𝘽𝙖𝙙 𝘽𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 || Eleven Hopper x fem!reader ✓

two.

[your pov]

the day went on and as usual, i was one of the few people (and by few, i mean like three) who actually tried to learn. i was doing the homework assigned for tonight during the remaining class time left when the bell rang, letting us all out for the day. 

i stayed back for a second, not wanting to get trampled by the dozens of students who basically sprint out of class.

i gripped my backpack and headed out after a moment, checking the halls for any signs of troy or his friends. it seems like luck was on my side today, as the hallway only contained kids who, thankfully, weren't troy. i headed out, starting the long walk to my dreaded 'home'.

i spotted max skateboarding in the corner of the school.
damn, she's good.

i kept going, walking to the front of the school when i spotted a familiar group of boys spying on a specific redhead. i felt inclined to tell max about the spying boys. i mean, if people were spying on me, i would want someone to tell me. 

i swiftly turned on my heel to see max picking up her skateboard and write on a piece of paper, facing my direction. when she looked from the paper, i waved to get her attention and smiled. she just gave me the same tight-lipped smile she did in class. 

i pointed to the now distracted boys, making her smile. she turned her paper around to show that she wrote "stop spying on me CREEPS."

i smiled and chuckled at her little message for them, staying in my spot to see how this would all turn out. max quickly walked to this building and went inside, crumpling up the paper and tossing it into a trashcan below the stairs.

like a magnet, the group of boys ran to the trash, one of them digging through it. i furrowed my eyebrows at the sight of it. i turned away, feeling second hand embarrassment. although, i'm not sure who felt more undignified, them or me. 

i started to leave and was almost off of school grounds when i heard very faintly, "william byers? your mother's here."

the freshly fallen leaves crunched underneath my feet, breaking the peaceful silence that lay in the area. as i approached my home, i sighed softly, pausing for a moment before i walked in.

i hate walking into my... home. every time i enter through the rickety wooden door, it makes my situation seem more and more permanent.
instead of an actual home to come home to, i have a shed. a small shed, probably used for storage or something. for the past year, this has become my home.

my parents? long gone.

at first, they were okay. i had a scrapbook of pictures from before everything happened, of when my parents were actually my parents. it was full of smiles and vacations, memories to last a lifetime. 

but, for me, they were just a reminder of how i wasn't worth anything. 

and, i hate myself for thinking this way, but i can't help myself. it all started when i was eight, old enough to realize how far apart my parents seemed to be. they wouldn't talk to each other for days, sometimes weeks. my dad acted like my mom was medusa, like he couldn't look anywhere near her, or something bad would happen.

then, my mom started drinking. after nine, i don't remember a time where she wasn't holding a bottle of beer, or any type of alcohol. my dad, he got angry at her, for coming home wasted, for leaving our house a mess.

one night, he left. i woke up, and he was gone. my mom didn't seem to care. she went on, drinking, and by that time, i was ten years old. 

i tried to get my mom to stop. i begged, cried, bribed, and drove myself to the point of nothingness to try and help her. 

that's what broke me the most. that they didn't care that they were hurting me. that they weren't thinking of me, of how i was affected. but most of all, it's like i wasn't worth it all.
she was lost, she was gone. she wouldn't even stop for her own daughter. her own daughter.
i wasn't good enough for my mom to stop drinking. i wasn't good enough for my dad, who left without saying goodbye. no letter, no last words, just plain nothingness.  i wasn't enough to get them to stop fighting. 

i wasn't enough.

two years later, when i was twelve, i came home to an empty house. no lights, no sound of running water from the shower, or the clink of two beer bottles. i headed upstairs to check on my mom when i found her on her bedroom floor.

dead. lying in a pool of her own vomit. her lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling.
i remember every single detail from that day. how i cried. how i didn't scream when i found her. how quickly i ran to call an ambulance. how guilty i felt when one of the first things i thought were: well, i'm not surprised.

i remember finding out that she had drank too much alcohol at once. she went into a seizure and started to vomit while laying on her back. she choked on her puke. that's how she died.
i inhaled deeply, letting the cold air wash through my lungs as i strolled down memory lane.
i was able to pick myself up from the bottom of the barrel and made a living on my own. i did it without help. without anyone. without anything.

that's how i know that i only need myself. if i can get through all that, by the age of twelve, all alone? 

people come and go. the more people you let into your heart, the more they can just break you and walk out of your life. i don't know how much more of that i can take.

i shook my head, feeling myself get lost inside my own head. i plopped down onto the old, lumpy mattress in the corner of the small shed and closed my eyes, letting myself, and my mind, rest.