MY KINK IS KARMA

THE UNIVERSE WAS SICK, VIALL EVEN FOR THE STUNTS IT HAS PULLED IN INGRID TYCHO'S LIFE. Her actions were not thought out methodically, and she never anticipated that going to a juvenile party her peers threw for an end-of-the-year hurrah would spiral into a domino effect, resulting in her standing in an overstimulated shopping mall. The sweet smells of the treat made of dairy caused her stomach to hurl as an expanding feeling formed within her gut, reminding her of her sister's stale weed they almost got caught with by their parents last fall.

It was taking her back to a room hazed over by a flimsy excuse for the mind-boggling drug that she swore off for that very reason. Well, that and the diminishing insecurities of never being good enough to be truly loved by those around her because of a small event when she was at the ripe age of thirteen, seemingly defining her every move, appeared to be just as responsible.

She was hyper-focused on getting plastered with the cheapest beer possible that was obtained by emphasizing her boobs to the teenage cashier, with more zits on his face than stars in the sky, in the checkout line the day before. With every nauseating sip she took of the fowl liquid, the more the taste of the putrid-smelling alcohol became bearable through the effect it had on her alone.

Lights had a beam visibly around them as the images flowing through her vision raced across her eyes just as fast as her first semester of Junior year did. Within two months, she went from nothing to having the superlative title of her class's favorite at the fall formal and winning a flashy spot in the yearbook just under Mr. and Ms. Hawkins High and the opposite of the Homecoming queen who was crowned a week after. Her boyfriend told her it was probably because she finally grew into the green skirt assigned to her and the cheer squad every year.

She didn't ask to be a cheerleader, but her mother threatened to take away her gymnastics classes because the High School didn't provide a competing team. The hobby was expensive, and despite the encouragement from her coaches, she caved into the idea of replacing her leotards with pompoms. Soon after, her genuine smile was followed by a superficial gleam that made any student weak in the knees as she passed them by in the halls, taking up her entire being.

Her veins burst as the negative thoughts were replaced with a light, airy feeling of hope that blocked out the perception others had of her when she encountered them. She was thankful for conversations when liquid courage was in the mixture of her actions, and the consequences were to be worried about tomorrow. Now was the time for bliss, and I love you's were exchanged through sloppy kisses to her drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend, who was getting special treatment later that night.

Troy Crawford was what one would call a 1980s heartthrob with a stunning resemblance to Rob Lowe's piercing eyes but a touch of Ralph Macchio's youth and charm. Dark curls wildly styled with slick hair gel, making them too suitable not to have her fingers through when showing affection. He was built like the next Olympic athlete, setting the school record for the 1200 meter on their state-winning swim team and a killer pitching arm when playing baseball in the spring semester. How could she not want to win his doting approval?

Bass poured from the speakers with every vibration, sending a pounding sensation through the eardrums, while some commercial rock songs let the lyrics become more repetitive as the climax built. One could not tell where the sea of bodies dancing began and the too-close-for-comfort touching began. The consumption of alcohol makes the already humid room feel like a fiery sauna from the sticky, sweat-layered skin alone. Their minds were high on dopamine from the poison, and the majority of them were sinking deeper into gluttony as their judgment hazed over, too bothered to move away from one another. The only point of focus was the pure adrenaline the music was making them feel at that moment.

As she continued to indulge in diluted teenage behavior of the endless free alcohol that had been provided, Ingrid was too distracted to notice her boyfriend slipping out of the circle until he told her he'd be right back. She didn't pay any mind as she danced alongside her best friend, Tilly, of 12 years.

She was perfection with her pink top that complemented her delicate golden skin so well, and her heart was just as beautiful as her appearance. Her parents moved to Hawkins after they immigrated from India. Her father, a doctor specializing in physical therapy, avidly believed in the American dream. The Edwins made a name for themselves after years of constant criticism from the community around them, as Rohan had been praised by the wealthiest family in Hawkins after the star quarterback back at the time was treated back to health at a record-breaking rate.

As for Tilly, she effortlessly befriended Ingrid after she consoled her on the playground on the third day of kindergarten, and they haven't failed in their relationship since. She would no doubt be a damn good lawyer someday with the ability to win any argument when given the task, and she has gone to state for debate within the last three years. Ingrid always knew she would be the first female president and, if unable to conquer their crumbling government system, one cryptical move at a time, but that would be years from now.

Maybe Ingrid should have stayed with her the rest of the night with a boy not being on her mind as needy as her bodily became the more she felt the touch of unfamiliar skin around her. She knew Tilly despised her boyfriend for not allowing her friend to express an unfiltered version of herself that seemed to gleam every way, like a disco ball in the middle of a somber bar halfway covered by a cloth to block fragments of light scattered throughout the room.

He was a reminder of her mother after her brother died and seemed to live vicariously through her achievements, claiming that he was the reason for her sudden rise on Hawkins's social ladder. Though the thought was never immediately stated out loud by the teenage boy, Tilly could read through his lover boy persona too well. She wouldn't address her best friend's surface-level attitude until the signs started to show themselves.

Tilly had a knack for helping Ingrid grow out of her shell. The trait was always there but did not show until their friendship bloomed into platonic twin flames. It was the spelling bee that everyone in the school had the pleasure of participating in. As funny as it may seem, 'eruption' was 'irritation' in Ingrid's scattered mind, but lucky for her when she chose a spot next to her best friend. She couldn't remember how the laughs sounded when she spelled the wrong word, but the humiliation from such an obvious mistake seemed to her classmates was bound to haunt her mind for the rest of her education.

If Ingrid were to die, Tilly would not be too far behind, going down with her best friend as a captain does to their ship. She was a prodigy genius, but her empathy outweighed the need to impress her peers while her ride-or-die diminished embarrassment. So, how easy was it to misspell a singular-syllable word?

Hawkins High knew the two by name and never failed in having some comment on the two when they walked the halls with confidence and kindness that would often be mistaken for falsified pettiness. Yet, here they were, fitting into a group of their peers, not caring what table they sat at during lunch.

None of their mundane high school experiences mattered because all Ingrid had at the moment to feel joy was living in the moment with Tilly and her boyfriend. Her boyfriend...

"Where's Troy?" Ingrid slurs to Tilly as her reality of bliss emerges from the subtle haze she felt moments before.

She was pulling away from the lively group of people into the side of the room. Her hand found the wallpaper that had an oddly satisfying feeling. She fixed her eyes on the stairwell at the end of the room, and a few people gathered around the railing, who she assumed were some of the guys on the baseball team. The harsh yellow light from the chandelier hanging in the entry was a bright contrast compared to the changing lights in the living room, and with the substances rushing through her system, the change in tone soaked into her vision like an overexposed polaroid.

Their laughter bounced off the walls, echoing through Ingrid's ears while they were slightly muffled with an unknown echo running through her mind, their words spoken slowly.

"Tycho, what's good," Jose asked over the bass, emphasizing how far out of the room her mind had wandered. "Your boy toy is upstairs. You might want to check and see if he's still alive."

"I think he's fine, right? I want to see what's taking so long." Everyone at the end of that banister knew that she was plastered out of her mind, and she didn't try to hide from them.

A girl to her right let out a daunting laugh, "C'mon, Ingrid, you should let loose a little more."

Ingrid assumed that the hand belonged to the girl. When she looked in that direction, it was a red blob, and her face seemed to be on fire with the amount of blush she had put on before the party. Knowing Carol Perkins's ear-scrawling laugh didn't take a sober mind. The red Solo cup in front of her looked tempting. Years of D.A.R.E assembly rules attained in the fifth grade were something she followed like a bible had been wiped from her the past few months.

She knew better, so pushing the drink out of her peripheral seemed bright when she needed to go further into the area of interest that her boyfriend may or may not be. She didn't hear the groan she let out of the poisoned words that left Tommy Hagen's mouth when she refused the concoction.

A hand placed itself on her shoulder, and she lost her footing for a second. She leaned against the wall opposite the railing and came to eye level with Steve Harrington.

Maybe if she were sober, the thought of his soft honey eyes with the slight hint of evergreen she was too familiar with from Hawkins's endless foliage-filled forest would make her gag. She didn't think someone could take her breath away, but Steve Harrington entered her thoughts. Her mind was at a battle with the pure hatred she felt towards his perfect face, which had her fist written all over it.

Maybe it was his puppy dog-like tendency to look at her with sympathy but turn her biggest insecurity into reality. Now she found her way to his senior party dating his teammate, yet he was with his band of amazing friends trying to prevent her from enjoying a fun-filled night. Pathetic, maybe he deserved Nancy to leave him. Ingrid's mother was almost right. Steve Harrington was an all-American (son of a bitch).

He doesn't even remember why she's mad at him after a conversation earlier in the year after the Wheeler girl dumped him. The look in his eyes was one of the few times she felt empathy for the boy; he looked like he had lost his world, hazed with pupils dilated from the beer consumed earlier that evening. This interaction was different and still loaded with a history Hawkins had generously bestowed upon them, making her want nothing more than for him to leave her sight.

"Get the fuck away from me, Harrington," Ingrid slurred as she slipped his hand off her shoulder, brushing off any imaginary traces of him on her blouse.

He seemed to have difficulty understanding Ingrid's current state, but that didn't stop him from opening his mouth: "You shouldn't go up there."

"What are you, my father?" she shook him off, baffling him. She didn't know what got into him. He looked like he had seen something life-altering enough to leave his face pale. Maybe he should dial back on Mary Jane.

Ingrid didn't know her exact strategy when going through the seemingly endless corridor to the upper level of the house. Her process of elimination went by quickly when the first door burst open with a couple giggling as they stumbled out with teen hormones radiating off of them and smeared lipstick all over the guy's face, who was the infamous Billy Hargrove.

He looked past the blonde, pulling him by Ingrid and giving her a devious smirk. She didn't seem particularly phased by him and tried to make a pass on her earlier in the year at the Halloween party Tina threw, but instead of his version of a successful hook, he ended with her turning him away. Being the keg king can only win over so many girls, and he learned the hard way that Ingrid Tycho was not one of them.

Ingrid didn't pay much mind to him as she continued on her voyage to find her boyfriend. Being high did help boost her ignorance when acknowledging Billy. His cheap cologne alone made her want to bend over the banner and barf.

The following two doors were just smooth polished wood with knobs cooling to the touch, with people cursing her out for knocking on, telling her that the room was in further occupation.

The girl was about to give up. Go downstairs to meet her friend in the corner and blaze the rest of the weed she had left over in her bra while waiting for her boyfriend to return to her. The last door down the hall caught her attention when she heard 'Troy.'

It was a common name amongst her peers, and she knew that three classmates with the name went to Hawkins High, and one just happened to be her boyfriend. Goosebumps spread like wildfire throughout her body, sending a chill down her spine. All the doubt, insecurity, and self-centered sorrow bubbled into her conscience.

The door separating her from the noise and herself made the air feel stagnant. Her throat seemed to close up at the thoughts racing through her head. Inching closer, she heard a rugged groan that lit a spark within her. The tips of her ears burned red and could easily be mistaken for sunburn after a day of conditioning for the cheer team.

She could have opened the door in great haste, making a scene, and humiliated herself with wildfire rumors saying she was daft for not seeing her boyfriend's adultery faults. The words flowing through her brain were no short of forgiving and worse than detestable. There was a feeling stopping her from doing so, a source of revenge sparking, but she was clueless about how to do so.

Her hand fell on fire as Ingrid slowly turned the doorknob. Her hopes were let down when the door was not locked and probably closed without a care in the world. The door creaked, but the two on the other side were too indulged in themselves.

Ingrid's dinner she had earlier in the day threatened to come back up at the sight of Julianne Hall giving her boyfriend head with dick out, and eyes rolled back in indulgence. She placed a hand on her stomach, leveling herself back to reality. The anger only grew more when she pulled away from the entrance of such a ghastly scene.

Ingrid wishes they sold bleach in bulk so desperately in close vicinity at the ungodly hour of the night it was. She never closed a door so fast. Her back hit the wood as her hand flew to her mouth, muffling the sobs threatening to escape as she cursed the alcohol for letting go of the restraint she had on her emotions. As soon as the cool metal of the doorknob left her hand, she backed into the wall. She had no inkling of a thought as to what to do.

"Ingrid, I tried to warn you," a voice whispered. She trailed her eyes over to shocked Steve Harrington with a sympathetic stare that she couldn't tell if it was genuine and made her want to sink into the ground.

A sting pierced into her chest as she let the rage set. Her mouth hung open as she knew the boy standing before her didn't understand stopping her boyfriend from sabotaging her relationship, "You knew about this?"

Steve's mouth remained agape, but it didn't take him long to run his mouth, "No."

Ingrid wanted to believe him, but such a daft jock was hard to trust. She gave him a go-to-hell look, walking past him. Their arms brushed from her, intentionally running into him, hoping the gesture would poke at his brain. It was immature of her to think such a thing would affect him, but it was better than staving him with words she knew would leave a lasting impression.

Time stopped.

As soon as her arm brushed his hand, her chest went hot. The burn faded into a comforting feeling, fluttering throughout her whole body as sunlight streamed into her eyes, with birds tweeting as a signal of the morning and the faint breeze flowing through the curtain close to her bed.

Her eyes adjusted to the person next to her sleeping softly, the rhythm of his breath flowing deeply, syncing with the nervous beating in her heart at the unfamiliar feeling, knowing this wasn't Troy. The only feature she had as a clue was his back and the freckles that dotted his skin like the night sky.

Her finger lightly glided over his features as she traced a small pattern connecting the dots into a picture worthy of even Picasso's approval. Her mouth twitched into a smile at the ease she felt, and the feeling was so unfamiliar that she wanted to dive deeper into the growing warmth floating throughout her body. Like what just happened was an afterthought, and the stranger filled that void placed moments ago.

"Indy, five more minutes," the man groaned into the pillow, his voice groggy from waking after a good night's sleep. Her mind couldn't place who it belonged to, just the familiarity of it on the tip of her tongue. He sounded playful in a warm towel fresh out of the dryer kind of way. Only people with her complete trust called her by that name, and her curiosity made her mind spiral.

Testing the waters, her fingers danced along his arm, writing something. Her mind took over, and she had no clue what it meant. The action seemed to be an unspoken understanding to him because he turned to look at her, and her heart had forgotten its second-minded function of controlling the blood flow throughout her body.

Why did Steve Harrington's eyes have to be so God damn recognizable?

"Steve?"

This is the exact moment Ingrid would pinpoint as the last time she smoked untrusted weed and vowed off of the mix of CBD and alcohol. The images rushed back to reality just as quickly as they happened. Ingrid assumed her pupils were blown, and her change in demeanor caused a shift in the atmosphere around her and Steve.

"Yeah, it's me. Now, did you hear me?" Steve asked, his hand hovering on the small of her back. He just turned her toward him to gain her attention.

Ingrid was breathless; the vision had her fantasizing, but her emotions were far from such a mindless thought. She tried her best to make her tone curt and to the point, "No, and don't bother Harrington. You've done enough damage."

"Why do you think I tried to stop you from coming up here?"

The lump in her throat was now an incomprehensible motion of letting his application of helping her seem superficial because of the blinding sight of red filling her vision. Her voice took the reigns as control of her speech was a second thought, "You should have tried harder."

Her fist clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms, probably leaving creases for later, and she didn't stay long enough to see his reaction, not that she cared. With images of her boyfriend's face as he basked in pure ecstasy and the euphoric feeling she got when her mind went to her waking up to a warm smile from Steve fucking Harrington, she was going to implode. She can see the headline now: "Hawkin's beauty queen turns teen hangout into a blood bath after a rare form of spontaneous combustion."

Her family was not unfamiliar with the names in the pristinely pressed columns. The Tycho names were castigated with good misfortune and sorrow-laced smiles.

Her feet weighed down at every step, and the stairs she seemed floating on earlier seemed more challenging to navigate with every descension closer to the ground.

Weren't Reeboks supposed to be light and airy? Why did the smooth rubber soles clomp down the wooden floors like a rock strapped to her foot and inevitably indisposable? Her grip clung to the railing so tight that she could see her knuckles turn from tan to white, as she believed it was her only support.

"Hey bitch, you seem... thirsty," Carol once again offered the drink.

Ingrid let her eyes flicker down to the Smirnoff in Carol's hand. Pure vodka seemed easier than blubbering on to Tilly about her latest discovery. She snatched the bottle from the box, dye red head's hands screwing off the lid and discarding it somewhere. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she walked deeper into the living room to mask the nauseating feeling in her stomach as the clear liquid with a taste so godawful that the underlying effect her body endured when drinking enough of it was worth every fowl glug.

Ingrid didn't care about the consequences, as she indulged and cleared her mind of the fatal view that awaited her upstairs. She's convinced she would've drunk the bottle dry if it weren't for an equally aggravated Steve Harrington, who snatched the bottle out of her hands, "What the Ingrid, are you crazy?"

"Maybe you should mind your own damn business, Harrington," She reached out towards his hand, gripping the glass so carelessly that it would slip out of his grasp any second, "Go and comb your hair some more. Why don't you? Let me figure out my own shit."

She pulls the bottle to her lips again, but Steve stops her. His hand softly grasped her own with caution. Her mind returns to the odd hallucination her thoughts played right after she found Troy. The way his skin burned a yearning in herself, she crumpled into a paper ball and tossed it aside. How could someone so perpetuating make her feel so comfortable? She wanted to dismiss every sense of attraction her body felt toward him, so she ripped her hand away from him. Not caring that liquid spilled from the bottle onto them, Steve backed away and looked down at himself.

"Oh, hey, Ingrid, are you OK?" a confused Tilly walked in with lip gloss smeared along her lips and love bits scattered around her neck. Ingrid had to blink twice to ensure it was her best friend adorning such an out-of-character appearance.

Ingrid's jaw dropped, but she was relieved that such a sight had managed to ease her mind and make her think of something other than the feeling of Steve Harrington's presence affecting her so drastically. She managed to speak with her words slurred: "Tilly, who the hell have you been canoodling with?"

Tilly looked down at her misbehaved appearance, pulling up her top in response to her best friend's misarticulated words and wiping her lips quickly with her sleeve. She moved her head to the side, noticing a head of hair that anyone would remember. He was looking at her just as confused, "Canoodling?"

"What's wrong with her," she motioned to an aloof girl with porcelain skin flushed with a pink tint perfectly painted onto her cheeks and her irises blown out so much so that you couldn't see the beautiful glow halo around them. Her cheeks were. Tattooed with tear streaks and eyes puffy and red from either the weed or tears she shed from the death of her long-term relationship.

Steve would tell her he was, but at the moment, maybe not as quickly as he would have liked. Ingrid was sober enough to know that Steve was a coward and would never openly admit to his association in knowing her boyfriend's soon-to-be ex was a typical backstabbing pretty boy. God, why did the hottest people destroy her life so easily?

Ingrid's mind came to an epiphany that her sober mind would wince at the thought of conjuring up. Her eyes wavered over Steve's face, taking in his features from his soft eyes that melted like chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven when she looked into them. She hated his stupid hair, styled like his ego, prideful and oversized. The freckles adorning his neck like a tattoo from the endless days in the sun by his family's pool were what she imagined true.

Using him as a bittersweet ploy to gain revenge would almost be too easy with the way he's looking at her right now, taking pity and complying with her beckoning call. His attitude changed towards her after Camden died, but that doesn't change how he continued finding a way to get under her skin at any given moment.

Troy was Steve's best friend, but Ingrid knew the brown-eyed boy longer, so using Steve to her accord had to sting them both. The light bulb going off in her head seemed to plague her mind.

If Tilly weren't standing next to him, Ingrid would act upon impulse and give him what he had coming to him. She knew she was staring at him for too long, making her intentions unreadable but known to be up to no good.

"We should get you some water," Tilly said, walking closer to her friend and examining her current state. She was unhinged, staring at her sworn peeve with unfamiliar stares. She pulled Ingrid toward the kitchen, walking past people lingering throughout the house but halted. "Ingrid?"

Her mind was made up. She slipped her way out of her friend's grasp and turned in the direction they had just come from. Her eyes locked with the brown-haired boy she was destined to ruin herself with. With her heart beating so loud in her chest, she felt the pounding pulse in her ears, and her impulsivity led her to him like a moth to a flame.

Maybe the exaggerated pounding was her body absorbing the vibrations from the base pouring from the speaker. She didn't expect it to stop so abruptly and for everyone to cease in confusion at the change in the room.

"Okay fuckers, to end the year with a bang, let's bring back some nostalgia," A voice yelled over the speakers. Ingrid's eyes wondered, landing on someone her brain couldn't recognize. "Spin the bottle bitches."

Whoever it was had enough power to make the mundane game seem appealing to the plastered teenagers because cheers emitted from the room. Ingrid blinked and found herself sitting in a circle smaller than predicted next to Chloe Sinclair.

She was a familiar face to her and Tilly's trio. She was the group's designated driver and told the two of them she would be on the porch swing if they needed her. She hated the party scene but loved to spend time with them. They would never pressure her into a situation she wasn't comfortable in and certainly would never force her to be in the circle of their plastered peers. Tilly told her about Ingrid's worried state because why else would she be in the midst of the party? Ingrid always questioned how the universe blessed her with such a perfect friend.

In sixth grade, Ingrid got smacked in the nose from a volleyball serve, not seeing the white object hurtling towards her in time, ultimately resulting in her meeting a fate that was not kind to her appearance. Chloe was the first to react, and she used the towel stuffed in her gym shorts to place onto Ingrid's nose while the other girls stood in horror at the sight.

Chloe volunteered to take Ingrid to the nurse, not intending for them to have a three-hour conversation on why the Fonz from Happy Days wasn't fooling anyone with his edgy persona. It was understandable that she would have lunch with Tilly and Ingrid the next day, fitting into the group like a glove.

Sitting between Tilly and Chloe, Ingrid watched the first participants strategically, wondering what would be the best time to initiate the impulsivity that's been burning inside her.

Her eyes scanned the circle that had gotten bigger, and now a few faces she deemed unrecognizable, but that didn't stop her. As soon as the question of who's next, she sprang closer for the bottle. Her mind locked in, not hearing the hollers or gasps of shock that followed her. Tilly was too slow to stop her as her fingers brushed against Ingrid's skin.

The room's air remains thicker than the molasses you would find any grandmother or stay-at-home pouring into their second-hand gingerbread batter for the cookies everyone so eagerly awaited to decorate and set out for a familiar jolly soul that evening. Just as the liquid was undeniably a shade of dark brown, Ingrid's eyes weren't too far away from an exact match of color. Narrowing them at her boyfriend, whose doting gaze was nothing but a mirage of infidelity only she and The Hair knew he committed that night.

Fingers grazed over the aquamarine-colored cola glass with a tap being heard as her hand wound the bottle up for the juvenile game of pleasure her peers were drooling over, hoping they would score in some way, shape, or form that night. Volunteering for something so obscene, Ingrid let her mind cloud with the tequila shots she had just taken moments before, sitting on a brown carpet feeling like a groomed dog fur after running through a field of burs.

She could feel the confused look Tilly and Chloe chose to give her at that moment as they had never yearned to play the game before and often participated as spectators to inexperienced teenagers trying to discover a sensual feeling that was all the rage in their consumption of media in the current age they were living in. The cardboard seemed to be an exciting sound against the glass bottle, spinning fast as the push the girl gave it poured out every inch of jealousy and rage she felt at that moment, not caring who the universe chose for her regrettable mistake. Though, her mind hoped it'd be a certain someone.

The time it had seemed to slow down, with the whooping and hollowing fazing out around her when her eyes were hyper-fixed on the object slowing down. Every turn teased to be its last, and the momentum seemed to lose its spark as the glass hovered from one person to the next.

Revenge was fresh on her mind, and when she made the decision, she thought she would feel regret in her conscience. The bottle was teasing her at this point. The whoops coming from people around her distorted as the smell of sex, weed, and cheap liquor filled her nostrils more as her mind wandered further into a spiral of what she had planned for the person on the other side of the fated glass. As it slowly looped, it ultimately came to a stop.

Ingrid let her eyes rise to the person she would inevitably block out for the next few minutes as they seemed to be a perfect form of coping for the next five minutes before she went home and cried herself to sleep, not even caring about her mascara staining her newly purchased pillow cases. Karma works in interesting ways, leaving even the most intellectual beings at a loss for what it has planned for its fatal foes.

Locking eyes with Steve Harrington, who sat perpendicular to the bottle, was a slap in the face by a higher being for coming up with the dumbest on-the-nose idea she could make with her sobriety almost nonexistent. Her rational subconscious threw out the mosaic window over the fireplace, which showed a vertigo spiral behind a white dove holding a pant in its beak.

She slowly groveled over to him with her gaze not faltering from his brown irises blown just as big as hers and his cheeks caked in embarrassment. She knew he was aware her intentions were imperious. But how he stared at her now sparked an unfamiliar feeling within her gut that she didn't entirely derelict.

A few whispers surrounded them, amping their companions in the room, and a couple of shocked gasps when they realized she was committed to playing the inane game. Ingrid's mind did not comprehend their intel, but only the beating of her heart in her eardrum as she was mere inches away from the Harrington boy.

A spark lit within her when she hovered over him, her hand finding its way to his cheek, cupping it softly. She oddly felt a sense of power as she stood on her knees with Steve's legs to her right side. He leaned back with anticipation of her next move. His features were so soft, not what she imagined in someone of his character.

Airing out the moment, he whispered with his breath fanning her lips, "Don't do this, Indy."

The nickname caused her to hesitate for a moment, and only for a moment fast enough for anyone's eyes to blink, and it was gone just as quickly as it came. She let her intrusive thoughts take over and connected her lips feverishly against his. Ingrid had never kissed someone so calculated and didn't expect to melt the cherry cola flavor lingering on his breath that unexpectedly became her favorite savor of revenge. If she wasn't hazed over, she would think she had wanted this for years, but this figment of her imagination was dismissed by impulse.

Gone were the memories of the insufferable nicknames that fell from his lips when he talked to her when she had to mingle with him at family dinners. Instead, she remembers the pure bliss she felt as a child when he acknowledged her when he and Camden played battleship in his parents' parlor. No, that night, he intentionally locked her in the guest bathroom for an hour, having her suffer the wrath of her mother's nagging about how much of an embarrassment she was in front of the Harringtons.

Yet here he was, absolutely putty in her hands, melting into arguably one of the most memorable kisses she had ever experienced. She wanted to savor it for the rest of her life, saddened at the thought that she had used Steve for pure spite. She didn't dare open her eyes as she ran her hands through his brown locks, which lacked their average abscess amount of product and felt soft to the touch. He had never let a girl touch his hair like this, yet here she was, he wrapped around her finger in this small moment in time.

She pulled away from the warmth of his lips, looking down at his awestruck expression. Steve's eyebrows raised in curiosity about what she was to do next. He was piecing her together, and the thought of him finding every tiny detail in his eyes convinced her she was wrong.

"C'mon, you call that a kiss," a guy said in the crowd and came unnoticed by Ingrid.

Steve's eyes broke away from her, and he looked in the direction the voice was coming from. He barely had the chance to move his head because she grabbed his cheeks, turning his head towards her again. She kissed him with a malicious motive, wanting to make a lasting impression on everyone observing from a distance.

It was hot and heavy. Ingrid bit his bottom lip, causing Steve to gasp, and she established her intentions for him at that moment. Every time Steve tried to pull away, knowing he wanted nothing more than to kiss the side of her neck, making her want to wonder what it would feel like for his teeth to lightly graze her skin as he took his time offering pure pleasure, but she brought him right back to her lips.

Ingrid ignored the newfound feeling of pure insufferable addiction that built every time Steve's velvety lips found their way back to her own. His right hand softly gripped her wrist, guiding her hand to his shoulder before moving below her jaw. Her senses were dialed to 11, so when he brushed his thumb over her skin, Ingrid melted into him. Steve's movements were more tentative, letting her take control of every motion; she pushed her lips into his own further.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer into her with a groan falling from his lips as a queue to her. It didn't take long for her to find her way onto his lap, straddling his hips and bringing the two of them closer together with their chest pressed against one another.

Every time either of them pulled away, the other quickly gave another desperate kiss to the other. His hand found its way under the hemline of her shirt, with his fingers brushing against the small amount of skin on her lowered abdomen. She let her mind slip down from the transcendent world it found its way into in the mere seconds she'd been in this position and stopped herself from forcing his hand to go higher. Instead, she guided him to find the small of her back, and some felt even more turned on by the burning feeling traveling from one place of her body to the next.

Going in for another kiss, Steve's tongue swiped her bottom lip, catching her for a whirlwind. She gasped, her hand finding the side of his face with their breaths mixed and lips almost touching as she pulled back, looking into his eyes for the first time.

Steve was willing to go to ungodly lengths for her and make her heart palpitate unevenly, not wanting to know what he thought behind the eyes that bore into her soul. Pulling away, she looked over to him with her lips still swollen with the lingering taste of the shocked boy in front of her who seemed to be enjoying himself mere minutes before. Now, his mouth agape at the girl, still straddling the lap of his denim jeans, which felt too tight for comfort due to the acceleration of events that may cause him to embarrass himself further. His eyes were glazed with alcohol and love-drunk frost. He unknowingly was looking at her for a millisecond, but the expression did not go unnoticed by her.

The tinted cherry lipgloss was a mess all over his mouth, and Ingrid would lie to herself, saying there was no way in hell he looked like the hottest person she'd lay eyes on at that moment. The thought escaped her mind just as quickly as it approached. Her hands were still tangled in his hair, usually adding three inches to his height, and a scent too indulgent to her that she couldn't lay a finger on. The adrenaline was still on fire as she looked to Troy, who was now looming over the two of them with the scene taking the words right out of his mouth.

"What the fuck, Ingrid?"

With a swift motion, Ingrid stood up, looking at her once-dotting boyfriend whom anyone would kill to have. They were rumored to be the couple that got married and hazed over Hawkins high as the standard of young love that would last for eternity. She took that moment to know that he probably would come back to Hawkins after graduating with a degree trapping her in some shitty marriage where she saw their kids more than he did.

She knew the gloss smudge on her lips was an unsaid statement to him that she hoped ignited anger inside of him. His eyes, which once held every ounce of her heart, were replaced with the fiery glow of jealousy and distrust. She could not help but smirk and speak in a tone one would compare to a primary school teacher talking to her favorite troubled child, "It's just a game, Troy; it didn't mean anything."

Humiliation crept under his skin so easily. Troy wouldn't do anything; he was all bark, no bite, and scared to death that his girlfriend's actions had dampened his reputation. Ingrid knew him too well, and making a scene after she had just made out with one of his closest friends was an intrusive thought he would never let win.

She sauntered over to Troy, smug and pristine all at the same time, with her green eyes laced with something unfamiliar. Partygoers had long forgotten about the recent events and now indulged in the following participants. However, Steve's eyes stayed steady on Ingrid, still feeling the dopamine rush to his brain after her lips left his, trailing behind her in pursuit.

Troy towered over her, but it didn't hide the guilt lacing his eyes, knowing Ingrid had information he'd yet to inform her of and chose not to for a while now. She leaned in her hot breath, fanning his ear. She hoped he smelled Steve's expensive cologne, "I hope you rot in hell. Was the head as good as it gets?"

"What did you just say?"

She backed away, looking into his eyes, the spark of young love gone and replaced with the sizzling view of hate. Every word she spoke laced with a venom no man could recover from, "Don't do that. I saw you, Troy. Have fun finding your next pity fuck. We're done."

"Ingrid," his voice trailed off. His eyes read a type of desperation that confirmed he would do it again. He was sorry he got caught, not for what he did, and that hurt more than some apology he grew out of his ass.

She turned around, being met with another predicament, a hot and bothered Harrington she wanted to shrivel in thin air. How does one become invisible to the naked eye by a boy who thinks she will rock his whole world?

Too bad he's an asshole, too, "Fuck off, Harrington."

That party was the last time she saw him. There were glimpses here and there of him in his room sulking in his own ego. Now, here she was, far from a boy she so desperately wanted to forget in vain.

"Ahoy, how may I help you," She turned around, letting her mind drown out the subtle conversation mixed with a tune over the speakers that made her want to forget an accordion existed. Her eyes wished they stayed in the bustling environment outside the store because meeting Steve Harrington's eyes was a sight she deemed far worse.

Ingrid wanted to say something snarky like, Not if you miraculously changed your name to Cliff and no longer have the voice of a 12-year-old that went through puberty a year too early. But she just shrugged off the comment, "Is your boss here? Cliff?"

As though the pure mention of his name spawned him into thin air, an overly tired middle-aged man walked out of the back. A clipboard in hand, clicking the pen profusely, making Ingrid bite her cheek when wanting to make another snarky comment with Steve's presence looming over her attitude, outwardly affecting her environment without intention.

With a stoic look on his face, he looked up to meet Ingrid's eye line, letting out an annoyed huff, "Ingrid Tycho?"

Looking over at Steve, who gave him a satisfied smile before responding to Cliff, Ingrid couldn't help but feel a new opportunity arising: "That's me."

She opened her bag, pulling out a pristine folder with her name printed on the front in handwriting that could be seen as print from a press. Cliff waved the folder away, "I don't need that. Your availability is the same as it was when we talked."

"Yeah," Ingrid nodded, following him to the back, leaving Steve in front. She didn't feel his eyes lingering on her as she disappeared into the break room, "Unless you need me to work different hours. I can do that, too."

"Where did you work before," He gave another aspirating sigh, not even bothering to go that far into the room before stopping in front of a blue locker labeled 'uniforms.'

"Um, at Benny's Burgers before it is shut down," Ingrid bit the side of her cheek, a nervous habit when being brought back to the memory of November 1983. His death was so sudden, and it was just after a month working for him. Her sister called his death a conspiracy, and it made her blood boil. There were two disappearances that month, and Hawkins's school shut for two weeks, leaving a month-long winter break. "Can count change, good with customer service, and whatnot."

He didn't seem to care, shoving a uniform into her hands, grumbling, You're hired, under his breath. She opened the unfortunate sailor get-up, a skirt that was so high-waisted she contemplated giving it to Chloe to tailor, and an ascot that made her grateful she wasn't born in the 50s. Tossing the hat to her, he slammed the locker, checking something off his clipboard, "The hat is company policy. You better wear it 24/7; Mr. Hot stuff outside thinks he can get past me. You get one uniform for now. I don't have shorts that will fit you, so those are your friends for now. I need you here tomorrow morning. Steve will be training you. Any questions?"

Ingrid looked at him, flashing a smile that could easily be read through by the fire behind her eyes, igniting a realization in her that she would have to spend this chapter of her life with a jock that only had his head of hair on the agenda, "Nothing comes to mind."

The blue fabric at her fingertips gave her power the naked eye failed to see. Yeah, sure, the boss is skeptical, and the smell of maraschino cherries made her want to puke. But the thought of downplaying her summer by letting this job take advantage of her well-being was the last thing she would let happen. Why not make her job at Star Court Mall a memorable one?

She walked out of the back room with a pep in her step and a smug expression. Gone was the overwhelming environment of people cackling and lights buzzing to their content. In was the smell of freshly popped kettle corn and oodles of people that she could observe from afar all day, finding entertainment in the most unlikely of circumstances.

She plopped the hat on her head, gaining Steve's attention. He seemed miserable; one could compare him to a child in the waiting room at a dentist's office. His face rested in the palm of his hand, his lips slightly ajar as he zoned in on the bustling seating area of the parlor. His eyes were heavy, threading for him to slip into a slumber he'd been yearning for since he got there that day.

Something was different about him, but Ingrid didn't want to read too much into his presentation. However, he'd grown taller and... built. He was filling out his lanky stature from high school. She kicked herself forever, thinking he was the dreamboat everyone perceived him to be.

Her hand flew to the bell on the counter with a sudden dig. He seemed to be living through the same nightmare. She sent him a wink, "Looks like you'll be seeing more of me. Might want to rest up."

He gives her a dissatisfied look as he lets his move to the fabric in her hands. He glared at her, "I'm afraid there will always be a lack of sleep when you're around. Who was over the other night again? Brian, or maybe Ryan, they are all sounding the same."

"Mind your own fucking business, Harrington," she hated his tone and the tempestuous smile he gave her. Her face was hot, and she felt the back of her neck burn. "Just because you aren't getting any doesn't mean you project your lack of sleep onto me."

"There's going to be a lot of projecting with you working this job, Indy," Steve said smoothly, making her cringe at his persona. She hated the name leaving his mouth.

"Keep looking over that shoulder of yours," Ingrid spat, seeing a cherry on the Ice Cream unclaimed and melting beside him. She picked it up, letting the sweet juice hit her lips, biting the red fruit off its steam, and letting her mouth linger on it. It shut him up pretty quickly with the dopey expression on his face like he forgot his name; the sight was satisfying, to say the least. She popped her mouth, not letting the taste get to her head, a synthetic sweetness that made her stomach falter, but Steve Harrington standing stupid in front of her made up for it. She licked her lips one last time before placing the stem on the counter between them, not letting her eye leave his gaze.

She leaned in closer, whispering into his ear, "Hope you're ready for the summer of your life, Casa Nova."

She turned around, not taking another second to look back at the awestruck boy, too stunned to send some snarking comment back at her, letting his eyes follow her out of the parlor. They are not ready for the summer of '85.

Laney Writes:

Hello wattpad,

its been a minute. i'm back and more chapters of my current fics are in the queue to be published.

This was so fun to write but Ingrid's character is something new to me. I see a lot of my flaws in her and tried to make her rough around the edges at first. She's really just a girl.

This story will be a little more aired out than my other Steve Harrington fic with the intention of the chapter being longer.

please leave your thoughts and vote it's what keeps me going. i also love hearing what you think.

love you lots,

Laney :)