heaven-sent | b.h.

06.

The gentle hum of the engine is peaceful as the Camaro cruises through Hawkins. Billy doesn't try to cover it with his music the way he usually would. After the night he's had, he's grateful for the quiet. He's unable to forget the way his father's fist collided with his face earlier, his cheek still throbbing painfully. His jaw aches, too, and he realises he's been clenching it for hours. He relaxes it now as best he can, his attention drawn away from it entirely when they pass a bunch of wilted flowers placed randomly on the side of the road. There are unlit candles, too, the wax melted into the concrete. 

"Someone die there or somethin'?" he asks without thinking.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Frances flinch and regrets asking. "Yeah. Her name was Barb."

"Did you know her?" He glances at her, but she isn't looking at him, her head turned away as she gazes out of the window.

"She was my best friend."

Jesus. I'm—" He sucks in a breath, his grip tightening on the steering wheel sub-consciously. Sorry, he wants to say, but somehow the word doesn't do it justice. "What happened to her?"

"She was killed." She tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear, her eyes hardening as she turns them back on the road ahead. She still won't look at him.

"Shit," he whispers. "Did they catch 'em?"

"No." She shakes her head, her voice cracking. Her chest is heaving as though she's suppressing a sob or is struggling to breathe. He shuffles in his seat, unsure what to do or say. He doesn't need to force anything out: she continues before the right words come. "I should have been there that night. She begged and begged for me to come to this stupid party with her at Steve Harrington's house. Nancy was forcing her. She wasn't really part of that crowd and she didn't wanna be alone, always said it was easier for her when I was there. She died alone."

"It's not your fault," Billy replies softly. It's easier for him to be soft in the dark; easier to allow himself to sound as though he gives a damn. "You couldn't have known."

"But I did," she hits back, looking at him now. Her eyes are shiny with tears, her hands clinging to her camera desperately. "I had this awful feeling in my chest, like I couldn't breathe, all fucking night—only I thought it was because Jonathan's brother was missing. I was so busy looking for him with my dad that I wasn't there for Barb. Now she's gone. And I knew."

Her face is illuminated in the pale headlights passing on the other side of the road, and for a moment her eyes seem to flicker, blaze, change. Her irises, once a green that reminded Billy of the Californian sea on a rare, grey day, are now golden. He does a double take, almost swerving the car in the process, but when he looks again they look as they always did: murky ocean eyes half-hiding behind dark lashes and unruly bangs.

"Shit," he curses, forcing his eyes back on the road. "Your eyes."

She frowns, paling and pulling down the overhead mirror with enough force that Billy is worried she might break his damn car. "What?"

"Nothin', I—" he stutters, blinking and looking at her again. Had he imagined it? Was it the light off the other car? "I thought you had something in your eye. It was nothin'."

He pulls into the clearing where the trailer stands, lonely and grey against the black lake. The tyres roll against the gravel unevenly, the engine cutting out and replaced with silence.

"Your dad home?" he asks, just as he had the previous night. The trailer's windows are dark, the house empty and solitary where it stands. He can't imagine calling this place a home, even with his own circumstances.