"You can't spell 'America' without 'Erica.'" - Erica

The next day, I found myself standing in front of the apartment complex again, this time with a clearer head. The previous evening had been a whirlwind of emotions, and after my tense encounter with Billy, I needed something to ground me. The apartment wasn't much, but it represented a fresh start—an opportunity to leave behind the chaos of my home life and the uncertainty that seemed to cling to my every step.

I had made the decision to move in, and now, it was time to sign the lease.

As I stepped out of the leasing office, the keys to my new apartment jingling in my pocket, I paused to take in the exterior of the building. It was a modest, brick-faced structure, the kind of place you'd find in small-town Hawkins in the 1980s. The two-story building had definitely seen better days—some of the red bricks were chipped, and the white trim around the windows was faded and peeling. A small, overgrown lawn framed the front, with a few sad-looking flower beds that hadn't seen any love in years.

My new place was on the first floor, down a narrow pathway lined with cracked concrete slabs. A rusted metal railing bordered the small stoop that led to my door. The door itself was heavy, dark wood with a simple brass knocker, the paint worn and weathered from years of Indiana's harsh seasons. A small rectangular window at the top let in just enough light to give me a hint of what was inside.

I unlocked the door and stepped into what was now my home. The scent of musty carpets and old wood hit me first, reminding me that this place had been around for a while. The living room was the first thing I saw—a decent-sized space with beige walls that had yellowed slightly with age. A large, single-pane window faced the front, letting in the late afternoon sunlight that cast long shadows across the room. The carpet was a dull, brownish-green, worn thin in places where countless feet had tread over the years.

To my left, the kitchen opened up, its linoleum floors patterned in faded, checkered tiles. The countertops were a speckled laminate, a bit nicked and scratched from years of use. An avocado-green refrigerator hummed in the corner, paired with an equally outdated stove. The wooden cabinets above were slightly crooked, their brass handles tarnished but still holding on.

A narrow hallway led me to the back of the apartment, where the bedroom and bathroom were tucked away. The bedroom was small, just big enough for a full-sized bed and a dresser, with a single window overlooking a tiny, fenced-in backyard. The walls were the same tired beige as the living room, and when I opened the closet door, it creaked like something out of a horror movie. Inside, the closet was barely big enough to hang my clothes.

The bathroom was even smaller, but it would do. A white porcelain sink sat below a medicine cabinet with a mirrored door that had started to tarnish at the edges. The floor tiles were the same faded checkerboard pattern as the kitchen, and the walls were painted a pale yellow that was clearly an attempt to make the space feel bigger. An old-fashioned clawfoot tub took up most of the room, its white enamel chipped in a few places.

It wasn't perfect—not by a long shot. But as I stood there in the middle of the living room, taking it all in, I felt a sense of ownership that I hadn't in a long time. This place was mine. Despite all its flaws, it offered something I desperately needed: a fresh start. A chance to put down roots, free from the chaos that had defined my life for far too long.

I could almost see it—my belongings filling the space, turning this modest little apartment into something that felt like home. It wasn't much, but it was a beginning. And that was enough for now.

* * *

The store was relatively quiet when I arrived, and I quickly settled into my routine. Jesse was behind the counter, organizing some tapes, and he greeted me with a nod as I walked in.

"Hey, Andie. How'd it go with the apartment?"

I leaned against the counter, running a hand through my hair. "I signed the lease. Moving in by the end of the week."

Jesse raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Damn, you don't waste any time, do you?"

"Not when it comes to getting the hell out of my mom's place," I replied, my tone laced with sarcasm. "Besides, I need the space."

He nodded, his expression softening. "If you need help moving, just let me know. I'm pretty good at lugging boxes around."

I managed a small smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jesse."

We fell into a comfortable silence as we both went about our tasks. But my mind wasn't entirely on the job. I kept replaying the conversation with Billy in my head, trying to make sense of his cryptic words and distant behavior. Something was seriously wrong, and I couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out to figure out what it was.

As the afternoon wore on, the store began to fill up with customers. Jesse and I were busy helping people find what they were looking for when I heard the familiar sound of the entrance door chime. I glanced up, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw who had walked in.

Billy.

He looked different—not just in the way he carried himself, but there was something darker in his eyes. I couldn't quite place it, but it sent a chill down my spine. He caught my eye and made his way over, his expression unreadable.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and controlled.

"Hey," I replied, forcing a casual tone. "Didn't expect to see you here."

He shrugged, glancing around the store before his gaze settled back on me. "Just needed to talk."

I nodded, feeling the tension build between us. "Jesse, can you cover for me?"

Jesse looked between us, his jaw tightening slightly as he met Billy's gaze. The tension between them was palpable, a lingering remnant of the fight they'd had before I left for rehab. It hadn't been easy for any of us, but Jesse still hadn't fully forgiven Billy, and I could tell it was taking everything in him not to say something.

"Yeah, no problem," Jesse finally said, his tone clipped. "Take your time."

Billy and I stepped outside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. The air was cooler now, a slight breeze rustling the leaves on the nearby trees.

"What's up?" I asked, crossing my arms as I leaned against the wall.

Billy didn't answer right away. He seemed to be struggling with something, his jaw clenched as he looked down at the ground. Finally, he spoke, his voice tight. "I don't want you to move out."

I blinked, caught off guard by his words. "What? Why?"

"It's just... not safe," he said, his eyes finally meeting mine. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be on your own right now."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, my frustration rising. "Billy, you're not making any sense."

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "There's shit going on, Cass. Things I can't explain right now, but I just... I don't want you to get hurt."

I stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "Hurt by what? Billy, you're scaring me."

He sighed, stepping closer to me, his expression softening slightly. "I'm sorry. I just... I don't want anything to happen to you. I care about you too much."

His words hit me harder than I expected, and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of the Billy I knew—the one who cared about me, who would do anything to protect me. But it was overshadowed by the darkness that seemed to be consuming him.

"I care about you too, Billy," I said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. The moment my fingers brushed his skin, I felt a jolt, like an electric current between us. His eyes flicked down to where I touched him, and for a split second, I saw something there—something raw and vulnerable. But it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

"But I need to do this," I continued, my voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in my chest. "I need to move on, to get away from all the crap at home."

Billy's eyes darkened, and his grip on my arm tightened just slightly, pulling me closer until our faces were only inches apart. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, the tension between us almost suffocating.

"You're not safe if you move out," he said, his voice low and almost pleading. "It's too risky."

I felt my own anger flare up at that, pulling my arm back as I fixed him with a hard stare. "I'm not safe if I stay, Billy. You, of all people, should know that. You've seen what Jim does to me—you've seen what he's capable of."

Billy's jaw clenched, the tension radiating off him in waves. He knew what I was talking about—he'd seen me after one of Jim's drunken rages, seen the bruises that I couldn't hide. He had been the one to drive me to the hospital once, his knuckles white around the steering wheel, fury in his eyes. He knew exactly why I needed to get out.

"I know," he said quietly, his voice strained. "I know what he's done to you. But I'm telling you, Cass, it's not just him you need to worry about."

"Then what, Billy? What the hell is going on?" I demanded, my voice rising. "You keep saying all this cryptic shit, but you won't tell me anything. How am I supposed to protect myself if you won't even tell me what I'm up against?"

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and frustration. "I'm trying to protect you. I just... I can't explain it right now. You have to trust me."

"Trust you?" I echoed, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and desperation. "How can I trust you when you're keeping me in the dark? You came here, just to keep me guessing?"

His hands flexed at his sides, and he stepped even closer, his breath warm against my cheek. The proximity made my heart race, a heady mix of fear and something else I didn't want to acknowledge.

"It's not that simple," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "There's too much at stake."

I felt a shiver run down my spine at his words, but I refused to back down. "Nothing is ever simple with you, Billy. But if you care about me—if you really care—you'll tell me what's going on."

For a moment, I thought he might break, might finally let me in. His eyes softened, and his hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair behind my ear, the touch sending a jolt of heat through me. But then, just as quickly, he pulled back, his expression hardening once more.

"It's not that," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "It's not me, Cass. It's... it's something else. Something I can't control."

"What do you mean?" I pressed, my voice softer now, trying to understand the fear in his eyes.

He shook his head, taking a step back. "There's something... inside me. It's telling me to do things, to bring people to it. And it wants you, Cass. But I'm fighting it. I'm trying to keep it away from you."

The air seemed to still around us, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. The words he spoke didn't make sense, but the terror in his eyes told me that whatever he was talking about was real. And it was dangerous.

"Billy," I whispered, reaching out to him again, but he pulled away.

"I'm trying to protect you," he repeated, his voice strained, as if he was holding back a flood of emotions. "But I don't know how much longer I can."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Because it's too late," he said, his eyes filled with a pain that cut me to the core. "I can't stop it. And I don't want to drag you down with me."

I wanted to argue, to tell him that I wasn't going anywhere, but the look in his eyes silenced me. He was right—whatever was happening to him was out of his control, and I had no idea how to help him.

"I'm not leaving you," I said, my voice firm despite the fear clawing at my chest. "We'll figure this out together."

He looked at me, his eyes softening for just a moment before the darkness returned. "You need to stay away from me, Cass. It's the only way I can keep you safe."

"I'm not going to do that," I shot back, my voice filled with determination. "You're not going through this alone."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions I couldn't quite read. Then, without warning, he stepped closer, his hand cupping my cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if we were both afraid to cross that line. But then, something broke inside us—six months of separation, of longing, of missing each other—and the kiss deepened. His hand moved to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I responded with a desperation I didn't even know I had.

This was the first time we had kissed since I'd left, and it felt like everything I'd been holding back for the past six months was pouring out into that one moment. I had missed him so much—the way he tasted, the way he made me feel like the world could fall away and nothing else would matter as long as we were together.

I could feel the tension in his body, the war he was fighting within himself, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to hold onto this moment, to feel him close to me again, to remind myself that despite everything, we still had this—still had each other.

His lips were urgent against mine, and I felt his fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me even closer. The heat between us was almost unbearable, the kind of heat that made it impossible to think, to care about anything other than the way he was kissing me, the way his body felt pressed against mine.

But just as quickly as it began, it ended. Billy pulled away, his breathing heavy, his eyes filled with regret. He lingered there, his forehead resting against mine, as if he was struggling to let go.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, but before I could say anything, he stepped back, putting distance between us. The loss of his warmth was almost painful, like a door slamming shut in my face.

"Billy—" I started, reaching out to him, but he was already turning away, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world was on them.

"Please, Cass," he said, his voice strained, almost pleading. "Stay away from me. It's the only way I can keep you safe."

And with that, he walked away, leaving me standing there in the fading light, my heart aching with the knowledge that I might have just lost him all over again.

* * *

they kissed omggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg

anyways back to the regularly scheduled heartbreak and distress that is stranger things