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CHAPTER FIVE.The Pollywog NOVEMBER 1. 1984
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THE SUNRISE BURNED. Warming her bareback unlike the expensive unfamiliar blankets had. Drunk warmth had kept her from shivering. She almost didn't realize the sun was there until she rolled over. Her eyes squint. The blinding sun which rose just above the treeline seemed to be her saving grace and her worst enemy. It hurt. Her head felt like it was pounding and every part of her ached. She wondered if she was hit by a truck.
Nope. Not a truck. Just the hazard that is yourself.
Indigo remembered most of it. Or at least parts. Billy Hargrove. Her song. The alcohol. The powder lines. Steve Harrington. Trying to fight Steve Harrington. Vomiting. Passing out. God, what a freakshow. She was insane. She had to be officially insane. Her head craned to the side slowly, and she could see a chaotic mess on the floor. She propped herself with her elbow, looking down.
Steve Harrington was lying on his bedroom floor. He had made a makeshift spot with blankets and pillows. Honestly, he looked comfortable. The way his hair was messily in his face (still unwashed of the gel from the day before), his arm over his stomach, the other over his head. His legs were in a tangled mess with the blankets. His lips were parted open as he took long deep breaths. He looked so...peaceful. Indigo wondered what peaceful sleep must be like. She hadn't had it since she was barely a teenager.
She watched his body. His chest moves up and down slowly in his slumber. Her eyes traced over his arms. His biceps flexed when he moved. She could see them. Scratches. All along his arms, his hands. Hell, even his neck had claw marks. Indigo felt like she was two week old mac and cheese molding in the fridge. She felt awful. Like throwing up. She wanted to burst into tears and cry violently from guilt. But she didn't do that, because if she did she'd never stop.
She moved slowly. She slid off the bed, onto her knees on the floor. They ached from the bruises. She didn't remember where those came from. She was certain she deserved them. She swallowed the lump in her throat, moving to put her hand on his shoulder. "Steve?" She gave a gentle shake. "Stevie, hey,"
He woke with a subtle jolt. His head snapped up and he looked around. His eyes were on the dirty blond. He had only fallen asleep about two hours prior. He had spent the whole night worrying if she would wake up. If she did, would she leave? Would she run out? Would he have to catch her? It wasn't until he was too exhausted to care that he closed his eyes.
Now, it was early morning, and there she was. She looked...a little better. Her eyes were tired and her makeup from the night before was still all smeared. It was definitely on his pillows. Her hair was a mess, too. She looked like a disaster, but not the same as last night. Her hands were in her lap now. "What time is it?" He grumbled, looking around.
