PAIN KILLER [DISCONTINUED]

003. CHERRY BOMB

003.

――― CHAPTER THREE ―――

CHERRY BOMB

JANUARY 23RD, 1986

📍THE MADISON HOUSE

8:02 AM

"OH MY GOD, I'm coming, I'm coming," I mutter at the honking car out on my front driveway. I don't even tie my laces and almost trip over them in haste. I manage to grab an apple and slam the door behind me before the car zooms off.

I blink rapidly, taking a moment to adjust to the bright, frigid, winter sun, I give Mike's Dad, Ted Wheeler, the finger as soon as I slide into the back seat, throwing my bag in before myself.

"Yeah, take us for all we're worth, and then still give me the finger," Mr. Wheeler says matter-of-factly.

"Okay!" I chirp, reaching out to the dashboard to turn the dial and blast the music. It takes me a few moments to recognize the band, but I do. It's my favorite― because it was my Mother's favorite. Tears For Fears.

"Hey!" He exclaims grumpily, switching the radio off. "Embrace the nature," he says. "Get off all this shit. You kids are relying too much on these hunks of metal and wires these days." he says, shaking his head.

"It's the fucking radio, Dad," Mike says, seething.

"Doesn't mean you don't use these things as if they're life support," he says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Every evening from 6 to 10 you sit in the same chair, eating the same dinner, watching the same show. I'm surprised you haven't blended into the couch by now," Mike says.

"Yeah, says the son who spends his whole time playing in a club with goth kids who all play a damn fantasy game. Just call it the high-school dropout club at this point," he says as he sips his cherry bomb slurpie that makes me foam at the mouth.

"Son of a bitch," I mutter under my breath. "You're really no help at all, you know that?"

"Hey!" He exclaims again, turning to me in the backseat. "Language!"

"Over my dead body," I say as I cozy up in the backseat and bite into my apple.

"I'll call your Father about this," he threatens.

I snort. "Oh yeah? Good luck with that. I'll bet you thirty dollars my Father has no clue who you are. If you show up to our door when he's home, he'll think you're trying to sell him melatonin gummies or some CBD shit."

That shuts Mr. Wheeler up for good. Secretly, me and Mike share a high-five from the backseat.

***

JANUARY 23RD, 1986

📍HAWKINS HIGH SCHOOL

8:39 AM

"I still don't understand why you won't come to Hellfire," Mike says, exasperated.

"Like I said, I don't want to join Hellfire," I tell Mike as we walk up to our lockers, which are conveniently right next to each other.