THE TOWER ━ stranger things

23.

chapter twenty-three — the velvet loveseat

December 15th, 1985

July fourth nineteen-eighty-five. Irene felt paralyzed. Despite the searing burn of torn flesh that throbbed at her thigh, it felt as though she was a ghost – drifting in and out. She doesn't remember much of what happened after her mothers screams of agony faded into the background as she was rushed to the hospital. What she does remember is the blood.

There was so much blood. Her brothers, Billy's, her own, all caked underneath her nails and stuck to her hair. She remembers their faces too; the agony that carved into her brother's brow after he was struck – the sorrow that twisted against Billy's quivering lip as he hovered over her. She couldn't escape them. She can't escape them. They linger in her dreams like fresh dew on a spring morning, stubbornly clinging to her subconscious and drowning her in a tide of terror.

According to Ms. Kelly, while the nightmares weren't exactly healthy and a form of Irene's trauma which were linked to the events of the summer, they were completely normal and she wasn't the only person who struggled with them. In the beginning, when her brother's death was still a fresh concept to grasp, she believed the school counselor. However, if you asked her now she'd say it was bullshit.

The night terrors were growing more haunting and gruesome – lately they'd been causing her to wake up mortified before bursting into a pool of tears. She had spent many recent nights tucked under her mothers arms in bed; she was about to turn nineteen but still believed wholeheartedly that the protection of her mother could ward off anything. Nothing about what she'd endured was normal and neither were the nightmares.

Tonight was no different than any other night, except for once she wasn't trapped within the walls of Starcourt Mall.

There she was looking down at a hole in the ground as the dark navy blue casket was slowly lowered into the space. She felt numb again - like she had nothing left to give, no more tears to cry for a tragedy that was never supposed to happen. A heavy hand clasped onto her shoulder and she looked up to meet the somber eyes of her father. The sky darkened and suddenly there was an evident weight harrowing down on her chest.

"It should've been you," He whispered distastefully, his gaze piercing into her soul – twisting the knife further into her chest. She turned to make a haste escape from the man and bumped into another tall figure. The stranger turned and her breath hitched. Mateo towered over her with blood oozing from the gash at his side. His face was colorless as beads of sweat peppered his forehead – his eyes were cold and menacing. There were tears in them as blood trickled down the side of his mouth.

His glare made a shiver run down her spine as he choked, "It was supposed to be you." His veiny hands reached to grab for her throat and the second they made contact she was shaken awake – a soft whimper left her lips as she latched onto the person's forearms tightly.

She heaved a breath of relief when she met Eddie's gentle gaze. The world settled in around her as reality sank her back into the warm loveseat perched beside the sofa in her living room – it was an antique and she begged her mother to buy it before they moved to Hawkins all those months ago. She was sweaty and her bones felt stiff – as if she was tense the entire time she had been asleep.

Eddie seemed extremely alert for what seemed to be so late in the evening; his curls were slightly disheveled and the wrinkles on the waist of his shirt indicated he'd gotten comfortable against the cushions as well but there was a small part of him that just didn't seem relaxed. Little did she know after he noticed she had fallen asleep while he was reading to her he couldn't help but watch as she stirred lightly, making sure he was there for her if and when she needed him.