STARRY EYES | mileven

fifteen

"how's your sleeping schedule?" hopper asked, the pen only loosely pinched between his fingers.

the once a week sessions with hopper did wonders to her. well—maybe not wonders, but they helped. more than she liked to admit.

she always felt a little steadier sitting across from him, before the real part of the day began — before hair and make-up, before the long hours and longer expectations.

"better." she breathed out, toying with the hem of her oversized tee before clenching a fist around it. "sometimes i just... i see some piece of paper in the trailer and freak out for a moment, it just..." she swallowed. "it feels like it started again, you know? but then i realize that it's not."

hopper gave her that long look — the one he always gave during their sessions. like he was turning her words over in his head, weighing them in his mind. "that's a normal response. but i need you to remember that you're safe."

she nodded, though her fist stayed clenched.

she knew she was safe, robin kept her updated whenever necessary about jill, and she knew she wouldn't get to her anymore. she was in jail and even if she played her mind games before, she'd never been a real threat, not physically. just paper and ink and shadows.

but the fear still found her sometimes like a little phantom tap on her shoulders. it spiked her heartbeat for a moment and stole her breath, as if she was the stupid first kill in a horror movie, before her brain caught up and told her she was fine.

hopper said it might take a while to unlearn the fear.

he set the pen down, leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands together. "alright then, how are you feeling about saugatuck?"

she softly exhaled. yes. a much better topic to talk about.

she mirrored his posture, leaning back, arms folding around herself. a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "excited."

"okay." he eyed her, rubbing his chin in thought and raised one eyebrow at her. "and your real feelings?"

damn it.

sometimes she forgot that it was his literal job to read people. he always seemed to see right through her, no matter how vague she tried to be.

it wasn't like she didn't want his help. of course she did.

but it was hard and scary to put all of your ugly out there, sharing your ugly with someone else instead of letting it chew down on you.

"i'm still anxious, i guess, that i'll..." she stalled for a moment, scratching on her nails as a nervous habit. "that i'll... ruin the most important scenes of the movie." her eyes darted away. "i think part of me is still waiting for them to say that they miscast me."

"that's not going to happen." he immediately said with a shake of his head. "why don't you feel good enough, el?"

she gulped. "it's not that."

"then what is it?" he asked, his voice still gentle but firmer now. "because months into production, you still thinking that they'll regret casting you reads to me as if you think you're not good enough."

she could feel her ugly, her anxiety, her insecurities growing inside her like a balloon. "i just... i guess i'm scared that i won't meet their expectations."

admitting that out loud felt simply humiliating, like baring her most inner thoughts would make her look weird and stupid. there was this fear that somehow, someone might agree, might validate those thoughts.