Judge, Jury, and Executioner - [Jopper]

09. Scream and Shout

Like all good things that came to an early ending, her first instinct was to believe that it was her fault. Her old friend, distance, had reared its ugly head already, even before she could figure out where Hopper was. It took strength to try not to beat herself up too badly for her epic lack of the ability to bring him comfort. Or, at least enough comfort to want to stick around, instead of the overwhelming urge to run. 

He was running out of space to run towards. 

But in a deep part of her mind, her self-deprecating and simultaneously self-centered anxious mind, it was her fault. She drove him away as fast and as far as he could run and continued to drag him back. Then, there was logic. Like any good argument, it consisted of both emotion and logic. The logical truth was that it actually wasn't her fault, and that maybe he needed to be dragged back. Wrangling James Hopper was no man's land since nobody even dared to try. The only difference this time around was the fact that he needed to relearn the meaning of freedom, and all freedom still has boundaries.

They had a good run, though. Seven days. To some, that would be a pathetic amount of time to go without incident, but they were seven whole days that taught her that peace between all of them wasn't too far out of reach. That it wasn't impossible for him to smile or spend time with his daughter. It also taught her just how delicate those moments were because anything could shatter them. Something shattered them, she just wasn't sure who or what... or if it was herself.

There was no way of telling if she was part of the cure or part of the disease. Not unless he spoke up and told her. He was failing to realize that his old actions of bottling up anger and running away wouldn't work anymore. Not after the trauma he had been through. Old coping mechanisms didn't work for new wounds. His mind needed to heal itself, and it couldn't heal if everything he did to help only hurt him more. 

As she angrily slammed the front glass door behind her, she made a beeline for the payphone on the outside of the building. She mentally counted the number of times she heard the plinking sound from her loose pocket change dropping into the slot. Her forearm rested on the top of the box, her head leaning against it as she held the receiver to her ear with her other hand.