heaven-sent | b.h.

02.

"Look at that," Hopper says by way of greeting, a disapproving look on his face as Frances shuts the door behind her. He and El are sat at the table, microwave dinners still in their plastic containers in front of them. He doesn't even bother to use goddamn plates anymore. "She decided to grace us with her presence."

In response, Frances flashes him a sarcastic grin, taking a seat at the table. The chair wobbles under her weight, far from sturdy. The furniture had been here almost as long as the cabin itself, and it wasn't hard to tell with the damp wood that had never dried and the looming feeling that all of it would crumble beneath them if they so much as sneezed too loudly.

El sits opposite her, picking gingerly at her peas with a fork—a metal one, thank god. Frances has saved a real smile for her, and El returns it, though even now, after almost a year, her big brown eyes are like a deer's caught in headlights.

"You wanna tell me where you've been?" Hopper questions, mouth half-full with food as he scrapes around for the last few pieces. "You promised me you'd be here tonight, Frances."

"I was with Jonathan. I lost track of time." The lie came naturally now, though she and Jonathan barely spent any time together outside of school anymore.

"Funny, since he was looking for you on my way home. Told me you made a dash for it after school. You kids still play hide and seek or are you lying to me?"

She pauses, blushing despite herself. "Maybe we were feeling nostalgic."

"Don't lie to me, Frances." His sarcasm was gone, replaced by a severity that surprised even her. "You said you'd come straight home after school. The kid needs you here."

"I'm not a babysitter," she spat back, standing up and causing the chair's legs to screech against the floorboards. "I was busy."

"Doing what? Chain-smoking?" He drops his fork and towers over her, his blue eyes piercing as her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red. Gravy has splattered against his shirt. "I can smell it on you."

Frances raises an eyebrow. "You sure that's not your own breath?"

Inhaling sharply, Hopper closes his eyes for a moment, fists pressed against the table angrily. "You're unbelievable."

"Stop," El whispers, drawing Frances's attention away from her father.

Hopper pinches the bridge of his nose, and when he opens his eyes and looks at her again, his eyes are steely. "You're grounded." His voice is low, steady. "I want you home at three every night for the rest of the week. No going out this weekend, either. You disobey me again and that camera can find a home in my locked desk. How's that?"

Frances clutches the camera instinctively, narrowing her eyes. "Fine," she says finally, pushing her chair back under the table and walking to her room. She closes the door behind her, letting out a ragged breath as she pulls the camera from her neck and places it on her desk.

Her eyes drift to the window, where the forest is bathed in shadows and the moonlight floods through the branches, casting fractured, pointed silhouettes onto her face. The nature used to be a comfort to her, but now she can't help but imagine them creeping in the darkness, waiting for blood.

A small knock on the door breaks her out of her reverie, and she jumps, shutting the curtains quickly and turning on her lamp to light the room in a soft, rosy glow. When she turns around, she finds El standing in the doorway, hand still on the door knob as though she's debating whether she should come in.

"Hey," Frances greets softly. El presses her lips together — her version of a shy smile — and enters, the door clicking shut behind her. "I'm sorry for fighting in front of you. You shouldn't have to put up with that. And I'm sorry for not coming home earlier."

"It's okay," she shrugs, planting herself sheepishly on Frances's bed, causing a few of the teddies propped against the wall to tumble.

"No, it's not." Frances collapses beside her, taking her hand. "It wasn't your fault. If you weren't here, we'd find something else to argue about."

"Like?"

Frances sighs. "Like how he drinks too much and is never around. Like how after Sa..."
She swallows, her sister's name getting stuck in her throat.

"Sarah?" El questions, understanding.

At the sound of her name, tears prick in Frances's eyes. She blinks them back, looking away from El as she replies. "Yes."

"You miss her."

"Yes," Frances breathes, finding the one photograph she has left of herself and Barb tucked in her mirror opposite. They're smiling at the request of Barb's mother, a documentation of their first day of high school. Frances's right arm has fallen naturally over Barb's shoulders, and she stands on her tiptoes to maintain the pose while Barb stands hunched, books tucked under her arm and glasses she hadn't yet grown into slightly askew. "I miss a lot of people."

El follows her gaze, squeezing Frances's hand tightly. It snaps Frances out of her daze, and she wipes her eyes quickly, uncaring if it smudges her cheap mascara. "You wanna read before bed tonight? Make up for me coming in late?"

Eleven nods, grabbing the book they were in the middle of from the bedside table and handing it to Frances. The book was tattered, the spine near falling apart, but it had been Sarah's and Frances had never been able to bring herself to throw it away. At least now she had some use for it.

There is a sadness in her voice, thick and heavy as though something is caught in her throat, as she reads to El softly. She hears her door creak halfway through, feels her father's watchful eyes on her, but she makes no effort to turn around.

She finds herself wondering when her family became this.