***

Sophie stepped back, her eyes wide. She stared at her now vomit-stained shirt, her mouth agape. He turned away from her, bending over. Harley held a hand over his mouth, stopping himself from throwing up again, but that didn't matter -- the damage was done.

Her bottom lip quivered. "Oh, my God..."

"I'm sorry..." he whimpered before gagging again. 

Water lined the rim of her eyes, her face flushing. Her emotions were in flux, ranging from embarrassment to sheer panic. "Oh, my God!"

It was worse than having a drink spilt over her, and, honestly, she would have preferred that. This was a mix of booze, beer, unprocessed food, and stomach acids -- they all leave odours.

Without another word said, Sophie fled the closet. She kept her arms raised, hyperventilating as she sped down the hallway. When she reached the bathroom door, she attempted to pull it open, only to find it locked. Close to tears, she pounded on the door.

Whoever was inside answered, "Occupied!" to her dismay.

"Please, it's an emergency!" she cried.

The occupant spoke again, their voice slightly muffled behind the door. "There's a bathroom upstairs!"

"Shit!" Sophie hissed through her teeth. She could feel the puke soaking through her shirt, disgustingly warm against her skin.

She continued down the hallway, eyeing all the drunk teens at the other end. They were too busy dancing to Twist of Fate to notice her distress, though, giving her a way out. Sophie reached the end, turning her head to the right and spotting the staircase. She sucked in a deep breath, holding it in her throat.

Then, she made a run for it, sprinting around the crowd whilst making sure no one collided with her. She shoved a few people with her elbow, but soon enough, she was out of sight and out of mind, racing up the stairs.

Once at the top, her eyes scanned the floor before locking on an open door Sophie let out a sigh of relief, heading into the upstairs bathroom and making sure to lock the door behind her. The music grew muffled, and she almost felt at peace.

"Okay, okay..." She twisted the glass faucet, letting hot water pool in the sink. 

A soft, white towel was snatched from a low shelf and Sophie patted it against her top. The patting soon turned into scrubbing, practically tearing at the fabric to get this stain out. She left the tap running, frantically splashing water onto her top, and yet the stain remained. Sophie tried rubbing soap over it, but nothing was working. 

Her breathing grew shallow once more, her panic swiftly returning to her. "Shit, shit, shit!"

The bar of soap slipped from her fingers, crashing into the cream ceramic sink. Sophie pressed her arms against it, bending over. She spat out a clump of saliva, desiring to throw up her insides. But she hadn't eaten enough to expel what was in her stomach -- it was never good enough. 

Sophie Hargrove was never good enough.

She looked in the mirror, releasing a painful exhale -- she looked like a fucking wreck. Why did she even bother trying to be something she's not?

When she moved here, Sophie told herself she'd stop hiding. She said she'd make something new of herself and do things better. But she couldn't run from the fragile girl staring back at her in the mirror.

Her hand grasped the faucet, twisting it until the water stopped flowing. She grasped the bottom edge of her shirt, carefully pulling it over her head. Once the stench reached her nostrils, Sophie gagged, immediately chucking the top into a woven bin.

With few options left, she peered into a large laundry basket in the corner of the room. She reached inside, sorting through the worn and unwashed clothes inside; one glimpse of a lace thong made her grimace. Eventually, Sophie found a fluffy pink jumper that was roughly her size.

She threw it over her head, pulling it over her nude bra. The jumper's length stopped just below her belly button, leaving a slight gap, but that didn't concern her. It was good enough -- she'll return it to Tina tomorrow.

After giving her face a quick wash with soap, Sophie exited the bathroom. This party had run its course, and it was time to call it a night. And though it was still in full swing, Sophie intended to sneak out as quietly as possible.

But as she neared the front door, a voice called out to her. "Hey, where have you been?" Sophie lowered her shoulders, letting out a faint huff. She turned around, meeting Billy's confused face. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

She crossed her arms, shrugging. "I've just been around, alright?"

Slowly, he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "What are you wearing?"

"Doesn't matter." Sophie stepped towards him. "I'm gonna call it a night, okay?"

"Why?" His voice sounded slurred and his blinks were short yet rapid.

He clearly didn't want to go home, his body shifting back and forth with a drink in his hand. Sophie didn't want to wait until he sobered up. "Because you're clearly too drunk to drive me home."

Billy giggled, drawing his cup towards his lips. "I'm not that drunk."

"Yeah, well, if you keep drinking then-"

Just then, she felt a hand on her ass and a guy whispered into her ear. "Hey, girl." Sophie flinched, spinning around. The stranger smirked at her. "Don't waste your breath on him. I'm sober enough to have good sex with you."

In an instant, Billy's dazed exterior turned cold. He glared at him. "The fuck did you say to my sister?"

The guy's smile slipped. "Oh." Sophie stood still, frozen to the spot with growing unsurety. In the corner of her eye, she saw her brother release his drink, the cup crashing to the floor. The guy raised his hands in defence. "Sorry, man. I didn't know-"

Billy charged, lunging towards the scared teenager. He pushed him to the ground before pinning the guy down with his knee. With his fist raised, Billy swung, colliding with his face.

"Billy!" Sophie yelled. "Billy, stop!"

The shouts and ricochets of Billy's knuckles pummeling the guy echoed through the room, drawing the party guests' attention. They edged closer, crowding around the scene as Billy continued to throw punches. Sophie thought someone would intervene, but the drunk grins on the guests' faces said otherwise. Her cries were soon drowned out by loud chanting, encouraging him.

Billy didn't stop once as the guy attempted to fight back, rolling on his back. Her brother's knee kept him pressed against the ground, beating the poor fool to a bloody pulp.

Despite her being the subject of the fight, Sophie faded into the background, allowing the crowd of people to move closer. The image of her abusive brother disappeared as she made her escape, fleeing out of the backyard.

Her arms curled around her chest, picking at the loose fluff on the jumper and made her way around the house. Sophie's throat tightened, oxygen eluding her as she let out short gasps. She stopped in the front yard, facing away from the patio.

The streets were empty, the only noise coming from inside the house behind her. She could still hear the fight underneath the pounding music that threatened to shatter her. Sophie clasped her hands over the ears, though it would do nothing to cut out the racket.

She was tired of trying to see the world through rose-coloured glasses. It made her want to scream -- and so, she did.

It was loud and unprecedented, crying into the dark of the night. Sophie needed someone to know her pain -- to understand. If someone could show her Elysium, she'd take their hand without a moment's thought.

Once she lost her breath, she slumped over. The air in her throat was raspy, choking her lungs.

"Jesus," she flinched at the sound of a male voice, spinning back to see someone squatting on the front patio, almost hidden in the shadows, "did you have to scream?"

He wore all-black clothing, a perfect disguise for those who didn't wish to be seen.

"Oh," Sophie gulped, clearing her throat, "sorry." 

Her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, noticing the young man rubbing the ridge of his nose. He groaned, placing a can of beer beside him with his other hand. 

She tilted her head, taking a step towards him. "Are you okay?"

The teen shrugged, releasing a half-hearted sigh. "I don't know."

The porch light outlined his face, illuminating his dark-hazel eyes. Sophie recognised that hair; she had seen it earlier. And though he had ignored her the entire time, she did not.

"It's Steve, right?" He raised his head, squinting at her. "We met in the hallway yesterday." And crossed paths several times during the party, but she wasn't sure if he really noticed her there.

Steve cocked his head, rubbing a hand through his thick, well-gelled hair. "You're Hargrove's sister, aren't you?"

The fighting inside had ceased, though the jeers and howls didn't appease the feeling of dread in her stomach. 

Sophie swallowed, turning back to Steve. "Guilty." He continued to stare, his brows furrowing as if the cogs in his brain were whirring away. "You don't remember my name, do you?"

His top lip curled upwards. "Does it start with an "A"?"

She chuckled, pursing her lips. "I'm Sophie."

He leaned at a weird angle. "Steve."

Oh, God. He was so drunk.

"Yeah, I know." When she saw him earlier, it seemed he wanted to leave this party as soon as possible. Yet, here he was, floundering outside Tina's house. "Have you been out here the entire time? I thought you went home?"

"I was planning on it." With his other hand, he raised a medium-sized glass bottle. "But there was free beer," he tapped the exterior with his finger, "so why not?"

As he drew the bottle close to his lips, Sophie jumped in. "Okay, maybe that's enough for now."

She sat beside him, taking the beer from his hands; he didn't fight back which made things easier.

Sophie placed the glass bottle on the ground, out of his way. When she looked back, she noticed Steve eyeing her clothes. "What are you supposed to be?"

She bowed her head, acknowledging her non-costumed outfit. Sophie looked back at Steve and shrugged. "I don't know. It's up for interpretation."

"Malibu Barbie?" his eyes glistened in the dim light. "That's in California, right?"

"I'm not from Malibu." She was pretty sure the actual Malibu Barbie didn't wear a pink sweater, and definitely not in October. "And I'm no Barbie doll, that's for sure."

"You're blonde." With that and her ocean-blue eyes, she could definitely pass for it.

"I guess." Getting a better look at him, she began to recognise Steve's costume. "You look like Tom Cruise."

Steve gestured towards his legs. "I'm Joel."

"I thought you were Steve?" she quipped with a slight smirk.

He snickered. "Very clever."

She would have thought he'd go for the more iconic costume, dressing in his shirt and briefs. Then again, it was October, and Sophie was sure he didn't want to go out looking like that on a cold night.

"Did you do it just for Nancy?" she wondered.

"No, I like the movie." Sophie raised her eyebrows as he paused. "But yeah, she likes Tom Cruise."

"Who doesn't?" Since the release of Risky Business, thousands of deranged teenage girls found themselves falling for the young heartthrob.

Nancy's words echoed through Steve's mind once more, and those feelings came rushing back. He needed another drink, chasing that cool numbness it brought. "I bet she'd choose Tom Cruise over me any day."

Her forehead wrinkled. "You don't know that."

"I think any girl would choose him over me." He straightened up, nearly falling onto his back. "You know, if you had the chance to sleep with Tom Cruise, would you?"

"No, because I'm not desperate." She folded her arms, leaning forwards. "You know, Tom Cruise could be a completely different guy in real life. He could be a massive asshole."

"And you know assholes?"

"My brother's one."

That should have been obvious, even to him. The moment he faced off with Billy for the first time, he could tell he was a massive jerk. "Right, yeah."

Sophie looked out at the silent street, eyeing the variety of vehicles on the other side of the road. "Did you bring a car?"

With a sluggish nod, he answered. "Yeah, of course."

She stood back on her feet with her hands behind her back. "Okay, then, why don't I drive you home?"

His mouth fell open. "What?"

"I mean, you're clearly hanging on the edge of sobriety, so you're in no way fit to drive when there are kids about." Or at least she hoped there weren't any kids about since it was quite late anyway.

He might have been a little drunk, but he could still argue. "No -- I'm not just gonna give you the keys to my car."

"Don't need to." She pulled her arm out, opening her hand. Hanging off her index finger was the key to Steve's car, dangling in the air and weighing little to nothing.

His eyes widened. "How did you-?"

"I used to borrow Billy's car back in San Diego -- didn't want to ask." Steve remained, drawing his brows together. She rolled her eyes. "Listen, you can either wallow on the patio all night and let me steal your car, or I can drive you home. What do you say?"

***

On a regular day, he'd never let anyone touch his car. His father once declared that if he got even one scratch on its paintwork, he'd cut him off financially. He'd always been extra careful with it, making sure to never cut corners or drive too close to walls.

But since he was in no shape to be driving, he allowed Sophie to take him home, giving her directions along the way. "Okay, which way now?" The boy said nothing. "Steve?" Sophie glanced to the right, noticing his eyes were closed. His body slumped in the passenger seat, drifting off to sleep. "Steve!"

He sprang up, his eyes snapping open. "I'm up!" Steve wiped the drool off his chin, readjusting to the moving car. "Jesus, what time is it?"

She bit her lip, slowing down. "Um, I'm pretty sure it's one in the morning."

Sophie could see Steve's inward gaze in the front window's reflection. "How can you tell?"

"I can't." She admitted. "I'm just guessing at this rate because it feels like we've been driving around for hours."

Steve straightened up, looking out at the street. "Oh, we're close, though."

Her fingers tapped the edge of the steering wheel. "You said that ten minutes ago."

"No, this is definitely Loch Nora. You can see the Reagan-Bush signs." He pointed at someone's front yard, where the owner had indeed planted a sign.

"Oh, lovely." She wasn't fond of his conservative views, but she was still too young to vote him out of office. They were surrounded by large, brick houses. Halloween decorations hung off window sills and doors, welcoming every trick-or-treater who came for candy. "So you're a rich boy then?"

His voice softened. "Is that a bad thing?"

Sophie leaned forward, peering at the road. "Well, in my opinion, people should live in an equal society."

He bobbed his head, adding a light scoff. "So, you're a communist?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm not."

Steve raised an open palm. "You literally just defined communism."

"Look, all I'm saying is that if the wealthy actually shared their money, then maybe we'd be able to feed more families." Sophie declared, raising an excellent point. "And not just in America -- we could feed the entire world."

The boy mocked her again. "Says the valley girl."

"I'm not a valley girl," she stated, "I'm barely rich as it is. We live in a bungalow."

"Well, you're gonna hate me then." He pointed outside, announcing. "That's my place. Right over there."

On their left stood a giant house, crafted from grey wooden slacks. She counted three garage doors as she swerved onto his spacious driveway. "That's your place?"

"Yep." He replied.

The car stopped a few feet away from the first garage door, ogling his family home. "Wow."

Steve undid his seatbelt, querying. "Still hate rich people?"

"Shut up." They exited the vehicle, and though Steve's walk staggered a little, he still managed to locate his front door.

Sophie, on the other hand, was still entranced by the house. The fitted window panes were taller than her, and she had a clear view of the interior. The number of chimneys intrigued her, unsure why there was a need for three. 

But it was beautiful -- she'd give her soul to live in a place like this.

She glimpsed back at Steve, lowering her brows. The teenager patted his clothes and searched through his pockets, looking for something. "Do you have a key on you?"

"It's, er..." he scratched the side of his head, scuffing his shoes against the doormat. He halted, looking down at his feet. Steve stepped back, crouching to the ground. "... there's one under the mat."

This boy lived in a prosperous area of Hawkins, and he decided to leave his key under a doormat. "What, you're not even scared someone's gonna break in?"

"I know you're from California, but robberies don't really happen here." That can't have been true. Everyone steals, especially from the rich. "We only get, like, shoplifting and vandalism."

She pulled the sleeves of her jumper below her fingers, feeling the cold. "You're not even worried something bad might happen?"

Steve picked up the key. "I've fought a monster before, so I can defend myself."

His statement puzzled her. "A monster?"

He slipped the key into the lock, twisting it a couple of times. "Yeah, it came out of the walls, and its face opened up like some weird flower." Steve grasped the doorknob, pausing. "Wait, I shouldn't have told you that."

"Okay?" Sophie was certain there were no drugs at the party -- maybe alcohol gives him a bad reaction and he starts seeing things, or his beer was spiked. As he opened the front door, Steve's legs gave way, but she swooped in just in time. "Woah!"

Sophie scooped her arms under his, picking him up, though he insisted. "I'm good!"

"Why don't I help you inside?" After all, he was falling asleep in the car, so she didn't want him falling asleep on his marble floor with an open door, letting anyone inside.

But he continued to argue with her. "I'm fine."

She let go of him once they were safely inside, closing the door behind her. Sophie reached for a set of lightswitches, flicking them on one by one. The house lit up, revealing an abode coloured in whites, creams, and ivories. 

Sophie couldn't let it distract her, though. She glanced back at Steve, who was leaning against a birch cupboard. "Look, let me just help you settle down, grab you some water, and then I'll go, okay?" After tossing his car keys into a nearby basket, she took his arm, leading him towards his living room. "Are your parents home?"

"Nope." His reply was prompt. "They hardly are as it is."

"So it's just you?" she checked.

"Yeah."

"On your own?"

"It's the way I like it." She wasn't certain if he meant that; something about the look in his eye suggested otherwise.

"If you say so." An off-white, L-shaped sofa caught her attention. They wandered closer, Sophie checking continuously if Steve was about to trip over his own feet. "Okay, why don't I just put you down here?"

She gently set him down in the corner of the sofa, watching his body slump into the comfort it brought. Once sure he was relaxed, Sophie strolled into the large kitchen area, still marvelling at the design features. They must have had a cleaner because this place was spotless; she could see her reflection in the metallic tabletops.

Though the Harrington house fascinated her, she remained focused on the task at hand, locating a tall glass in a see-through cabinet. The water jug in their fridge matched the ones served at restaurants with slices of lemon and perfectly carved ice cubes. She poured the contents into the glass, the condensation cooling her fingers as she returned to Steve's side.

As she handed it to him, his relaxed expression twisted into apprehension. "Why are you doing this?"

"Helping?"

"Yeah."

"Because I'm a nice person?" It's as if he expected the other Hargrove to be just like her brother. "You make out like that's a bad thing."

His gaze drifted again and he released a tight sigh. "Even the nicest people can break your heart in two."

"Pretty sure that's not how hearts work." She let out an awkward giggle. 

Steve took a pitiful sip of water, the taste more bleak than sour on his tongue. Whatever happened between him and Nancy shattered his self-esteem, bringing forth the anxieties he'd tried so hard to suppress.

Sophie dropped her smile, wringing her hands together. She sharply inhaled, sitting beside him on the sofa. "Look, I didn't want to leave you there. You might have passed out, and then what would happen?"

He considered the question with an apathetic expression. "Tommy would probably draw a penis on my face."

She leaned on her hip. "Is he the one with freckles?"

"Yeah, that's him." He took another drink of water, his lips pressed tight. With a heavy sigh, he angled his head towards Sophie. "Do you think I'm bullshit?"

It was a strange question to ask, but as the word slipped off his tongue, he grimaced -- Steve never wanted to say that word again.

And though his exhausted brain didn't expect her to answer, Sophie spoke again to his surprise. "Well, if it's any consolation," she shed a bitter smile, "I don't know you well enough to think you're bullshit."

His mouth went slack, and Steve bowed his head. "Nancy does."

"Nancy was wasted." She told him.

"But she meant it." He rubbed his drooping eyelids. "I could tell she meant it."

Sophie sucked in her right cheek, looking away. Her eyes studied the large room, acknowledging the unread books on wooden shelves and the glass coffee table that had little to no stains or fingerprints.

She refused to believe it was just him in this house -- it felt more decorous than homelike. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Nope. Only child." He murmured, his voice growing timid.

"Then what's the point in having a big house?" she asked. "I mean, if your parents aren't here half the time, it's just empty, isn't it?" She awaited another tired response, only to receive a long pause. "Steve?"

She crooked her head, noticing Steve's eyes were fully closed. His exhausted form rested against the clean leather, sleeping his sorrow away. 

On the wall opposite, a clock read seventeen minutes past one -- her dad was going to kill her. She should really go, it's strange to stay in someone's house when only one of them's asleep. They barely knew each other, so how would he react if he woke up to see her in his house?

Yet the room felt more frigid than before, leaving a sudden chill. Sophie adjusted the jewel neckline of the borrowed jumper. Its thin fabric clung to her body, but it was not enough to provide her warmth.

Despite wearing a jacket, Sophie supposed Steve's body could sense it too, acknowledging prickling goosebumps on the bridges of his hands. She knew Neil Hargove would be expecting his children home at any moment, preparing to yell at them for staying out too late -- but she couldn't leave Steve Harrington in the cold.

Sophie rose from the sofa, making her way over to the staircase by his front door. Her ascension was quiet to lessen the risk of awakening him from his peaceful slumber; it looked like he needed it.

Once she arrived on the landing, Sophie searched the floor for a teenage boy's bedroom. But there were so many rooms, from small offices to state-of-the-art bathrooms. She kept her eyes peeled, wavering slightly when she came across a tall glass cabinet. Inside were old trophies and pictures of who she presumed to be Steve's father in the Hawkins High basketball team.

They were untouched, and Sophie could see his son's achievements were placed on the lower shelf levels as if he wanted them to be forgotten.

Even their family photo was just as soulless -- no evidence of love in their forced smiles. The little boy in the centre was the only one with genuine devotion in his eyes, desiring to make his parents proud. She'd seen that look before in her own family photos, the ones her father orchestrated to make them appear happy.

No, she shouldn't be snooping. It was wrong to assume she knew anything about his life from a few items.

Soon enough, Sophie located his bedroom, scooping a blanket up in her arms. She snatched an old-fashioned ticking clock off his bedside drawers, taking it back downstairs with her. As he relaxed against the pillowless sofa, Sophie, with a delicate touch, threw the blanket over him.

The alarm clock sat on the coffee table, set for seven o'clock in the morning. Sophie couldn't let him get in trouble for sleeping in, so she hoped this would do the trick.

And after one final check around the house, confirming Steve's safety and warmth, she exited the house and locked the door behind her. Although she knew he was okay, Sophie couldn't help but wonder how lonely it must be for someone like him.

They lived two separate lives, completely different from the other -- yet she felt a peculiar connection with the Harrington boy.

It didn't matter anyway. Steve Harrington will most likely forget about her when he wakes up.

***

I like how we all collectively assume that Steve's parents neglect him. It's a fun thing to add to his character.

Like I said in the previous chapter, I had to split these in two. The reason this one picks up where the last one left is because the first half of this was meant to be in that one instead. But then I realised it would affect the length of both of them because I was afraid this one would be shorter, so I thought I'd place the first part here instead to even things out. I think it kinda works better here, to be honest.

Did you know that letting out a frustrated scream actually makes you feel better? It helps release pent-up emotions but obviously doesn't cure you or fix issues in life -- that's ridiculous. But I've done it a few times and I find it's very therapeutic.

Also, I had to look this up, but Joe's eyes are actually hazel. They're quite dark, so that's why many people think they're brown. I also have hazel eyes, but they look greener. If you look closer, you can actually see a splash of brown and a hint of blue. Hazel eyes are really fun to have.

It's surprising how much research goes into this. I had to look up right-wing politics and ask if Ronald Reagan was a good president. But a good book is one that understands the setting (except when it's a world you created).

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Votes and comments are appreciated, please don't be a silent reader :)

- Alice.

PS: i made a barbie meme with sophie. i got lazy and used the selfie generator so that's why it's like this