❝MY REPUTATIONS NEVER
BEEN WORSE SO HE MUST
LIKE ME FOR ME ❞
Madeline Harrington had always known what it felt like to be alone, even in a crowded room.
Love was something that seemed to elude her at every turn.
She had lear...
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Madeline Harrington had always been the forgotten one.
In a town as small as Hawkins, where everyone knew everyone, it was ironic how invisible she felt.
Steve , her older brother , was the golden boy—the one who could do no wrong in the eyes of their parents, even as he transformed into the biggest douchebag in Hawkins.
Their parents were almost always gone, wrapped up in their own lives, leaving Madeline to fend for herself in a house that felt more like a museum than a home.
She wasn't like Steve, and she knew it.
While he reveled in his popularity, she found solace in her solitude.
The kids at school thought she was tough, maybe even a little scary, and she liked it that way.
It was easier to be tough than to let people see the cracks underneath.
She had learned long ago that no one was going to look out for her, not even her own family.
Her parents were absent in every way that mattered, too busy with business trips and social gatherings to notice that their daughter was drowning in her own loneliness.
Madeline didn't mind being on her own—at least, that's what she told herself.
She didn't need anyone's pity, and she sure as hell didn't need anyone's help.
She was the kind of girl who could take care of herself.
was she sweet, ya, when she wanted to be.
but she had built walls so high that no one could see just how fragile she really was.
That morning started like any other, with the sound of her alarm clock ringing out like a death knell.
Madeline groaned, rolling over and slamming her hand down on the snooze button.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight, and for a brief moment, she considered just staying in bed, letting the world move on without her.
But that was a luxury she couldn't afford.
She dragged herself out of bed, pulling on the first clothes she could find.
Her bedroom was a mess—clothes strewn across the floor, books piled haphazardly on her desk, posters of punk bands and random art covering the walls.
It wasn't much, but it was hers, the one place she could truly be herself.
By the time she made it downstairs, the house was already empty.
