[Her brain becomes static, for a moment. Low frequency buzzing, like an old tv. She thinks about Petre: have you ever been in love? How the answer had been a confident no, so quick, so easy. She remembers sitting on her bed years ago and saying I love you and how he'd said it back, and how he'd said he'd try to love her. Did he even mean it? Did he say it to keep her pliant? To keep her happy, to keep her distracted enough that eventually she'd accept all the bad? It had worked.
How do you love someone and kill them? She needs to know that. Needs to understand why, why, why.
She thinks: what is the point? Does love exist here? Does it matter? Does any of it matter, does she even deserve it, really? She thinks: I love you so much, but will I kill you? Will I hurt you? Will you leave me, forget me, will you sink a knife into me before I hurt you? She feels off-kilter, today. A little more insane than usual. ]
Jem— don't. [ Coaxing, but too frenetic and angry and hurt and worried to actually work, to be coaxing. ]
When? [ It feels like a cut, no precision though, no scalpel, it's a saw-toothed blade, ripping down between them, and he's never once in his life tried to patch something like this back together. Never had anything worth the attempt. ]
[ Because they aren't fighting. They definitely aren't fighting. Billy and Jem aren't fighting over her sitting across a table staring down Danny Johnson, a rat that Billy can't wrap his mind around. Wheeler, Harrington, By— ]
Whatever. I'll ask. Just— be careful. I mean it. I don't know what he meant when he said— [ Wheeler, Harrington, Byers. Wheeler, Harrington, Byers. ]
I don’t know either. [she does. it’s a little pathetic of her: she can still hear John say just come home. is it terrible of her, if she wants to keep that?
maybe. maybe terrible people deserve each other. ]
[ Then stop. Then stop and stop and just stop and come— home. Another home. Home is the big chair in the boarding house commons when the fire's roaring and they're both squished in a seat. Home's his room with Iggy, Jem squished to one side, Iggy on the other when he's home early, not even pretending to be annoyed. Home's her room, the sheets that smell like her and also Eddie. It's too fractured. There's no family table. ]
He knows... [ he trails off, voice a waver, a little lost, confusion and uncertainty cloying and sticky, taffy in his thoughts. ] people from my world. Said he killed them. I believe him. There's a name he shouldn't know.
[She feels a little cold. Feels a creeping ice on her arms, feels terribly like she wants to crawl out of her own skin. She hisses, aloud, unseen anger and gritted teeth. ]
I'll get the truth out of him. [Probably. Maybe. ] Okay?
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[she doesn't mean to snap. or be stern. she doesn't mean it.]
I need to be here - I need to hear him say why. I need - space to think.
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[Her brain becomes static, for a moment. Low frequency buzzing, like an old tv. She thinks about Petre: have you ever been in love? How the answer had been a confident no, so quick, so easy. She remembers sitting on her bed years ago and saying I love you and how he'd said it back, and how he'd said he'd try to love her. Did he even mean it? Did he say it to keep her pliant? To keep her happy, to keep her distracted enough that eventually she'd accept all the bad? It had worked.
How do you love someone and kill them? She needs to know that. Needs to understand why, why, why.
She thinks: what is the point? Does love exist here? Does it matter? Does any of it matter, does she even deserve it, really? She thinks: I love you so much, but will I kill you? Will I hurt you? Will you leave me, forget me, will you sink a knife into me before I hurt you? She feels off-kilter, today. A little more insane than usual. ]
I'll - I'll be back. Soon.
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When? [ It feels like a cut, no precision though, no scalpel, it's a saw-toothed blade, ripping down between them, and he's never once in his life tried to patch something like this back together. Never had anything worth the attempt. ]
Don't cut me out.
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[She is, she knows she is. ] I'll - tomorrow. I think. I don't know.
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[ To talk. To cut open both their chests and see what bleeds out, what else she's kept to herself, what else she doesn't trust him with. ]
Tomorrow. [ Please, he doesn't say. I think I'd forgive you. For anything. Did you know? Are you next? ] Be careful.
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[Tomorrow. Can she face him at all?] I promise I'm fine. I promise.
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If he looks at you wrong, knife him, [ he says. he wants to scream: Why, why, whhyyyyy are you THERE WITH HIM. ]
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[normal] Can you check on Eddie? For me?
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What'd he say to you?
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Whatever. I'll ask. Just— be careful. I mean it. I don't know what he meant when he said— [ Wheeler, Harrington, Byers. Wheeler, Harrington, Byers. ]
I don't know why you're doing this.
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maybe. maybe terrible people deserve each other. ]
— Meant what? What - what did he say to you?
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He knows... [ he trails off, voice a waver, a little lost, confusion and uncertainty cloying and sticky, taffy in his thoughts. ] people from my world. Said he killed them. I believe him. There's a name he shouldn't know.
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I'll get the truth out of him. [Probably. Maybe. ] Okay?
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You heard what Quentin said.
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[she fucking heard him loud and clear. ] Billy - he's not going to hurt me.
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Does he love you?
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Does he love you? Because he sure loved Quentin.
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Maybe I shouldn't come back tomorrow. I think - I need. Space. We both need space.
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You said tomorrow. [ She needs to come, so he can convince to her to stay. ]
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