rec·ti·fy

verb

put (something) right; correct.

Emilia wrapped her arms around her stomach as the cold seeped in through the sleeves and down her neck. She wanted to be closer to Jonathan, but she felt that chasm between them, something that was growing faster than she could fill it. But now there were outside, quiet and with no distractions other than the odd clank of dishes inside the house. There was nothing between them, and there was everything between them.

"Where were you today?" Emilia asked Jonathan, not trying to sound accusing because she was the one who looked guilty here.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Jonathan replied.

Brushing her hair away as she turned to look at him in the dull caseless light that hung by the front door, she studied his pained expression. There was something underneath that pain, though, determination for something that had nothing to do with Emilia. She wondered what it was, what was distracting him from the importance of this conversation. It hurt her to see that he had half a mind somewhere else.

"I couldn't find you in the morning, Jonathan, so I left a note at your locker to meet me at the photography lab and I waited the entire lunch hour for you," she spat.

"I didn't see any note..."

She sighed, "Well I left one, and it doesn't even matter -we're here now, talking."

"Look, you don't have a right to be mad at me right now, Emilia." Jonathan's voice was sharp; so he was mad at her, and his words meant that he was the one who had the right to be mad. Everything was being misread and misinterpreted.

"You think I kissed Steve, don't you?"

There was a silence, broken only by a car on some distant road driving along. Above them it was a clear sky, the stars scattered overhead and smiling down at them. Or perhaps they were an audience waiting to see what would happen next, eager to see what words would come out of Jonathan's mouth now that Emilia had verbalized the issue between them, wondering if they could rectify this misunderstanding.

For that was all it was, a misunderstanding.

"Nancy said..." Jonathan let his sentence trail off.

"So you were with Nancy today?" Emilia asked, innocently enough.

"Yeah..."

"Well, I don't know what you heard or didn't hear, what Nancy told you or didn't tell you. But what I am going to tell you is the truth, and I need you to understand that, okay? I don't want you to think I'm lying to you, because I'd never lie to you, Jonathan," Emilia spewed out the words.

"Okay," he said, openly.

It certainly wasn't the best start Emilia could have imagined, but it was them talking. That was good. She thought back to all the times in their relationships where things had ups and downs, but there were so many more ups than downs. Perhaps because they had not had typical teenage conflict before, that was why this all felt so strange. Before now, Emilia always thought that their relationship was different from all other high school relationships. That they were more mature because they had been through so much more, but now it felt the same as every other hand-holding couple in the hallways.

"I'm going to start with the rumours about Billy," she admitted. "Over the last few weeks I have had some interaction with him, just trying to be nice to him, introduce him to the area. Apparently... He wanted to sleep with the 'sheriff's' daughter, and when I made sure that didn't happen, he decided to convince the school that he had anyways.

"Last week my car broke down, and both Billy and Steve showed up, I went with Steve because I didn't -and don't- trust Billy. We had some coffee, chatted for a bit about Nancy – nothing more. When I drove him home from the party it was purely out of getting him home alive -you of all people know I'm not okay with drinking and driving. Steve was upset, and as I walked him to the door, he kissed me. I pushed him away and told him that I was not interested and that it was not to happen again. I guess someone saw, and they saw it as something else..."

Again that silence pierced through the air, making for an uncomfortable feeling between them.

Jonathan scoffed, "Then why didn't you tell me? About any of it? Your car breaking down? We saw each other the day after the party, why didn't you tell me then?"

Emilia was stumped now, for she had no reason to withhold that information from Jonathan that day they went bowling. She should have told him first thing, maybe they even would have laughed about it, how drunk Steve was feeling spiteful and kissed the first girl he saw after the incident with Nancy. Maybe things would be different, and this gap between them would be smaller, or nonexistent.

"I don't know," she admitted, "I guess I was scared that you'd be upset, I didn't know how to bring it up."

"Just because it's hard doesn't mean that you get to pretend it didn't happen. Then to have me find out today, with people like Carol making snide comments... And just so you know, I don't think Steve thinks it was to spite Nancy."

"What are you saying?"

"She said something about it meaning something to him," Jonathan muttered.

Emilia scoffed, "That doesn't mean it means anything to me!"

"Yeah, well maybe it does to me."

"Jonathan..." Emilia felt something break between them, she didn't know what else could be said to resurrect what they had. It was in her hands, slipping like grains of sand, no matter how tight she cupped her fingers.

"I'm sorry Emilia, I just need some space right now," he finally said the words.

"Please..." she whispered to avoid her voice from quivering. "Please don't do this."

When Jonathan said nothing, Emilia bit hard on her lower lip, so hard that it drew blood. Quickly pushing herself off of the wall of the house, she could hear only blood pulsing in her ears when she rushed to her car. Once inside, she shoved the keys in the ignition and cranked it, the headlights flooding the porch of the Byers' household, showing a forlorn and upset Jonathan. Emilia reversed and made it a few roads down, to the spot where the accident happened. She pulled over, unable to see through her tear-filled eyes, and let herself cry it out.

But it didn't matter how much she cried, it wouldn't bring back her mum, and it wouldn't fix what happened with Jonathan. 

Do you like the way I really threw you off with the title/word definition there? Am I a horrible person who is ruining the ship of this story? Yes. But hang in there, guys, I have everything planned out. 

I watched 5 episodes of Stranger Things on Friday (which would have been more enjoyable if my bladder infection meds had actually worked and wasn't secretly going to my kidneys, and thus ended up spending Saturday night in urgent care and if I randomly disappear it's because I'm in the hospital...). I took notes the whole time, plotted out every single chapter, and I'm very excited to write the rest of this story. It will hit 60 chapters! 

Question of the Day: Have you ever been hospitalized?