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FEAR IS A FACTOR of many equivalents. It can present itself in the binding of a cold skin's touch, or the tremors of a fragile bone's will. It's the feeling and the moment itself when you realize that the only thing you know, is nothing at all.
Fear presents itself in the aching ribs of Valentina Varner, the shattering walls of her interior, the shards of what's left embedded into skin.
In the mirror that her gaze watches upon itself, a battle of willpower that neither will survive, she studies the contortion of a face that doesn't recognize itself.
"Pull it together," she whispered beneath her breath, but neither her nor the version in the looking glass was able to do so. That brain of hers, trapped in the closing walls of her headspace, never seemed to cooperate with the one that wishes in her chest.
A shiver crawls up the writhing of her spine, like a snake slithering through the weeds of a field. An open plane makes of her back, guiding the spirit to the feverish spell of its hunger. And along her front is another, destined to meet in the middle.
A knock breaks through the stones of silence, ripping the blonde from the trance that pulled her into the mirror. She blinked back at herself, praying away the bites and beasts in her chest. They bluster and bold in the text of the words through the door like subtitles on a screen. That's what this feels like; a scene to visualize in the fantasy of what can't be reality.
But this is real, no matter how unbelievable it is to Valentina or Steve.
"Everything okay?" he asks. His head was hung low, almost leaning against the brown, wooden door that prevented his mind from seeing the plague of his visual cortex.
Valentina shuddered at the sound of Steve's voice, a deeper shock than when the cold hit her feet as they stepped off the wet shower floor. Even after the knock, even after seeing him ten steps behind as she raced to the bathroom, even after she knew, Valentina didn't know whowas on the other side of the door.
She didn't know which version.
Was it the one from the party? Angry, jealous, and wounding her soul. Or was it the one from school? Practically carrying her through the halls, lifting not only her weight but her spirits that had been dragging for months like a brick on a rope. Or the one from the car, kind and innocent while hurting all over.
She should've ran with him. She should've ran far away from Hawkins.
And yet, here she was, hearing the boy through the threshold of Dustin Henderson's bathroom. His voice carried through the closed door, echoing against the rippling water at the surface of the clogged drain.
When Dustin suggested that the two teenagers sleep at his house, Valentina immediately declined. She felt gross, grimy, and desperate for a little round pill located under her bed. But when the younger boy pulled the 'I'm scared and you're supposed to be babysitting me' card, she couldn't refuse. Plus, she didn't feel like facing her mother at home right now in the off-chance she was actually there.
