star struck [ronance]

messages from the stars

[hi guys, this is my new ronance fic, sorry for never updating the last one whoops]

[NANCYS POV]

"I liked the idea of loving a woman than being a woman. I've thought that at least junior high, maybe sixth grade. Though I never understood what it was like to love a woman, I knew it wasn't "normal". It's been five years and I still don't feel content with the idea. Maybe because of the people who even resemble being gay are simply bullied to no repair, and the people who do it suffer no repercussion.I see kids who I've known since grade school who used to be social butterflies who've turn into social loners in just a few years time. The idea of love fascinated me, seeing my parents constantly fighting made me question why they even thought to have children, three of them to say the least. There's been countless guys who've come into my life, then just as fast as they came in- they left. Well that'd be a lie more or less, Johnathon always came back no matter how hard I tried to leave." My pen then flung on the table as get once again startled by my mother and Mike's bullshit. Another's day worth of arguing.

"No, Mike. You're going to sit down at the table and do your god-damn homework like I told you- five minutes ago." The faint smell of the burnt chicken lingers down the hall and up the stairs, a part of me questions if I should go tell her she's two minutes away from setting the house on fire, but I keep my distance. I have homework anyway.

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Days like these make me question why I committed to year book club- three years ago-freshmen year. Dragging around the eight pounds around my neck in the near end of summer. The idea of seeing Hawkins losing their second game of the season when it only started three weeks ago is really the highlight of my life; at least the fine arts know what they're doing.

Seeing them move so pristine within each other always fascinated me, you'd think after years of being on the field talking photos if to be close with them all. It wasn't like I didn't know them, I knew of them yes- but I don't know them. I know all their names and their instrument of choice, but that's as far as it goes.

There was always this one girl that caught my eye for some reason, maybe because she was the tallest out of all the girls, or maybe because she was the sharpest with her movements. Robin Buckley, I believe? I act like I haven't had it memorized since freshman year.

My mother has always asked me, "why don't you have a boyfriend?" Or what happened to one of the guys I just couldn't stand to keep. It's hard to really think of a time I was truly interested in guys, not saying I didn't like them, who else would I like? The idea of women fascinated me much more, they're the art that fulfills the endless galleries, the people who bring life to the world. I don't feel content with the idea of loving a woman in a sexual or romantic way. I don't like that I'd even consider that, knowing my stupid reputation, I'm so dependent and will be for the next year and eight months. If all else fails, I know Johnathon would take me back in a heartbeat.

The constant feeling of paranoia that someone is watching me came from him, nobody else could even imagine doing that, yet he still exists. Most of my days I spend thinking of what we would have been, the first awkward kiss in the eighth grade, two years later, and his presence still bothers me. My mother gets so caught up in the whole talk about how I need a relationship and how he better be filthy rich because how else would he afford to 'take care of me'

Maybe she can't see it, but I don't need him to take care of me, I don't need anyone. The only thing I need to keep going is my sanity, and until that's gone, I'll keep on going.

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Every football season I'd find myself scoping out Buckley, or "Robs," as some call her, it's some weird mental thing I couldn't even explain if I tried. When you want something so bad, your brain makes you look for it even more. Rubbernecking, if you will. She towered over me—well, she did last year. When I first spoke to her, I needed to interview her for a page in the yearbook. It wasn't the kind of question I'd really ask someone to get to know them, but I guess asking how long you've been playing your instrument works too. Maybe one day I'd get the confidence to actually speak to her, whats the worst that could happen, no?