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CHAPTER SEVEN Rules of Fake Dating (Feat. Steve Harrington)
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THE TASTE OF copper filled his mouth. When he probed his tongue against the ragged flesh of his cheek, he swallowed back blood. It took some time to focus as consciousness came back to him, but through his blurry vision, he caught a trail of smoke billowing from his hood, climbing up the tree his car had smashed into.
Slowly, he lifted his head from the airbag and pressed his fingers to his temple. They came back slick. He pushed the door open with a groan, dragging his legs out, his sneakers crushing fallen leaves.
There was a dull ache in his right leg, but he figured it wasn't so bad. He could try walking — or limping — to Hawkins. He leaned against the broken window and looked around, trying to find out where to go. Miles and miles of forest stretched around him. Nothing else but trees and whatever was lurking in them. His car had veered into the woods, far off from the road.
In the night, nature carved itself into malevolent shapes. Trees were disfigured bodies with crooked arms, branches were claws scratching at his clothes. Every band of shadow looked like it was out to get him — and then, just when he thought he was alone, a sign of movement: the silhouette of a figure moving.
He stumbled back, the air forced from his lungs. His voice came out shaky. "Who's there?"
"Don't worry, you're okay." A voice emerged from the dark. A girl. She sounded close, and when he squinted his eyes, he could tell she was coming toward him. "Did I scare you?"
"Was that you crossing the road? I thought I imagined that." Her figure had appeared in front of his car out of nowhere, it was why he swerved. His head was pounding. Maybe his brain rattled in his skull during the impact. "What are you doing out here?"
"Going for a walk," she said.
Something was off about her, but she was tall, angular, pretty. Dangerously pretty, the same way deadly flowers weaponize their beauty by carrying poison in their petals, daring you to touch them even if the toxins would kill you.
