Twenty Two. These mistakes are the better ones, I hope
Steve knows he shouldn't, but he does anyway. It's like a feeling that's built into his system, permanently. This feeling, this care, it rots him alive. (He can't help it. He's built to fail. He's a boy. A teenage boy. He's his father's son. He will fail.) He finds himself, at odd moments of the days, wondering if Lowen's okay. Wondering if she's done something with her life? He wonders a lot if she's dead? If drugs had finally beaten her in that sick game she's constantly playing? If she lives on the side of a road somewhere, a few towns over maybe? That probably isn't the case. Steve knows her, well. She doesn't give up that easily when it comes to herself. Giving up on others is a different story, she's fucking great at that one. Lowen Odette would never let herself live on the side of a dirty street for onlookers to see her disparity. She's probably done horrible and saddening things to keep herself up right. Steve is glad, glad Violet's with him. Lowen would be a horrible mother, and he knows that with everything he's got. And he doesn't have much to begin with. Thanks to her and a bunch of girls after her. (Maybe that's unfair of him to think.)
He loves his fucking kid. Even if she makes him cry late at night when no ones around, when she's finally fallen asleep with blotchy red cheeks and a swore throat from wailing. He doesn't cry over girls, but the Odette's seem to be a different story. He's always crying over the Odette's.
Steve wonders if Nancy would fit in with the Odette women. She's made him cry. Called him bullshit. It was Halloween, maybe she was pretending to be Lowen.
No, Nancy's not an Odette. She never could be. She's too kind. Despite what she told Steve. She was drunk and sad and her best friends dead. Her best friend died in Steve's pool. An Odette would've laughed at the chances. Made him cry. Nancy did not laugh. She did not make him cry, she made him angry. Odette's make him cry. Nancy had been the one crying, very hard. Steve had just stared in disbelief, anger crawling up his veins like spiders spilling from hatched eggs. A million of them in Steve.
Nancy is crying very hard, right now, in someone else's arms. And Steve doesn't even care to think of her.
If he thinks of her, more spiders come. They'll come out of his mouth and eyes. Maybe even his ears.
Steve's cigarette smoked car is still parked at the street of Tina's home, except now two teenagers are hidden inside the vehicle's walls. They're against his tan leather. Tan leather so many other girls have touched. Jen wasn't special, so to speak. She wonders how many girls he's been with in here. She wonders if he's been with ____ and ____ in here.
"So, you'll stay?" Steve's voice is soft, he sounds like a child. Wounded. Scared of ending up alone. (He's never been by himself before.) (Even when his parents weren't around he had somebody. Tommy. Carol. Crystal Mickelson, from freshman year, best head ever, she might've been the first girl he ever loved. He's not really sure. She cheated on him.) Jen could still see the hints of leftover anger in the corners of his darkened gaze. She needed to get it out of the way before she could breathe again. What is wrong with him? Why can't I breathe? Who's dying now? Him or I? Orâsomebody else?
"Steve?"
Her head was pressed to the edge of the passenger seat, her body facing him in the driver's seat. His fingers were messing with the edge of her cheer skirt. He just needed to be touching her in some way. He hummed at her voice, she carried on. Steve realized, she could be talking about murder and he'd still listen with admiration. Everything she said was so beautiful, it should've been off putting to him. "IâI don't know what happened and you probably don't want to talk about it. But what happened? What did Nancy say to you?"
Steve's eyes meet Jen's in an odd silence. She looks nervous. Is he making her nervous? Good or bad? He lets out a breath, she swears she feels it against her lips. She's buzzing. Steve reels. Maybe I could love her? Maybe I could take her? Maybe I could even hate her in this moment for bringing up my biggest mistake? No. I couldn't hate her. Even if I wanted too. My daughter loves her. I could really need her. Fuck. I need herâno. I want her. Bad. I want her bad.
"What did you mean by you're bullshit?" She questioned, softly. Warmly. Caring. She's not mean. I want her bad, bad, bad. So fucking bad.
Steve's bottom lip eases between his teeth. He shrugs and his touch leaves her skirt. He squeezes at his jaw, almost like he's in pain. "Nancy doesn't love me." He let's it slip. Like a wet glass slipping from your hand as thunder claps. Glass shatters at his feet as the world flashes a blink. Jen's lips part and her heart jumps all the way up to her throat. She chokes on it. She almost vomits on it. She still can't breathe. "WhatâWhat do you mean? She's your girlfriend, she loves you, we all know that she loves you, Steveâ" She's rambling.
Shut up.
Steve's eyes pierce into Jen's gaze, it's kind of mean. I don't know if he realized that. She shuts up instantly at the look. "She doesn't love me, Jen. She said I was bullshit. That we were bullshit. That Barb dying was our fault and that I was pretending like everything's fine. Everything is not fine, I.. I was just trying to make her feel fucking better. It's all I ever try to do. Make sure she's good."
Jen doesn't know how to feel. I still can't breathe. Why can't I breathe.
"She's just drunk, Steve.. I'm sure she doesn'tâ" His hand suddenly grabbed hers. Touch rough but soft. She likes it. "I don't want to stay. With her, I mean. Staying with her is, like, me trying to hang onto something old. Like an old life that I can't have anymore. Where there were no kids. All it was, was sports, bad eating habits, popularity, and trying to get a saint to like me. To love me. I.. I thought I still wanted it. Thought I still needed it. But I don't, Jen. I don't need any of it. I like how things are now, with Violet, with you. I like you, Jen. So, spend the night at my house? Please?"
Please? Oh my god.
She was no doubt staring into the eyes of a mistake. He'd regret this sooner or later. (He regrets a lot of things, a lot of the time. He's regretting Nancy. Jen could see it in his eyes. She could be next.) She'd be even more miserable sooner or later. And everyone would be right. Eddie. AlexâJen couldn't help it. She wanted the fucking mistake before her. She couldn't fucking help it. A small smile grew on her lips. They'd figure everything else out later. Mistake or not. She just wanted to make him feel better about tonight.
That's all she did. Make people feel better.
She suddenly leaned over his center console before she could change her mind and pressed the sweetest of kisses to his slightly bitten raw lips. He smiled against her skin, his hands pressing up into her hair. He wanted her bad. And he could have her now, without the stabbing at the back of his neck.
Be faithful.
Fuck that.
(Jesus Christ..)
Steve starts his car.
They end up at Bradley's Big Buy, convenience store, like true broken teenagers that needed a little bliss.
Steve stood in front of the pop section. Cold freezers making his skin numb. His eyes were locked to the side, watching Jen as she stood before the sweet treats. Her long hair was pushed over her shoulders, her hips swayed a little and she had a nail between her teeth. She couldn't pick between Honey Buns or Twinkies. She eventually dabbled at both.
Fuck it, I could die tomorrow.
Her head turned, chin tucked over her shoulder. She smiled at the boy as her eyes met his. With the treats tucked in her arms, to her chest, she walked over to the boy. She looked like she was glowing. Her skin flushed. She looked slightly red. It might've been from the few drinks she had or Steve's attention. Didn't matter to him, she looked beautiful regardless.
She came up to his side, pressing into him a little. She smiled up at him, her chin resting on his shoulder. She was so close he could possibly count every individual eyelash of hers. "Hi," she whispered up to him. Her breath smelled of something hard and tangy to have on your tongue, but there was a hint of sweetness following. He watches the word roll off her tongue and drop down the corners of her mouth and pool down at his shoulder. Sugary and sticky. Fuck.
He let out a warm breath, mint and cigarette laced. It fanned her face. He smiled a little. "Hi, Jen." His hand came up, whole palm, and pushed her hair back messily. Her eyes fluttered closed and her face moved, her forehead now pushing into his arm. The push was barely any pressure. "What soda do you want?" He said softly as his eyes moved around the store. He caught wind of two girls from school. Charlie Wilson and a friend of hers he'd never talk to before. He didn't know her name. But with the way the two girls were staring at him and Jen with wide eyes, he knew they knew who he was. This would circle back in a matter of two days. He'd be the talk of the school again. Not Billy Hargrove. And unlike before, it made his stomach feel funny. Not a good funny. His eyes slammed back to the drinks in the freezer, he swallowed thickly, an arm sliding over Jen's shouldersâa bit protectively. "Sprite, please." She said into his dark jacket. She gently dropped the treats into the basket at Steve's feet. A hand of hers came up and a finger hooked around one of the loops at his waist. He smelled like cinnamon and cigarettes. He grabbed a coke for himself.
He paid.
Jen frowned at him as he threw down a bit too much money for what they had bought. She noticed a small picture of Violet in his wallet as it flipped close. Jen swore she'd paid him back. Steve told her to stop being ridiculous, I got it. Let me be a gentleman. But they both knew deep down Jen couldn't pay him back even if she wanted too. (She'd need a miracle.) She wasn't making much money at the Record Store, less shifts because of school, and Alex had no (drug) money coming in. (She was gone.) Rent on her trailer was tough. She was barely getting groceries for herself. (Hopper brought her food a lot.) And the only reason she wasn't homeless was because Jim Hopper kept talking to Marge Qualley, who managed all the trailers at the start of Forrest Hills. (Jen was closed to fucked. Steve wanted to change that.)
Jen has never been inside of Steve's house before. (House. Not Home.)
Walking up his elevated driveway, her eyes are saucers on the outline of the two story house. There's no other cars in the driveway. All the lights are out. It looks rather terrifyingly beautiful in the dark like this. "This is beautiful, Steve." Jen mumbled, feeling more sober than she had all night. She feels like she has to say this. She's not sure why. She wonders if he can tell.
Steve just looks over at her as he unlocks the door, he does it with an odd ease to him. He watches her eyes dart around and take everything in. He smiles small as he pushes the heavy front door open. Her voice is so smooth in his ears. "C'mon," he whispers. Her eyes snap back to his and she carefully walks into the home.
Crossing the threshold, it's like stepping in a new world. A world she's never experienced before. Having an actual home. A constantly stocked fridge. A pool. Easy working doors. Good air conditioning. It's all so lovely.
He closes and locks the door behind them. "I got a babysitter," he mentions. He's not sure why he tells her this. Violet is his daughter, not Jen's. But he feels obligated to say these things about his kid to her. He doesn't mind. It makes him feel better. Like he's done something right. He flicks on the kitchen lights. Three shiny white lights blare suddenly, Jen squints at the brightness. "You did?" She whispers as they both dump the bags on the kitchen counter. Jen gentle, Steve not so much. He hums, his hair is rather floppy right now. "Yeah. Well, babysitters. Two sisters, junior and a sophomore. They live down the street, their parents are home too." He says that last part to show Jen he wouldn't just leave his daughter with a random set of teenage girls. (It's something Lowen would've done.)
Steve toes off his shoes and starts to unpack things from the brown paper bags. "You like wine?" He suddenly asks. Jen's eyes snap to his moving figure. He looks so perfectly placed here. Like he belongs in a home like this, despite what happens between these walls. She knows the rumors. Everyone does. (They're not so much rumors.) "I don't know. My mom was a wine drinker. Alex was into the harder stuff." She doesn't know why she brings up her sister.
Steve stands at the fridge, his chin now hooked over his own shoulderâhe's looking at her. "Have you heard from her? Alex?" He wonders if they're together, Alex and Lowen. Jen wonders the same thing, always does. At this point she's convinced herself they are. "No, I haven't. I don't even think she knows the trailer's number." Steve simply stares at the girl, he feels a tug at his beating muscle. They're both quite lonely. "I'm sure she's good." He says softly, his words sound kind of meaningless to her. Jen nods slowly anyway, her fingertips tap at the clean counter. "I mean, I suppose. I'm not worried. She use to do this all the time.."
"For this long?" Steve questions.
"Yeah, of course." Jen lies, soft smile on her full lips. She doesn't know why she lies about it. She doesn't want to talk about her dog like sister anymore. She never wants to talk about her dog. She's never wanted a dog.
Steve nods, once, twice. Smiles. "Okay, no wine. Is beer better or worse?" Jen can do beer. Her smile brightens. "Better." He let's out such a soft laugh that it doesn't even sound like a laugh. It's a lovely noise. Jen could get drunk on just that. On Steve.
They eventually take over the couch. It's long. Longer than any couch Jen's ever been on. It's L shaped and soft.
Jen's flipping through channels, Steve's picking at popcorn. There's Honey Bun wrappers all over the coffee table. A few Twinkie ones too. They've had a few too many beers now, all the empty bottles crowd around the coffee tables legs. Almost like decorations of a tired father. "Don't know. Your best bet right now is Miami Vice, again." Steve mumbles, words slurred. Jen groans with a dopey smile, "I swear that's all that ever plays!" (It's pretty late. Well, pretty early. It's not Halloween anymore. November 1st.) Steve cracks a soft laugh and leans towards the girl, he tips the popcorn bowl a little as he goes. His forehead bumps into her bare shoulder, his nose drags against her arm. It's cold and gives her chills. His hair tickles too. His eyes zero in on her cheer skirt. Halloween costumes. He had rid his jacket earlier, when the beers made him a little too flushed. And Jen's shoes were knocked over by the end of the couch, her white socks high on her calves. One is higher than the other. She looks completely comfortable and it makes him warmer. Does she feel good here?
His fingers paw at her skirt, the material is rough in his grasp. He pulls, just a little. Jen's eyes flickered to his, remote control slipping from her hand. It clatters next to the popcorn bowl, threatening to slip off the couch all together. "Are you uncomfortable?" Steve suddenly asked, a little louder than he meant too. Jen simply shrugged, she hadn't really remembered what she'd been wearing till now. She is comfortable. Not clothing wise, but that doesn't really matter to her right now.
Steve hums and suddenly pulls away from her. She almost grabs his wrist, but he's off the couch quicker than she could blink. He sways a little, hand held out for her. "C'mon. Get you better clothes."
She takes his hand. She falls into his chest a little, they both sway. "What's.. wrong with what I'm wearing now?" It is quite uncomfortable.
Steve genuinely ponders the question and looks down at her cheer uniform. Her eyes follow his. He shrugs a little, his eyes flicking back up to hers. "None of its mine."
Her face is already hot. It's hotter now.
She smiles, stupidly. "Oh." Steve snorts, squeezes her hand gently. "Oh," he mocks affectionately.
As they climb the stairs, Steve listens to Jen count each one quietly. He's not even sure if she knows she's doing it. At the last few steps he catches himself mouthing the numbers slipping past her salted popcorn lips too.
He walks two steps ahead of her. She watches the photos on the walls, he doesn't. He never looks at the photos. The photos are curated. They aren't true happiness from a loving family. Its all done by a paying mother who wants to look perfect. In front of Steve's door, across the hall at the end of the photo lines is a smaller frame with just Violet in it. Steve opens his door and disappears inside, Jen stays put and stares at the photo a moment longer. Violet looks younger and her baby smile is gummy and her cheeks are thick and red. She's looking past the camera. "Does your mother care about her?"
Jen asks the question quietly as she walks to his doorframe, leaning against the wood a little unsteady. She spots Steve at his dresser, a shirt of his and boxers in his hands. For her. His eyes are glossy looking as he looks at her, but he doesn't look like he's going to cry. He doesn't even look upset, he just looks a little relaxed. Tipsy. He smiles small. "Yeah. I think she does." Steve knows she's talking about Violet. He'd seen her stare at the photo. He did too when he realized it was mysteriously put up one day. He wasn't there when the photos were taken. He might've been at school. Or swim. Or basketball. Or away with Nancy. He has no clue. He doesn't dare ask his mother either.
Though, thinking about it now, for having Violet in his life for as long as it's beenâ he wishes he'd been there for those photos whenever they were taken.
He won't pick a fight with Candy about it. The conversation will end up with him hurt and something thrown back in his faceâ because he fucks up a lot without meaning too. So, his case rests quietly.
Jen hums, smiles small. Her words a little slurred. "It's good that there's more than one person in her corner, you know?" Steve's never thought about it like that. He usually just assumes his mother does things to belittle him and show that she's better and he's always unprepared. That's how it's always been, ever since he turned seven and she decided to stop loving him as if he was no longer her little boy.
Steve's not sure why he asks, but he does. He takes a few steps closer to her. "Are you?" Their eyes meet. "In her corner, I mean."
Jen's bottom lip eases between her teeth, her hair frames her flushed face a little as it falls past her shoulders. She half shrugs and let's out a calmed smile. "Yeah. I guess I am."
Steve hums and gently pushes soft strands of hair past her face with the tip of his pointer finger. "Here.. these are for you. The bathroom is just down the hall." Jen gently takes the clothes. "I'll be right here," he whispers. He's not sure why he says it, but he feels the need to. He wants to say it, to her. Jen smiles down at the clothes, her fingers gently thumbing at the softened fabric. The clothes smell like Steve. Cedar wood. Something along the faded lines of cinnamon. And cigarettes. It's not too bad of a combination. It's rather nice, Jen thinks.
She's almost out his door when she pauses.
She looks over her shoulder, angles her body a smidge towards him. "Steve?" He looks up from his clothes in her hands. He hums, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans almost shyly. His eyes are glazed over. They look like she could take a swim in them. "Can you do me a favor?" She asks so softly, he almost doesn't register that she's asking him something.
He nods. Too quick. "Anything." The word is said longer than it should be; slurred.
Jen let's out a cheesy smile with a half drunken shrug. "Can you unzip the back of my skirt for me?"
He did say anything.
She doesn't have to ask him twice. Not even because she's asking him to help her out of her clothes. He just wants to be near her. Help her in whatever way she needs. He wants to be useful. He wants to be enough.
"Yeah, of course."
She smiles in thanks. They both take steps towards each other and meet in the middle. Steve let's his fingers gently ween under the band of the skirt. Her back is warm against his fingers. He fishes for the thin zipper and gently pulls, not wanting to catch her skin. He does this with so much care. Not sure if he's ever done anything in his life with this much care. The zipper drags down far and his jaw tenses at the soft poking of lace undergarments. His stomach tumbles. It's a really pretty color. A soft pink. He drags his eyes away, gently clearing his throat. "There.." he whispers as Jen turns back towards him.
She's smiling a pretty smile. "Thank you, Steve.." She says gently, lowly. His eyes meet hers again and he nods. He smiles something small and nervous.
Jen thinks for a moment as she stares at him. It feels like they're standing in fire. She talks before she can't. She can blame it on something else later if this backfires. "Steve?"
His brows pinch, "Yeah?"
Jen let's out a little watery laugh. "Do you wanna take off the rest of the skirt?"
He can't breathe.
He can't breathe because he's pushing himself into her space and taking her face in his hands and pushing his lips onto hers and melting into her body and slipping into her bones. He kisses her with everything he feels he hasn't been able to do before. Jen doesn't seem thrown off. She pushing up into him, her hands dropping the soft clothes as her hands catch his wrists. Their breaths taste the same but different all at once. She's so sweet. He's kind of tangy.
He leans past her, lips still melted together. The tips of his fingers push his door closed. When the door clicks Steve seems to kick into overdrive. He wraps an arm around the back of Jen's neck and hair. He pulls her impossibly closer and her pushed up hair tickles his cheeks. His other hand slides down her side and drags goosebumps along her covered skin, his hand stops at her waist. He squeezes the skin that's there, Jen makes a warm noise into his lips. She pulls away because she can't breathe. Her forehead leans against his own and his smile is quite dopey, kind of like he's just done the best thing in his life. "I can take off the skirt," Steve whispers against her lips.
That's the first night she spends in his bed.