FOUR MONTAGUE AND CAPULET

(THE ROTTEN PLACE)

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       DARKNESS ENVELOPED ESME, thick and suffocating darkness that made her skin crawl. Goosebumps covered her whole body, and every muscle in her body was taut. Panic resided in her chest, a pressure on her ribcage that made it hard to breathe properly. Esme looked around, frantically trying to figure out where she was — and even though she could hardly see past the tip of her nose, she could see vines and tendrils covering the floor and snowflake-like things drifting through the atmosphere.

       Esme reached upward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but she paused, staring at her hand, at her skin, in horror. In this darkness, Esme stood out like a sore thumb, her skin looked even more white than usual in contrast to her surroundings.

       Everything looked rotten, Esme noticed, like the whole place was dying (or already dead). The smell of decay was in the air, and she felt bile rising in her throat.

       What was going on? Where was she?

       "Hello?" she called into the darkness, hoping that somewhere in this place there was someone who could hear her, who could help her, hoping that she wasn't completely and utterly alone here — wherever here was. "Hello!" she tried again. But there was no answer. "Please." There was just silence. A stifling silence that seemed to swallow every noise. A dreadful feeling settled in her stomach.

       She felt tears pricking in her eyes. What was she supposed to do?! She didn't know where she was, she was alone, and she was scared, so scared. How the hell did she get here—?

       She felt something on her leg. A tug. She looked down and saw a thick vine snaking up her lower leg. A loud gasp escaped her. She tried to shake it off, to free her leg from the grip of the tendril, but it only tightened. A pain shot up her leg. Esme bent down, grabbed the vine, and tried to pull it away, ignoring that it felt slimy. Another vine moved toward her, to her leg. She tried to move away, but a yank on her already trapped leg sent her to the floor and multiple slimy tendrils started to wrap around her body — her legs, her arms, her torso...

       The panic in her chest worsened and Esme started to writhe in the grasp of the vines, but nothing could loosen them. Then, a tendril snaked around her throat — and squeezed.

       Esme gasped for air, but she couldn't breathe. The pressure on her trachea was too much, and she felt her consciousness slip away from her. Her eyelids fluttered shut — she opened her eyes. As if she was struck by lightning, Esme sat up in her bed, breathing heavily. Her hands flew to her neck, feeling nothing but skin. Her breathing slowed, and she closed her eyes, calming herself down. She was safe, she was home, she was not being choked by slimy living vines.

       She was not in that rotten place.

       As soon as her heartbeat slowed to its normal rate again, Esme reached over to her nightstand, turning on the lamp standing on top of it. She blinked a few times, then got used to the brightness. She swung her legs out of the bed so she was sitting on the edge, her sock-clad feet touching the floor, and buried her face in her hands while her elbows were propped up on her knees.

       Her thoughts still revolved around her dream — the pictures of that place, of the vines, of those things flying through the air, were burned into her eyes' retinas. This dream... It wasn't the first time she had had it, that she had seen that dark and scary place that gave her the chills just thinking about it. No. These dreams happened regularly. Ever since their disappearance, since the Midnight Game, her dreams were plagued by this place that reeked of danger and evil and rotten flesh — of death. It wasn't always the exact same dream, though, she wasn't always being choked by the vines. But it was always the same place and the same fear nestling in her bones.

       Sometimes she thought it looked familiar, that place, got that strange sense of déjà vu. But that didn't make sense. A place like that didn't exist, and she couldn't remember ever seeing something remotely similar to this — she thought she'd remember that.

       This was just her mind playing tricks on her, as always. A figment of her imagination.

       She lifted her head out of her hands and looked at the clock on her nightstand. 2:34 a.m. She sighed. She couldn't just stay awake until morning, it was too early for that. That was when she noticed how her pajamas were sticking to her skin, drenched with sweat.

       Her nose wrinkled. "Ew."

       She stood up and stretched her stiff limps before walking over to her closet, grabbing a fresh set of pajamas, then tiptoed out of her room, past India's closed door, and locked herself into the bathroom where she took a quick cold shower, scrubbing off the sweat and washing her hair and all. After she came out of the shower, she felt better, smelling of roses and basking in the sensation of the soft material of her new pajamas against her skin. She brushed out her hair and left the bathroom, but she paused in front of her door.

       She didn't want to be alone.

       She didn't want to dream of that place again, of that dark and rotten place that scared her so much that she couldn't breathe properly. She didn't want to smell the decay, didn't want to feel those vines snaking around her body, around her throat— No. Don't think about that, she told herself before walking over to India's room and quietly entering.

       India was a pretty sleeper, Esme thought as her gaze landed on her sister's sleeping form. She looked like a princess, like Sleeping Beauty, waiting for her fairytale prince to wake her up with true love's kiss. Not even her hair was tangled. She just lay on her side, one hand underneath her head while the other one was holding the blanket in place, a peaceful expression on her face. Esme was the complete opposite — she always lay in the most inelegant position, her limbs spread out in angles that couldn't be healthy for her bones and muscles...

       Esme went over to the bed, shaking India lightly to wake her up. In an instant, her sister was up, her black eyes finding Esme's. She propped herself up on her elbow while her gaze searched Esme's features, concerned. "Nightmare?" she asked, her voice raw and thick with sleep.

       Esme nodded, "Yeah."

       Hearing this, India scooted over in bed, making room for Esme. Esme crawled under the blanket and rested her head on the soft pillow. She looked at India, their faces merely inches apart now.

       "What happened?" India asked quietly.

       "I was in that rotten place again," Esme said. India knew exactly what place she was talking about. All three sisters had those dreams, they had no idea why. Esme's best guess was shared trauma. "The vines wrapped all around my body, and my throat, and—" A lump formed in her throat and stopped her from speaking further.

       "It's OK." India lifted her hand and cupped the side of Esme's face, calming her down, giving her comfort. "You're not there."

       Esme cuddled close to India who immediately wrapped her arms around her, holding her, and instantly, Esme felt safe. She closed her eyes, relaxing her tense muscles.

       A few minutes passed. Their breathing found a calming rhythm, and Esme felt herself slowly drifting off to sleep, and with India's arms around her, she didn't even think about the rotten place. But, before she could let sleep take over, she heard the door creaking open. India moved, looking up, and Esme turned to see what was going on as well. Anita stood in the doorway, her eyes wide.

       Her gaze found Esme's. "I heard you shower." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

       Esme smiled, then stretched out her hand toward Anita. Anita quickly closed the door and then rushed over, taking Esme's hand and lying down beside her, immediately cuddling into her side. Esme held her close while India still had her arms wrapped around Esme, but now one hand of hers was resting on Anita's shoulder.

       And, like that, they fell asleep, their hearts beating as one, as if they belonged together, as if they were one single organism.

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       THERE WAS SOMETHING STRANGE about the way the Deverell sisters clung together — like they couldn't exist if they were separated for too long.

       Opal Deverell walked into the room of her eldest daughter, not expecting to find all three girls sleeping in one bed, their limbs tangled together, their bodies pressed against each other as close as they could get. There was a conflict brewing in Opal — it was a rare thing for sisters to be this close, to love each other so much it could destroy them if they were apart; but there was something about that fact that worried her, because, in her heart, she knew that it wasn't normal, that something had caused this co-dependency, and that something was the month three years ago that none of the girls could remember.

       Opal silenced those thoughts, reminding herself that she should be thanking God and every other possibly existing power of the universe that her daughters were alive and well.

       And she smiled.

       "Girls, wake up!" Opal exclaimed. The sisters stirred. "It's Sunday! And you know we don't sleep in on Sundays!"

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       HONESTLY, ESME THOUGHT the don't-sleep-in-on-Sundays rule was bullshit. Just because they were supposed to fall asleep early so they would be well-rested tomorrow morning for school shouldn't mean that they couldn't sleep in on Sundays. Especially today, Esme could have needed a few extra hours of sleep. After the night she had had...

       Nightmares were draining. Seriously.

       Esme hopped up on the kitchen counter next to the fridge, a mug of coffee in her hand. Anita was in the living room, sitting on the sofa and eating cereal while watching cartoons on TV, and India was upstairs, taking a shower. Her dad was sitting across from her at the counter, poring over the daily crossword puzzle in the Hawkins Post. He was caressing his own cup of black coffee, the second of the day — Esme had inherited the coffee addiction from him.

       Usher groaned, muttering something under his breath that Esme couldn't understand.

       She arched an eyebrow at him. "Trouble with a word?"

       He looked at her. "I'm afraid my Bible studies are a little rusty these days," he joked.

       Esme huffed a laugh. "What's the clue?"

       "City near the Dead Sea destroyed by God for its inhabitants' depravity," he read aloud.

       A smile crept up on her lips. She knew that! Well, she knew the two possible answers. "How many letters?"

       "Eight."

       "Gomorrah, then," Esme said. Realization lit up Usher's face, and he checked if the word actually fit, before he started writing it down. "It's spelled G-O-M-O-R-R-A-H."

       Usher gave her a deadpan look. "I know how to spell it, thank you very much."

       Esme grinned.

       Then yawned.

       God, she wanted to sleep — was that really too much to ask? The bags under her eyes were darker than usual, and she felt her eyelids droop every now and then. She took a big gulp of her coffee, hoping that the caffeine would instill some life into her, but it didn't work yet. She leaned her head against the fridge next to her and closed her eyes, just for a second. As soon as she did, she could feel the tiredness overwhelming her, wanting to send her off to sleep.

       "You seem tired," her dad said.

       "No shit," she countered and sat up straight again, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She couldn't fall asleep on top of the kitchen counter. Her mom wouldn't like that because (a) she wasn't supposed to sleep at all, and (b) she shouldn't be sitting on the counter in the first place. "The don't-sleep-in-on-Sundays rule, remember?"

       Usher chuckled. Esme frowned, not finding the humor in that. "She wants you to be properly tired in the evening so you don't have trouble falling asleep."

       "Well, I'm properly tired now," she muttered, but her dad still heard it; he snorted.

       "She means well, Esme, you know that," he said. Esme didn't reply.

       Speak of the Devil — Opal came into the kitchen.

       Her mom looked at her, then sighed. "How often have I told you not to sit on the counter," she said, exasperated.

       Esme rolled her eyes. "It's not like I'm hurting the counter."

       Could you tell she was grumpy?

       "She's got a point there, O," Usher pitched in, a smirk on his lips as he looked at his wife and her increasingly annoyed expression. Esme covered up her amused grin by taking a sip of her coffee.

       "No. But it's not very lady-like," Opal said.

       "Who said I wanted to be lady-like?" Esme countered, raising an eyebrow.

       Opal looked her up and down, her lips slightly pursed, and a worried look in her eyes. "Well, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed."

       Esme huffed and took a sip of coffee. "You could say that," she mumbled, pictures of the rotten place flashing in her mind. A chill was running down her spine remembering the way the vines had snaked around her body, her throat— She shook herself out of it, immediately pushing away those thoughts.

       For a minute, it was silent. Opal just kept looking at her daughter, her eyes wandering across her face. Esme grew uncomfortable. Feeling her mom's gaze on her, studying her, made her feel like she was back in school, being scrutinized by every student, judged, whispered about, insulted... One might think that she would've gotten used to it over the past three years — and in some ways she had — but the pressure she felt on her chest, the gnawing feeling in her stomach every time she heard the words witch or freak ... it hurt, just as bad as it did three years ago.

       Just as Esme was about to ask her mother to stop looking at her like that, Opal spoke, "I think I know what might cheer you up." Esme furrowed her eyebrows, confused. "How do you feel about a cake brunch? — We're all home today, and we haven't done that in a while."

       Well, that didn't sound bad—

       "Cake brunch?" Anita yelled from the living room, having heard their conversation.

       Esme laughed softly as she looked over to the living room (the living room and the kitchen weren't separated by a solid wall, you had a clear view through a wide passage in the form of an arch) and saw Anita standing on the sofa, excited about the idea of getting cake.

       "I think that's a yes," Usher said while he folded up the newspaper and put it aside.

       "Can you get those rainbow cupcakes?" Anita asked with a wide smile. "They're so good!"

       Cake brunches were a thing — well, more like a tradition — that her dad and his parents had established when he was still young and lived at home. Later, when he had already met Opal, she got invited to these brunches and she loved the idea of eating cake for no particular reason (who wouldn't?). So, they kept the tradition going — even after Usher's parents had died — with their children, and the sisters loved it too, obviously.

       Although Esme wasn't very motivated to leave the house today, she nodded. The bright smile on Anita's lips convinced her. And cake would cheer her up. (Also, if she accompanied her mom to the bakery, she could stop her from buying that coconut banana cake that no one except Opal liked. It was genuinely disgusting.) "All right. I'll just get dressed."

       Opal smiled, happy she agreed, and Anita punched the air in excitement. Usher laughed.

       Esme downed the last bit of her coffee and went upstairs to her room. First, she opened her window and reached out her hand to see how cold it was. It was warmer than yesterday, and the sun was shining down on Hawkins. She closed the window again and then opened her closet; she took out a black pair of jeans and a thin purple sweater and put them on. And, before she left her room, she grabbed the ring India had given her yesterday, sliding it onto her finger.

       Together with Opal, she left the house (Anita once again yelled, "Don't forget the rainbow cupcakes!") and they drove to the bakery in Opal's car. A rosary dangled from the rearview mirror, catching Esme's attention, and, without warning, the words of Pastor Charles — why not try — echoed in her mind once more.

       "Mom?"

       Opal glanced at her for a moment. "Hm?"

       "This might be a weird question, kind of out of the blue, but... Are you still religious?" Esme kept her eyes trained on the rosary and the cross pendant.

       Opal frowned. "Uh, yes, I am. Why are you asking?"

       Esme hesitated. "I— I talked to Pastor Charles yesterday." Opal's eyebrows shot up, surprised, and she turned to her daughter for a second before focusing on the road again. "It started to rain and I went into the chapel..." She tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. "He asked me if I was religious..."

       There was a pause.

       "And?"

       "I guess I am...?" She was religious, yes, but there were so many things she didn't understand, so many things that bothered her — about God, about the church, about the people going to church. "But then I ask myself, if God is real and looking after us, why is my life full of pain?" A lump formed in her throat. "Why are everyone's lives full of pain? Why— Why did we get kidnapped? It— It doesn't make sense."

       Opal sighed. "Sweetheart..." She parked the car in front of the bakery before she continued, "Bad things happen, we can't control that." She turned in her seat to look at Esme whose gaze was fixated on her hands. "But the Lord gives us the strength to get through it. Without that strength, I wouldn't have survived that month you were gone." Esme looked up, her eyes wide. Opal reached for her arm, giving it a light squeeze, before pulling back. Esme wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a little uneasy under her mother's touch (not her mom's fault, just physical contact in general).

       "It's not about believing what's written in the Bible. In fact, I think the Bible is completely fictional," Opal said. Esme raised an eyebrow. "Like a metaphor, y'know? The things God and Christianity stand for. Love and Forgiveness and Equality. And that God has a plan, and that everything—"

       "— happens for a reason," Esme finished, remembering how her mom used to say that all the time when she was younger. Before that night, when they were still going to church every Sunday.

       Opal smiled. "Exactly." Esme sighed. "It should give you comfort. And safety. That's all. Don't worry about anything else."

       Esme nodded. "OK. I can do that — not worry." She could do that. (Right?)

       "Good," Opal said. Then she opened the car door. "Now c'mon! We've got cake to buy."

       Esme grinned and jumped out of the car, and entered the bakery behind her mom. The door jingled, signaling that someone had entered the shop. Immediately, they were greeted with the smell of freshly baked goods, of sugar, caramel, chocolate, and of other sweet things. A warmth spread through her whole body, a feeling of comfort, and she thought, why do I need the church when this is just as good? She smiled, walking over to the showcase full of different kinds of pastries. There were croissants, donuts with all sorts of frosting, various sorts of cakes, and Anita's beloved rainbow cupcakes. Unfortunately, the coconut banana cake was there too... She pulled a disgusted face.

       "Good morning!" A burly man, with dark hair, a mustache, and a friendly smile, came out of the kitchen. Then, he recognized her mother. "Mrs. Deverell! Good to see you. How are you? How's your husband?" Her parents came here so often that the owner knew them by now. But Esme had no idea what his name was, to be honest. (She was hopeless with names.)

       "Good morning, Jacob." Jacob! Right! "And we're fine, thank you..." Esme stopped listening after that. Instead, she focused on the various pastries in the showcase in front of her, thinking about what she wanted most. Which was a lot harder than she thought, because as soon as she had decided on one thing, she caught sight of another that looked just as good, and then she couldn't choose anymore. She huffed.

       The door jingled again, and Esme turned to look who had entered. And as she saw who it was, the small smile that had been plastered onto her face since they had arrived here vanished. Because there, in the entrance, stood none other than Steve Harrington, with his father beside him — a tall man, taller than Steve, his dark hair was slicked back and he had stubble on his chin (not like he forgot to shave, but, like, elegant stubble). Neither of the two looked particularly thrilled to be here. And she couldn't help but wonder why...

       Esme watched as Steve looked around the shop while he ran his fingers through his voluminous brunette hair. He knew he was good-looking, the arrogance he radiated was proof of that. Inevitably, he spotted her, and his gaze darkened, a sneer forming on his face. Esme quickly averted her eyes, an uncomfortable feeling growing in her stomach. Luck really wasn't on her side today. First, the nightmare, and now Steve Harrington?

       Just great!

       (Kill her, please.)

       "Kenneth," she heard her mother say. And, curious, she turned toward her, seeing how she daggered Steve's father with a piercing look (a look all Deverell women could master), a scowl on her face.

       Esme was confused. They knew each other?

       Kenneth Harrington made an irritated noise. "Opal."

       Steve was confused, too. Esme saw the questioning frown on his face when she glanced at him for a second.

       Jacob, the bakery's owner, went back into the kitchen as he noticed the tension between Esme's mother and Steve's father. Esme couldn't blame him.

       "What brings you here? Away from your palace in Loch Nora and among us ordinary mortals," Opal spoke with a condescending tone.

       "What every person brings to a bakery. Pastries," Mr. Harrington countered, just as much hatred in his voice as in Opal's. Esme never thought someone could say the word 'pastries' with so much loathing.

       "Oh! I know!" her mother exclaimed, taking a step toward Steve's dad. "Did you cheat on your wife? Again? Is that it?" Esme's eyes widened and her mouth fell open. Her mother did not just say that! But she did. She did. In front of his son. "You want to make it up to her. And your son is here because you have no idea what your wife — Alice, was it? — likes." Opal sighed theatrically. "Poor Alice."

       She noticed how Steve took a step back from his father and shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. His back was slightly hunched over, like he tried to make himself smaller than he was. Esme frowned. Yeah, she might hate him, but this was brutal. No one deserved this.

       Mr. Harrington scoffed, trying to dismiss Opal's words. "Oh, because your family is so perfect," he sneered. Opal's eyes darkened; the vein on her forehead started pulsating in anger. "At least my son wasn't part of some satanic ritual."

       "What?" Opal asked, incredulous.

       "I mean, c'mon — look at her." Mr. Harrington gestured toward Esme. "She's not human."

       Esme felt like someone stabbed a knife right into her heart. The air in her lungs was knocked out of her and she had to hold onto the counter to hold herself upright. She could hear her mother yelling at Mr. Harrington — she thought she was yelling, she couldn't really tell, it all sounded fuzzy in her head. Everything in her screamed, get out get out get out, but she couldn't move. She could hardly breathe. She's not human. She's not human. Memories of that night flashed in her mind, pictures of the Midnight Man, of the shadow, of the claws—

       "Hey."

       Esme snapped back into reality and she looked to her left where Steve was eyeing her, a— not concerned, but weirded-out look on his face. She averted her gaze. This was embarrassing, humiliating. The voices of Opal and Mr. Harrington got clearer again; her mother was still having a go at him, but Esme didn't want to hear any of it so she didn't listen...

       "Are you, uh, OK?" Steve asked, shaking his head slightly like he couldn't believe he was asking that right now.

       She gave him a deadpan look. "Peachy."

       "I'm just saying, you got a little pale there." A wry smirk appeared on his lips.

       Esme huffed. "Are you joking?"

       "Obviously," he said, looking down at her. "You're always pale."

       "Oh wow, he has eyes," Esme said, turning away from him.

       This was the first conversation she had with Steve Harrington that hadn't been forced by India, in hopes that her little sister and her best friend would get along, maybe even become friends. But those would always end with Esme getting annoyed and Steve calling her a witch. Then she would leave, and it would take India at least two or three months to get them into the same room again. And now they were talking — or rather bickering — without India present, and it went as horrible as ever!

       Except, he hadn't called her a witch yet.

       "— Your son will turn out just like you! A cheater! Or maybe he already is one," Opal said. "Are you proud of him? Of yourself?"

       "Do not talk about my family like that!" Kenneth said, pointing his index finger at her.

       Esme turned around to them, her eyes wide. She had never seen her mom like this, so angry, so ... aggressive. She looked back at Steve whose eyes were trained on the rainbow cupcakes in the showcase. His lips were pressed together and his brows were furrowed. This was really affecting him...

       "I'm not a cheater," Steve suddenly said, his voice quiet.

       Esme frowned. "I didn't think you were."

       Steve looked at her, taken aback. But there was something else in his eyes, too, maybe gratitude? Esme wasn't sure. He probably just didn't expect her to be nice, or something, considering the fact that she hated him. She turned away from him, growing a little nervous...

       ... She had to get out of here.

       "Excuse me?" she called into the kitchen. "Jacob?" Jacob came out of the kitchen, a small smile on his lips. He must've heard what her mother and Steve's father were saying — more like shouting — to each other. She forced a smile. "Could I get five rainbow cupcakes, one piece of the coconut banana cake, and five strawberry tartelettes? Please."

       Jacob nodded and started preparing her order.

       "Oh, and a black coffee to-go."

       "Coming right up."

       "Thanks," she said softly.

       Steve was watching her while she gave Jacob her order. Esme could feel his gaze on her so she didn't look back at him. She felt highly uncomfortable in this situation, and she had no idea how to act. She just knew she had to get out of here and take her mother with her — she'd drag her by the sleeve if she had to — because otherwise, this would end in World War III.

       Jacob handed her her coffee to-go, and the warmth she felt as soon as she wrapped her hands around the cup immediately gave her comfort. She inhaled the scent of the beverage, and she smiled.

       "India mentioned you have a coffee addiction," Steve said.

       "India doesn't know what she's talking about," Esme said.

       Then Jacob gave her a bag with all the pastries she had ordered, she paid, and he wished her a good day. She thanked him. Jacob turned to Steve, asking him what he wanted, and Steve ordered a red velvet cake. (Esme guessed that was his mom's favorite, remembering the first part of Opal and Mr. Harrington's conversation.)

       After one last look at Steve, who was obviously trying to ignore the angry voices, she walked away from him, toward her mother.

       "You've always been an asshole, Kenneth, you know that?" Opal said.

       "So you keep reminding me," Mr. Harrington said.

       "Mom." They turned to her. "We can leave. I got everything." Opal looked back at Mr. Harrington for a moment, and Esme got anxious. Please don't say anything else, she prayed in her thoughts.

       "Yes, let's go."

       Thank the Lord!

       The day didn't get much better, though, because when they got home, India told them that the lab had called Usher and he had to leave right away. So, no cake brunch with the whole family, just the women. Anita was over the moon when she saw they had actually brought rainbow cupcakes. But she didn't have much time to eat because she would meet up with her friends at the Wheelers' house where she and her friends would play Dungeons & Dragons.

       When they cleaned up the dishes, Esme tried to ask Opal what her deal with Mr. Harrington was, because that argument was on the same level as the Montague and Capulet feud from Romeo and Juliet, but her mom dodged every single question so Esme gave up before she got too frustrated. Eventually, Esme settled down on the sofa and watched one of those ridiculous cooking shows.

💀

       SHE MUST'VE FALLEN ASLEEP while she watched TV, because she woke up with a start, disoriented, when the front door was slammed shut. She sat upright, rubbing her eyes. Her father entered the living room, bumping into the doorframe with his shoulder. Esme looked at him, confused, taking in his disheveled appearance. His hair was a mess and his clothes weren't sitting right, which was unusual because an orderly appearance was always important to him.

       "Dad?"

       He whirled around, his gaze landing on her. His eyes were wide, panicked. A bad feeling settled in her stomach.

       "Esme—"

       "What's going on?" she asked, as she stood up from the sofa.

       She watched as her dad closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fixed his shirt and his posture, and then smiled like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. "Nothing, just an exhausting day at work." Esme narrowed her eyes at him, not convinced. "Don't worry about it."

       "Usher?" Opal came into the living room. She was drying her hands with a dish towel so Esme assumed she had been cleaning something. "Everything OK? Why were you called in to work?"

       Usher shrugged his shoulders, trying to come across as nonchalant, but it didn't work — you could see his tensed muscles through his shirt. "There— There was a breakthrough in one of my experiments." Opal raised her eyebrows. Esme did the same. "Yeah, and they want me to represent my research to other scientists so I might have to leave for a business trip tomorrow."

       Esme's eyes widened. "Tomorrow?"

       Usher nodded.

       "Why so soon?" Opal asked.

       Usher swallowed. "It's a ... big breakthrough."

       Esme crossed her arms. "... Right."

       "I have to go pack." With that, he left the room and went up the stairs. Opal followed him after a moment. Esme just looked after them, not sure what had just happened. Her dad was acting weird. Again. Just like on Friday, when she had talked to him about the ... incident ... in the cafeteria and Vinnie and Eddie's situation. There was something he wasn't telling her. Them.

       India came into the living room, a frown on her face. And as she saw Esme standing there with her arms crossed in front of her chest, also frowning, she asked, "What's up with Dad? He's acting like he's being followed or something."

       "No idea," Esme said. "It's weird."

new trope unlocked: romeo and juliet

(ig i have to edit them to love story by taylor swift 👀)

also, just to address this, esme is religious and i'm trying to portray it as accurately as possible and i did ask someone who is religious how he views what is written in the bible and he sees it as a metaphor, as a kind of guide for life, so that's how i'm gonna portray it here.

hope you enjoyed! let me know what you think!

next chapter's gonna be a rollercoaster so be prepared, and we're also getting anita's pov!