(I Just) Died In Your Arms ~ Stanley Uris

020

Julia's POV

"Good morning, losers." Cynthia announced into her walkie talkie, waking my up from my deep sleep. It was finally Monday, meaning the week had just started, and from the looks of it, it's probably going to be a rather boring week since the weather was overcast and a fog covered the roads, barely able to even see a few feet in front of me if I were to go outside.

"Good morning, Cynth." I rolled out of bed, half asleep, too tired to barely even function. I was still wearing Stan's warm pajamas, even though it has been about three days past that party. "How'd you sleep?"

"I slept well, thank you for asking." She giggled from the other side.

I turned my walkie off so I could concentrate on getting ready, making my bed before I left. I hadn't really started to make my bed until a few days ago, it was something so little and insignificant that most people wouldn't give a second thought, but it mattered more to me than the average person. It was the only constant in my life, something I could control without depending on anyone else.

Maybe it was all bullshit, but it didn't feel that way to me.

After putting on some decent clothes, I ran into the single bathroom in my house, locking the door this time so my dad would not make any advances on me. I looked up in the mirror, my hair tangled and disheveled, as if I stuck my finger in an electrical socket. No matter how much I brushed it, it stuck straight up. I didn't have the patience today, putting it into a simply low ponytail, flopping it over one side.

I brushed my teeth, cracking the door open a little bit to check of my dad was outside, looking both directions. The hallway was empty, so I decided to make a dash to my bedroom, locking the door to my bedroom. I didn't want my dad rummaging around when I was gone, Stan's poem still stuck to my wall.

It definitely shouldn't be this way. I shouldn't have to hide away in fear, locking away everything about me in a room, away from even my father.

My backpack was heavy, weighing me down as I begrudgingly walked to school. I had packed an extra water bottle, since I was sure even a few days later I was experiencing some sort of hangover.

The fog was thick and hung over the road like a thick blanket, so thick I didn't feel comfortable riding my bike with my vision impaired. My hands grasped the rubber of my handle bars, approaching the grassy field of the high school, my group of friends patiently waiting for me. All of them, except one.

"Where's Stan?" I asked before muttering a hello, pushing a loose strand of hair away from my eyes.

"He said he had the stomach flu, but your walkie was off." Ben replied, looking up from the history book in his hands, slamming it shut as I made eye contact with him.

"H-He also said w-we should keep an eye out for you." Bill stuttered, our eyes hardly meeting, his focus being specifically on Beverly. "Something about G-Greta."

"If I go check on him, would you guys cover for me?" I asked, my weight shifting into my left foot, my fingers grasping the straps of my backpack. I couldn't imagine going to school while he was sick, no matter how minor it was. I knew his parents wouldn't stay home with him, so he was going to be all alone, cooped up in his house.

"Sure, just use condoms." Richie teased, his eye brows wiggling towards me, causing me to giggle as I shook my head.

"That's disgusting, Richie."

The wind was blowing rather hard, the outside air chilled, a perfect recipe for the oncoming flu season. Here in such a close knit town, your chances to get it was almost guaranteed, I could recall nearly two thirds of my fourth grade class all had missed school at the same time.