002. Guilt
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The world is quiet. Frozen and still. Grief, sadness, and regret has consumed Marissa. Ate her up whole.

Yet, she can still hear the sounds of the news playing on the television set in the living room.

"Hawkins High School student found dead this morning from what the police believe to be a horrific homicide. Updates on the potential suspect and the identity of the victim have yet to be released to the public."

Marissa wants to laugh. It's growing in her throat and she's not sure why. Maybe because it's completely unbelievable. This. This tragedy that's sitting in her hands and she's not sure what to do with it.

Mother has lost it. She has gone mute. Like the guilt has grown over her mouth and all across her skin. But what did Mother need to be guilty for? Marissa wasn't sure exactly. But she knew that's what Mother was. Guilty.

Marissa's brain is an empty black void. Her feet seem to be stuck to the scratchy carpeted floor of the house. The only thing she knows for sure is rage. Pure hot rage. But any bystander would say she didn't look angry at all. Sad maybe, but not seeping with red hot anger.

She has a feeling though. Like this isn't a normal incident. Not some regular murder. The police had showed her father pictures earlier of Sister's distorted figure. Marissa caught the slightest glance and wished she hadn't even looked. Her head was in the porcelain bowl of the toilet afterwards.

That was not a normal murder. Not even someone with the most sick and twisted mind could've done that.

Marissa remembered something then. As she sat on the steps. Hawkins had been quite quick with shutting down any ideas of something terrible going on right under residents noses.

She'd asked Steve about it once. He'd told her to forget about it, that it was stupid conspiracy theories made up by the wackos that did drugs. But when she'd asked he hesitated and she caught it. He'd known something.

She hated even having the thought cross her mind but it did. Call him. Tell him. Ask. Stubbornness has grown over her bones. But she makes her way to the kitchen anyhow.

She dials his house phone number. It's still magnetized to the side of the fridge. Mother forgot to get rid of it.

No one answers. And she knew deep down that no one would.

She sat the phone back on the wall, her hand lingering on it just a little bit too long. As she lets go, it rings.

Through the house, over the TV, over the heartbeat that's pounding in her ears now. Before she knows what's happening the phone is in her hand, up to her ear.

"Hello?" Her voice sounds like it's underwater.

"Hello? Who is this" It's Steve's mother. Her vile voice feels like nails across Marissa's skin.

"It's Marissa, I was wondering if Steve was around?" Her voice is mumbly and stuttering. She wants to crawl inside a deep dark hole and never come out.

"Oh," The woman lingers, Marissa's nails have found themselves digging marks into her hand. "Sorry, he's not around right now, I'll have him give you a call back when he gets home" Her voice has grown short and annoyed.

"Okay..thanks" Marissa's skin feels aflame as she puts the phone back. And she starts to feel like Mother right in that moment. Guilty that Sister is dead and she's worried to call her ex-boyfriend.

Selfish, One would say. But Marissa would deny it. God, she can't even remember the last time she cared only for herself.

The day has grown long. She watches the big hand on the clock as it passes by numbers over and over again. But the little hand seems to be stuck. It isn't. It moves. Inch by inch.

Time is irrelevant now. Hell, it could be the next day and no one would know. Mother and father are at the dining table. Planning Sister's funeral.

Marissa finds it disgusting. How devastating death is. Yet you are forced to sit down and plan a funeral for your own child. Pick out a pretty quilted coffin for them to lay in, while you feel like a failure six feet above.

The phone hasn't rang all day either. Marissa's been watching that too. Part of her is relieved. But, part of her just wants to hear his voice again. So close to her ear.

She stands up from the couch, makes her way to the laminate floor of the kitchen. Mother looks awful, She thinks. Father looks exhausted, She thinks as well, as she stands in the entryway. They don't even acknowledge her presence.

She wants to cry, or scream, or do something to say, "Hey! I'm hurting too, that was my sister for God's sake". But it wouldn't matter. They wouldn't care anyway.

So, she makes her way to the phone. Dials Steve's home phone. And puts the phone to her ear. The impending ring on the other side is enough to make goosebumps rise across her skin. Which they do.

Someone picks up, a connection.

"Hello?" His voice is a thousand times better when it's made up in her head.

"Hey, um, are you around tomorrow?" She hates the way her voice sounds. And the way Mother's vicious eyes have found hers.

"Uh, who is this?" He asks. And she feels the hole in her heart expand. He doesn't recognize her voice?

"It's Marissa, I need to talk to you about something, it's really, really important" She sounds like a little kid, begging for candy from the store. She hates herself in this moment. In every moment.

"Uh, okay, what's so important?" He asks. She should of known this wasn't a good idea. Steve can never just say "Okay" and hang up the phone.

"I can't say on the phone, that's why I need to talk to you..in person" The thought is making her itch.

"Okay, um, come by the Family Video tomorrow, I work from noon to five so..." He trails off. Which is her cue to say "Okay" and hang up. She does.

And her insides grow sour as mother's heinous look follows her all the way up the stairs into Sister's room.

Sister's room is white, with pink frilly details and yellow daisies that sit wilting next to her bed. Marissa subconsciously, runs her hands across pictures and objects and things Sister never shared with her. She thought they shared everything.

A picture hangs loosely on the cork board they're hanging on. It's one of the two of them. A picture from they're first and only vacation to the city. Mother and Father fought the whole time, which resulted in Daughters getting punished with no more vacations.

Marissa was fine with it. She always found a way to be. Fine with it. Chrissy on the other hand was not fine. Her friends were going to the beach every summer, and Mother was so self-absorbed she couldn't even take her two children to the beach at least once in her life.

Chrissy always dreamed about the beach. About what it feels like to sit by the water and watch the waves, right there up close. To watch for sea creatures and make sandcastles and sunbathe till the sun meets the horizon.

She always asked for pictures when her friends went every summer. She'd grown a collection of just photos of the deep blue or sometimes turquoise water of the sea. Marissa found them stacked neatly in a pink hatbox on Chrissy's dresser. Dates on the backs with little notes from her friends.

Marissa smiled. And she can't remember the last time she'd done that.