Mysteries Unraveled: Rules Broken, Hearts Awoken

Talking

Eddie's POV

"Hello." I grumble into the phone, being woken from a weed induced nap.

"I need your help."

Steve sounds freaked and I'm immediately alert.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Sam. I don't know what else to do, man. Flo is trying to track down Hopper, but." He suddenly stops talking.

Fuck. What the fuck happened!?

"Steve!" I yell into the phone.

"Sorry, was just listening. I need you to get over here, now. Bring whatever you need to get her door open."

He hangs up.

What the hell? Hopper. Because it's Hopper or because he's the police? What the hell is going on?

I rush over to the apartment, not sure what I'm going to be walking into.

Steve's living room is torn apart, all the furniture haphazardly shoved away. He's sitting, leaned against Sam's door, trying to get her to open it. Lights are flashing under the door and in the hall.

I go to speak and he immediately shushes me, motioning to the doorknob for me to open it as he moves out of the way.

Shit. I forgot my pick in my rush.

'This will do.' I think as I grab one of Sam's hair pins from the bathroom.

These locks aren't anything special, Steve probably could have gotten it if he had tried.

I push open the door to find Sam sitting on her floor, reeking of liquor and weed. She's got her knees pulled up to her chest, feet barely visible beneath the oversized shirt she has pulled over her legs. My shirt.

Her eyes are pinched shut, hands on either side of her head and she doesn't even seem to notice us.

"How long have the lights been flashing like that?" I ask Steve as I cautiously take the roach from her hand.

Sam's eyes fly open, staring into mine and for a moment, there seems to be comfort in them. Only for a moment though, then that hurt look.

The lights stop flickering.

"Get out." She says weakly.

"Sam, I'm sorry." I say.

"Get. Out." She says more firmly as Steve helps her up.

"Are you ok?" He asks her and she pushes him off, looking betrayed by my presence.
"Sam, I needed to get your door open."

"This isn't you, Sam." I tell her.

She's crossfaded. She insisted she never wanted to drink again after that first time with her coworker.

"Maybe it is." She slurs a little. "You don't, you don't know me anymore. You don't care anymore."

"Of course I care."

"No, you don't. You're just all, 'ooh, Mr. Fine, Mr. Mr. Doesn't Care That it's Over.' An' I'm. Broken. You broke me." She says as she takes a wobbly step forward.