Clean cut American kid ~ Stranger things

CHAPTER TEN

Every morning when I wake up I believe I've reached the limit for how exhausted a person can be. And every morning I reach further. I've never been this tired before. Every inch of my body screams. I attempt and fail to normally move with my aching muscles. My head weighs a thousand pounds, something my neck is not equipped to hold upright. My eyes and airways are dry like sandpaper, and I haven't dared to try and use my voice. The logical idea would be to stay at home when feeling like this but it's not an option for me. I need every distraction I can get, whether that would be checking out torsos from the bleachers in my brothers gym class or studying fucking math.

I pull on a pair of black pants and my favourite Malcom McLaren t-shirt. Small holes have appeared in the thin fabric along the bottom hem and in the armpits from how much I've used it. I'm awake early from frantically waking up in cold sweat so Steve is still in his room. I pad across the hall and knock on his door. With everything that happened last night I feel terrible for him. I hear a tired groan from behind the door and take that as an invitation.

He is laying in the middle of his bed on his stomach with his arms stretched out on either side and his face deep in a pillow. I don't understand how he hasn't suffocated yet. I walk over to his closet and open a wooden drawer. It's filled with underwear. Ew, wrong one. I clumsily shove it closed and pull open the one beneath it. Bingo.

"Hey Steve, how are you feeling?" I say awkwardly as I rummage through his sweaters. I'm terrible at soft talk.

"Fine." He grunts. "What are you doing?"

"I want to apologise." I say as I pull out a chunky melange knit sweater. "I'm sorry for everything I said yesterday. I was way out of line about you and Nancy."

"I said some pretty shitty things too." He grumbles with his face still in the pillow. I pull his sweater over my head and walk over to his bed. I throw myself on top of him so our backs are facing each others. He lets out a surprised "ow".

"I know," I say and stare up at the ceiling. "But I can only apologise for myself."

My body shakes as he laughs under me.

"I'm sorry." He says.

"You're forgiven." I smile. I let him slide out from underneath me and he walks over to his closet. He pulls out a pair of jeans and a pair of tube socks. My twin is such a yuppie.

"Ehm Sher... where did you go last night?"  Steve asks hesitantly while tugging a t-shirt over his head. He's never been as frozen as I always am. I contemplate on whether to tell my brother the same lie I told our father or if he deserves the truth. Maybe he can help me figure out what the fuck is going on. I sit up and look at him. I'm just about to open my mouth and reveal all the insane shit that has been happening to me since I came back to Hawkins when we both hear furious footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Sherry!" It's our father. Me and Steve looks worriedly at each other. We hear him banging on my door.

"I'm in here!" I scream before he goes into my room and assume I've ran away again. I hear him mumble angrily to himself as he marches across the hall to Steve's door.

"I swear to you, I didn't raise two slobs!" He swings the door open. "Do I have to remind you to go to school in time!?"

I glare at him. He didn't even try to raise us, only punished us for everything he didn't agree with.

"No dad." I grimace sarcastically to him but utter controlled and calmly; "You raised one slob and one criminal drug addict."

"Sherry!" My brother exclaims. I ignore him.

"You know I've held myself from beating some sense into you for eighteen years now. But I'm running out of things to try." My father seethes towards me. I stand up and round Steve's bed so that I'm in front of him.

"Well don't contain yourself on my behalf." I raise one hand and shove his shoulder. I want him to blow up. I know touching him will help him do that. I shove him again. My eyes are challenging him. When I see in his face that he has snapped, I expect a slap or a backhand. But my head snaps to the side and I know the stinging in my eyes and taste of blood in my mouth indicate what happened. He seriously punched me.

Insanely thinking I can blow his head up with my mind, I control myself and jut my chin up instead promising; "I'm gonna kill you."

We stare each other down. I glare into the same shade of hard asphalt eyes I have, only older and halfway hiding beneath worn out and creased skin.

"Come on, Sher.." I feel my brother tugging at my arm and I reluctantly allow him to drag me down and out to the car.

When I sit in the passenger seat and blow out a shaky breath I realise I'm crying. It's purely physical I tell myself, only because of the stinging on the side of my face.

"Why do you have to push him?" Steve sighs helplessly as he starts the ignition and drives away from our house. I sit quietly and side glance at my reflection in the side view mirror. I don't have an answer. I've asked the question to myself for years. Why can't I just be silent and eager to please? I don't have a better answer than that I would be even more miserable if I tried to conform into others expectations of me. I would be even more miserable than the tears in my eyes, the bruise on my face, the scars on my body and every thing that is broken because of me.