and blood. Blood, that's what it was. Seeping from a crack in her skull. Oh, God. Was she going to die? God, God, she thought to herself, in the haze of it all. If there is a God, please don't let me die. There's so much left I want to do. Perhaps she was dying, more likely, she wasn't. But in that moment, she remembered praying for God, for the first time since the last time she had seen Kath when she was ten-years-old, and still a little girl in a hospital gown, hoping someone out there would save them all.
"Steve," she tried, but her powers were in such unrest that it just sent a hammer of pain down the centre of her skull. Sara gasped aloud, squeezed her eyes closed and blinked them back open through tears. She was bleeding a lot. It ran down the side of her neck and ear and had soaked a spot of her hair dark red. There was no way she should be behind a wheel. But all Sar could think about was Steve, Steve, Steve, because it was Steve who Billy had almost killed, and Steve who had carried her from the bus in the junkyard when she'd fallen unconscious, and Steve who she'd been a little in love with since that first week she'd spent with him—she was a coward, she'd never even told him she'd loved him.
Sara didn't even know how she managed to pull up in the Starcourt Mall parking lot without totalling her car on the way there. Streams of blood had plastered themselves horizontally across her face, from where they'd dripped when she landed on the floor. Sar looked like death. She glimpsed herself in the window-shade mirror. If someone had clawed their way out of Hell—if Hell existed—Sar thought they would probably look a little bit like her.
