HYPNOTIC, VOL I!

ELEVEN, "IN THIS BED I LAY"

Something isn't right here.

Violet sits at the counter, eyes scanning both of her hands. Shaking beneath her, she flips them over so her palms are up. Little red crescents occupy them, sensitive to the touch. It tells her she'd dug her nails there at some point recently, but she can't recall when it happened. It's like she'd etched her own fear into the palms of her hands, creating her own sense of devastation that she no doubt must've been feeling. Her own reminder of it.

She remembers a lot of last night – of how Billy was acting, of how he was begging for her help, of how that little girl could move things (people) with her own mind. There's also things she doesn't remember, though.

Not like she can remember what they are. She just knows there's something. Little gaps in her head when she thinks about it. That's the whole point, she guesses – to not remember the events. It's like her brain is shutting them out. Once the room went dark...so did her brain. Like it purposely locked the memories away so she couldn't recall them.

A shaky hand lands on the back of her neck, sweat coating her fingertips when she does so.

Something really isn't right here.

Closing her eyes, she envelopes herself in darkness. Like closing a scene, everything fades to black – a curtain falling in front of her eyes. And there's this pretty boy – sleek skin, sweat dripping down his face, shoulder-length curly hair. He's on the ground in front of her, writhing in pain on the cold, hard surface. This pretty boy, looking rotten and writhing and twisting and turning on that same floor.

A chill slides down her spine, making her straighten in her seat. It's like the more her brain tries to remember the events from the night before, the more it tries to fight back – to keep her out of it.

Something seriously isn't –

"– right here?"

Violet freezes, her heart twisting as she opens her eyes. "What?"

Her dad pulls his brows together. "I was just wondering how long the keys have been sitting right here."

"Oh," Violet says. "I'm not sure."

With a tilt of his head, her dad says, "You didn't see the keys sitting here when I asked about them a few minutes ago?"

She doesn't remember her dad asking about the keys at all. She doesn't even remember him saying anything — never once heard his voice.

Violet frowns. "No. 'M sorry."

This makes her dad frown also, his lips curling downward. "Are you alright, hon?"

"I'm alright," Violet says.

She can see his eyes scan her face, worry crowding his features as he does so.

"You've been sick for a few days now," he points out.

She shrugs, head lulling momentarily before she straightens it again. "Guess so."

"You need more Vitamin C," her dad says then, grabbing an orange from the bowl and rolling it across the counter. Violet watches it roll across the surface – has every intention of reaching out and grasping it with her hand, digging into it like it would immediately cure her of her ails.

But it rolls right past her hand, landing on the floor with a soft thud. Milliseconds later, her hand moves towards where she'd intended to grab it, like she's so foggy it makes her body lag seconds behind her brain.

"Well...How about we get you back to bed then?" her dad suggests, watching as Violet frowns at her hand that still sits on the table, unmoving. Then, at the bruised orange on the floor by her feet.

"'M not tired," she mumbles, using her opposite thumb to rub the little cuts along her palm as if the slight discomfort will recenter her – bring her back to the present, help her wade through the water in her brain. And despite the quietness in her head, Violet still can't think straight. Can't form a coherent thought.

So, she lets herself drift like she's floating on the water, poking the little thoughts in her head and popping them like soap bubbles. The heat in her body goes away for a moment, the pressure on her palm coming to a halt, her breath and heart rate slowing down. It kind of feels like her body is just shutting itself off, and she's too far away to really care, instead letting herself remain blissfully unaware as she floats at the surface of the water. Lets everything drown out around her.

She thinks she hears her dad speak through the water then, the sound muffling between her ears. "I didn't say you have to sleep, hon. Just...you need to rest. Tell me you're not going to work today."

Violet shakes her head – it feels heavy. She remembers calling Ronnie when she woke up. (She thinks).

And when she wades a little through the water to finally move her eyes and get a glimpse of her dad, his brows are pulled together in worry. A sharp pain stings in the front of her head – a searing jolt of pressure that nearly knocks her off her seat.

She's not one to get migraines, really. She remembers her mom getting them years ago, but never has Violet gotten them. Not until these past few days, at least.

"I don't need to go to grandma's," he says softly. She thinks this is what he says. "I can call your mom – tell her I'm staying with you –"

"No, no," Violet says. "Go to grandma's with mom. It's tradition."

The Sheridans spend the night before the Fourth of July with Violet's grandma every year (her mom's mom, for clarification, says Violet), grilling out, swimming, and having a campfire. Ever since her grandpa passed away a few years ago, they've not wanted her grandma to be alone, so they spend the night before and the morning of the holiday with her. The next morning, after sleeping in and making a huge pancake breakfast that none of them can finish, they climb into the car and drive back from Indianapolis to their small town of Hawkins to resume their usual festivities (AKA: going to see fireworks together).

Sometimes the Harringtons will join if they're in town (if being the strong word here — they're not usually home). Steve will join either way if he has no plans. These past few years, he's had plans with his old friends Tommy and Carol. He'd invite Violet, but more often than not she'd decline his request and spend time with her family. This was usually because she wasn't a huge fan of the two teenagers, but —

Anyway, Violet's mom had left yesterday in a taxi, needing to do some business in Indianapolis before heading over to her childhood home. Violet and her dad were supposed to meet her there a few hours from now. Violet's not going anymore.

"I don't want to leave you here alone, honey –"

"I'm a big girl," Violet says. "I'll be OK. I'm just gonna sleep. I'll be no fun, anyway."

But Violet can still see the hesitation written all over his face. He chews on his bottom lip in thought, fingers dancing nervously on the counter.

"Dad," she says.

"Fine. Fine, but call me if you need anything, please?"

"I will."

He seems content with this because he gives her a small nod before he's suddenly at her side, gripping her elbow to help her stand from the chair. Leading her to her bedroom down the hall, he helps her slide into bed and covers her up just like he used to ("Nice and tucked in," he says with a little chuckle), and then he sits on the end of it, right next to her covered feet. She involuntarily shuffles them away from him.

"You think Steve can come check on you later?" he asks softly.

Violet shrugs from beneath the covers.

"How about Billy?" he asks instead.

This time, Violet shakes her head. She doesn't want to see Billy.

"Um, OK." Her dad sighs. "I'll give Steve a call later – see if he's home." Violet frowns, and her dad sees this. "I'm not arguing with you, Violet. He's right down the road. It would make me feel better."

"Fine," she says.

"Why don't you want Steve coming over?"

Her dad, as nosy as ever. He always has been.

"I'm sick," Violet points out. Sick isn't a word she'd used to describe this, but it's what her dad will understand at this moment.

"He's seen you sick before, yeah? What's the big deal?" her dad asks.

"Nothing," she mumbles then.

With that, her dad says nothing more, just gives her a kiss on the forehead and heads off to her grandma's for the holiday. (Not before returning back to the room three times total to ask if she's absolutely, positively sure she wants him to go to her grandma's – yes, dad, please go to grandma's).

And then she's left alone with her thoughts – alone to think about Steve...About Billy...About Steve and Billy...If Steve is actually going to come over later because of her dad...About everything.

She thinks if Steve came over he'd just blame her sudden illness on Billy – your boyfriend, Steve would call him with curled lips and a look of disgust – and though that's technically true, Violet doesn't really want to talk about Billy, especially because she doesn't really know what to think after the events of last night. He hasn't even come to see her – come to explain whatever happened the night before. It all feels a little fuzzy still.

She doesn't even know how she got home last night. Did one of the kids bring her back? Did she drive herself? She's almost certain her car was in the driveway this morning; it had to be in order for her dad to drive it to Indianapolis just a little bit ago. Did someone else drive her car? She doesn't know.

Whatever. She's home now. She'll worry about the logistics later.

The stupid sun is shining right in her window but she can't pull herself out of bed in order to close her curtains, so she rolls onto her back, staring at those little glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling – those ones that remind her of Steve and how everything used to be normal. Sometimes, when she looks at them at night, she thinks about how they spun in circles while she was high with Billy. How they danced over her head, and that was all she really had to worry about at that moment.

Steve and Billy – two people in her life who exist at two completely different ends of the spectrum.

Violet sometimes thinks about the moment Steve found out she was dating Billy (fake dating Billy, obviously, but Steve will never find this out. She will take it to her grave before he ever has the chance). It was during the third week of their relationship, when Steve had confronted Billy about him seeing her, and Billy had told Steve that his girlfriend isn't his problem.

She saw Steve later that night when he showed up to her house after she got home from work, knocking softly on her window. She'd let him in as always, and he'd slipped through before taking off his shoes and immediately pacing across her room. For a few minutes, he didn't say anything, and she'd watched him walk back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until she finally said something, pulling her legs onto her bed and crossing them underneath her.

"Steve," she'd called, and she could feel her heart start to pick up its pace a little bit. "What's wrong with you?"

He was silent for another moment, and she could physically see the gears twisting and turning in his head. His eyes spoke volumes, and she could read them right away. They were frantic – so noticeable and yet so subtle at the same time. And he waited another several seconds before she watched his hand uncomfortably rub along his jawline, his brows pulling together.

"Billy?" he'd asked tightly, like he couldn't even say his name out loud. His brown eyes met her own. Bright, confused brown eyes looking right at her, digging into her chest and circling her heart.

Yes. "Yes."

"And you're dating him?" he'd asked next.

No. "Yes," she'd said instead.

He closed his eyes and mumbled something inaudible beneath his breath, dropping his head into his hands. "Shit, Vi. What are you thinking? It's Billy!"

She wasn't thinking – not about Billy. Not about anything except Steve. Just Steve, Steve, Steve – always fucking Steve. She was thinking about him and how much she cares for him and how selfless he is and how warm and inviting his hands are and how they're just the right size to hold her heart in his palm and give it a nice, comforting squeeze. That's what she wanted.

After that night, she swore the whole fake dating thing was actually working – that Steve was jealous and finally realized he maybe had feelings for her. There were all these moments where she'd wanted him to stop her from seeing Billy – where she wanted him to say don't go. Don't go with him. Stay with me.

She would've stayed with him if he asked. She would drop everything in her life if he asked – and maybe that's not the proper mindset to have. But it is what it is. It's how it always has been. She'd wanted all these words from him but got nothing instead and it wasn't fair. Not to Steve. Not to her. To keep going like it is – pulling her own heart out constantly. It can't be worth it.

Right?

She feels like this whole thing is causing more damage than she'd intended it to. She rarely sees Steve, but perhaps that's not Billy's fault at all – perhaps it's Violet's for not pushing to see him more. Perhaps she's the reason they've been drifting apart lately. Things don't just fall apart like this – they have to be broken. She broke them. And sometimes...she wants to go back and rewrite all of it like it was her own little fairytale. A story she can go back and edit, crossing out everything she didn't like and writing something else – something better.

They'd grown so close in middle school because their parents were rarely around (that was around the time her parents' books started reaching the top of the charts – when they had to go on book tours and had interviews and everything) and they only lived down the street from each other, so they'd spend time together just to have someone else around that wasn't a babysitter or a neighbor constantly checking on them.

There was this one night Steve had fallen asleep on her floor, the power completely out due to the summer storm outside, where Violet had curled herself into a tight ball with tears falling down her face so rapidly that it woke Steve up. It's when he learned about her fear of the dark for the first time – how she described it like a heavy blanket wrapping around your body, pulling and pulling and pulling until you can't move a single limb, and your body goes into fight or flight trying to escape. Heart racing, breath collapsing, tears falling...and it hurt Steve to hear it.

He'd never been afraid of the dark; he was never afraid of much back then. He didn't admit to being afraid. He still doesn't to this day.

The next day, they walked to Melvald's and got some of those glow-in-the-dark stars to stick on her ceiling. So when it's dark in here, you can still see something good, Steve had said with this stupid smile on his face. Like a light at the end of the tunnel. After that summer, Violet began to feel like Steve's absence was a cloud that spread over everything, especially when she was alone. She wanted to be with him more than she wanted to be away from him. She didn't – doesn't – have a friend quite like Steve Harrington.

The glowing stars on her ceiling constantly reminded her that she wasn't really alone. He was just down the street — a phone call away. Whenever a star would fall, she'd quickly press it back to the ceiling, begging for it to remain above her – watching over her each and every night.

She'd painted this vast blue sky across her life, and these days it feels like it's been turned into rain – gray clouds quickly spreading across the light. And yet, those little stars manage to peek through each night. A light at the end of the tunnel. It's a bed she'd made herself and laid right in it.

And she doesn't know how long she had been laying in her bed – how long she had been staring at those glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling – when she hears someone knocking on the front door down the hall.

She tries to ignore it the best she can but the knocking persists, so she pulls herself up into a sitting position, and the wave of pain returns immediately, right in the front of her head. Momentarily, her eyes go dark before she can make out her room again, and she's dragging herself over the side of the bed and placing her feet onto the floor.

Resting her hand along the wall of the hallway, she uses it to stabilize herself as she shuffles towards the front door, baby blue socks skidding across the hard floor. Her feet feel like two boulders, dragging slowly across the hardwood with heavy steps.

Another knock sounds.

Then, another.

"I'm coming," she groans, pulling open the door and wincing at the sunlight. In front of it stands a figure, blocking the rays of light from shining too brightly in her eyes. A dark figure standing right in her line of sight, broad shoulders prominent before the sunlight.

It's Ricky. Behind him a white van is parked in her driveway – one she'd recognize anywhere. Eddie sits in the driver's seat, raising his fingers off the wheel as a small greeting. Violet can't bring herself to physically respond to him, and when Ricky waves his hand in her peripheral vision to get her attention, she shifts her eyes back to him. He's holding a joint between two fingers, one so perfect it tells her it came straight from Eddie himself.

"Oh," he says, taking in her appearance. Then, he frowns. "I thought you'd be feeling better by now."

Violet blinks, and her head beats to the rhythm of her heartbeat. "You thought wrong."

"Hm...I wondered why you weren't at work," he says.

"You brought a joint to my job?" Violet asks.

He tucks the joint behind his ear then, holding up his hands defensively. "We figured you needed a break. Are you going to invite us in?"

Sometimes Violet forgets that Ricky and Eddie were actually friends in high school despite being on two completely different ends of the high school hierarchy: Ricky, the popular jock, and Eddie, the drug dealing "freak." Ricky didn't smoke a lot back then, but when he did, he would climb into Eddie's mysterious van and the pair would venture on down to Ricky's uncle's house to smoke for hours after he finished practice. Ricky mostly smoked after the season was over – when he didn't need to be a leader to his team.

Violet thinks Ricky's uncle is Eddie's drug dealer, but she doesn't necessarily care enough to ask. It's not really her business, anyway. Hey, Eddie, is your drug dealer the same guy who Ricky got his namesake from? Eddie would laugh. He would laugh, and he definitely wouldn't respond to her. His lack of response would be her answer, though.

"No," she finally says.

"Why not?"

"I don't feel good?"

She thinks she might pass out any second. Like, truly pass out right in front of him. Her body sways in the doorway, eyes growing heavy as she blinks. She's never been able to feel her eyes so much – does that make sense? Every movement is noticeable – brings an ache to her eyes.

"I can take care of you," he suggests with a grin. "Be your doctor...or whatever. C'mon, I'm bored."

"You'd really risk getting sick just because you're bored?"

"I'm never bored with you," he points out. "I can tell Eddie to go home –"

Violet opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out because suddenly she feels like she can't breathe, and her head feels like it's being squeezed with someone's hand. Pain stabs across her forehead, and the backs of her eyes start to burn. The migraine hits so suddenly that she keels over, eyes closing and a groan escaping her lips.

"Woah, Vi, you OK?" Ricky says, but she can barely hear the words when they leave his mouth. "You need to sit down or something?"

Her head spins, and Ricky immediately grabs her upper arms, guiding her backwards until she feels her legs hit a chair behind her. Sitting down, she brings her palms to her eyes and drops her head between her legs. In and out, in and out, in and out – c'mon, Violet, just breathe – just fucking –

" – Breathe, Vi. What's going on?"

"My head hurts," she manages to let out. Blood rushes between her ears, whooshing in dizzying circles.

"What happened?" she thinks she hears. A new voice.

"Don't know." Ricky.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Eddie.

"I mean I don't know!"

All the yelling has her groaning, hands pressing against her ears, eyes squeezed shut as she curls forward. She tucks her head into her knees, breathing deeply as if it'll magically make her feel better. The pair exchange a few more words before Violet feels hands on her shoulders, giving her a light squeeze. The hands pull her own away from her ears, holding them in her lap gently.

"Vi," Ricky says softly. "What can I do?"

With eyes still squeezed shut, Violet shakes her head. She doesn't know. She has no clue what to do – it's never been this bad before. "Um, I – I don't know. My mom has pills in the bathroom –"

"Pills?" Ricky echoes.

"For migraines," she clarifies. "I'm not supposed to take them, but – god, can you please –?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "Eddie, can you –?"

And there's something unspoken that happens next because Violet doesn't hear them say anything, but she feels another presence on her side when Ricky leaves. Eddie squats beside her, his hand landing gently on her back and rubbing small circles. He says nothing, just provides a comforting warmth in the absence of Ricky.

In the absence of Steve.

Soon after, Ricky returns with a pill and a small glass of water. Opening her eyes just barely, she accepts them both and takes the pill. She breathes deeply, waiting and hoping for the stupid thing to work (if it will work).

"Shit, dude," Ricky says then. "That was scary."

Eddie squints accusingly at him. "Shut up, man."

Ricky looks offended. "What? It was."

Eddie only rolls his eyes.

Ricky blinks. "It was."

"Yeah, whatever," Eddie says lightly. He wraps his arm around Violet, giving her a soft lift. "Up you go." With shaky legs, she finds herself standing with Eddie's help as he leads her back towards her room. "Wait...which way is your –?"

"To the left, dipshit," Ricky says from behind them.

Violet doesn't even have the energy to say anything right now.

She thinks the contrast between Ricky and Eddie is a tad humorous. Their personalities don't always mash up; in fact, they often clash. The pair will bicker like brothers, but the friendship always remains intact. Like it should.

Eddie doesn't have that many friends, but Ricky's always been one.

Eddie turns the corner into the hallway, leading her into her dark bedroom before setting her down on her bed. The way he gently assists her into a comfortable position makes her wonder how often he's had to do this for someone – help them into bed when they don't feel well. It tugs at her heart to think about — how someone as young as Eddie may have had to take care of someone else.

He pulls the covers up around her, but thankfully doesn't tuck them in like her dad had done earlier. "Need anything?" he asks softly.

"No," she whispers. "Thank you."

With that, the pair leave the house as quietly as possibly (really, they do their best...with Ricky's lead feet and all), and all Violet's left with is a stream of light coming into the room from the hallway and the little glowing stars on her ceiling. If she were at work right now, she'd be selling tickets for the last showing of the night, getting ready to count the cash in the drawer and close the ticket window before helping behind the counter and stealing little bites of popcorn here and there. 

If she were at work, maybe she would have gotten the chance to see Steve's pretty brown eyes before their entire world changed like the snap of fingers.

Before she started to really close in on herself.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: long time no see!! I've missed y'all and I've missed stiolet, I'm SORRY. grad school has been kicking my ass lately 😫

🫀I love Eddie and Ricky. They're so cute and literally so sweet to violet ugh

🫀ok everyone repeat after me: 🎤I miss STEVE!!!!🎤

I'm listening:👂👂👂

🫀what did y'all think of this chapter? I know it seems slow and repetitive right now but next chapter is the fourth of july!!!! Things are about to start changing QUICKLY and we're this 🤏 much closer to stiolet actually being...something ;))))

I hope y'all enjoyed!! Fingers crossed finals season goes smoothly for us all! xx