Surrender // Steve Harrington x Reader

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

You could hear Steve's car shoot off, no doubt making good on his suggestion to get the injured animal help. Your eyes stung with unshed tears and you will them out of existence with sheer stubbornness, not wanting to waste your tears on such a pathetic situation.

Pushing to a stand, you focus on cleaning up the shattered bulb, though you found your mind continually drifting to that infuriating look of disappointment he'd drilled into you.

Pain, you register as a jagged shard of thin glass slices into your fingers. You drop it and watch as blood pools from the sliced flesh and drops onto the shimmering shard. It coats your fingers and you hold it to your chest, the swell of ache in your chest growing evermore. 

Your mind was right. You didn't belong here. 

Gathering up the only thing you had; the clothes from yesterday, you change into them and wash the blood from your hand, though it does nothing but stem the flow of more into existence. 

Clenching your hand into a fist in hopes to stop it, you catch sight of your reflection. Puffy cheeks and lips, flustered a shade of pale pink, eyes shining with emotion. 

This wasn't you. 

With Steve gone, it made your decision vastly easier. Rushing downstairs, you slip into your new boots and head into the kitchen, tearing off some kitchen towel to clutch to with your injured hand. 

The counters were littered with mess after the breakfast this morning, your poetry book peeking out from just underneath a smattering of flour. 

You circle around to it and use your mind to flip open the pages to that one particular poem from yesterday, the final line of it resonating in your head. 

'I will always love your brokenness.' 

What a strange sentiment it was, a foolish ideology that any such words could ever be true. You didn't understand love, couldn't even begin to comprehend it though you tried. You really tried. But some things weren't for everyone to enjoy and this little fantasy of yours couldn't last.

It's not until after you've torn the page free that you notice it was with your injured hand, a smear of crimson left on its pale setting as you set it down on the closed book.

Taking one last look of the house, you head out of it, pulling the door firmly shut behind you. You had no idea where to go, but it was a concern for later. Much later. For now, your feet simply carry you away from it.

You could find some other way to help Henry, because this? This wasn't working anymore. You needed to get away.

---------------------------------------------------

You were a shivering wreck by the time he found you. Darkness had sprung into existence, the moon just rising above the horizon. Your feet ached in your new shoes, the hours of walking hopelessly had taken its toll and your body hurt.

But you had persevered nonetheless, too mad to care and too stubborn to turn around even as the chill of the evening hit, not even a jacket to cover you. The rain had started about an hour ago and you'd taken shelter under a rickety old bus shack that creaked in the wind as it whistled through. 

Your clothes were soaked through and your hand still hurt from the cuts that were on your fingertips, though they had clotted and sealed long ago. The bright lights of his car flare on you, pinning you under their spotlight as he pulls up in front of where you sat.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" He grunts as he gets out of the car, his angered expression cracking just a little as he sees how sodden and cold you looked, his protective instincts kicking in immediately as his shoulders slump.