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°"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey. You'll never know dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away."°
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Steve Harrington could do nothing but lay there as Esme slept, her lips mumbling words that were so quiet, not even he could hear them. It had been like this for a while now, him trying to keep her calm as she huddled herself into his body.
It was freezing, though he knew he wouldn't be able to change the temperature anytime soon. He knew he had to put Esme and Wills' needs before his own, seeing them in pain because they felt abnormally hot made his stomach twist in guilt.
The smell of blood filled his senses suddenly, making his eyes snap open in alarm. Looking around in panic, his heart slammed against his chest painfully as he saw Esmes' nose start to bleed profusely.
"Shit."
He mumbled, his hands trembling as he tried to wake her up. Her body shot up so quickly from his embrace, that it made him almost lose his breathe. She was shaking, more than usual, which made him anxious.
"What happened?!"
"Something's wrong."
She let out a choked sob, looking at him with watery eyes. He frowned, reaching his arms out wide, which let her fall into them. She was crying, and hearing such a sad sound made his own eyes gloss-over.
"I saw him."
"Saw who Es'?"
"Hopper."
She said softly, not caring that the blood on her face was burning her nose. The scene was replaying over and over in her head, Hopper falling, being dragged by the same vines that once dragged her.
"I think he's in trouble, I think he's going to die."
•○○•○○•○○•
Esme Henderson never drew so fast in her life, but soon her stack of papers and crayons were gone, and her fingers smelt like wax. Her head was pounding angrily, making her feel like she needed to throw-up. She hated that feeling, for she had felt it too many times before.
Ms.Byers hesitantly picked up the last drawing that was made, her eyes scanning the various stray-marks that she could only guess at. Looking up, she pointed a delicate finger at the sheet of paper that held a red 'x' between the scribbled colors.
"Is this where you saw him hun?"
"I- I think so."
It was hard to tell, only getting short-bursts of colors every few seconds. It was like she was a broken music-record that only let out small outbursts of notes at a time.
When she was little, her Mother had held onto an old record called 'Some Girls' from The Rolling Stones and no matter how much it was scratched up from baby fingernails and cat teeth, she never threw it away, and how Esme hated that record. Now however, she had to learn to live with herself, not in the emotional and mental way but also the physical way.
