Season 2, episode 6

(People have been saying that they wanted to know what episode the story belong to, so I'm going to do that from now on :). Please vote and comment :))

Laying on my bed staring at the pale orange ceiling, arms folded across my chest, a soft knocking comes from the door. I look to the side, my neck stiff from gym practice the previous day. More knocking.

"What!?" I shout, swinging my legs over the side of my bed.

My dad enters, it's strange to see him looking so normal, usually he sits at his desk and then slides across out hallways wooden floors to the dining room to eat and then falls asleep back in his study.

"Your mother's decided it's time you started paying rent." He says uneasy. I'm taken a back at how low his voice at gotten, and by the fact that he was talking at all. I couldn't remember the last time I heard him form a sentence that wasn't work related or tinged with moans and whimpers.

I see something shift outside the room and I roll my eyes, "rent seriously mom," I say reaching down for my docs as she bustles through the door.

"I've got you a job at the post office, delivered mail, half of your pay is my rent."

I go to swear at her, but I'm too tired and too dazed to argue, "rent." I say flatly, mimicking her to a T.

"Well let's call if reparation."

"Oh so I'm just collateral damage to you," I say standing up, the dim lighting of the room casting a shadow over the stool that dad sat in. 

"No it's just time you took some initiative." She states looking down her nose at me, her arms folded tightly over her chest.

"Initiative my ass," I scoff, walking from the room and lighting a cigarette at the top of the stairs.

"Avangeline, do not smoke inside," she yells chasing me down the corridor.

"Too late," I snort grabbing my bike keys and running out the house, quickly turning to exhale towards her. Leaving her in a coughing fit. 

Saddling myself onto my bike, leaving my helmet and leathers behind, I drop from the curb and ride with no destination in my mind. However coming into the centre of Hawkins, passing the Hawkins post in the hazy, Saturday morning light, I couldn't help but think that my mother may have been right about initiative. Though I would never admit it. If I ever wanted to move away from her, from here, I would need money. And with that thought I pulled up and went to collect whatever had to be delivered. Daniel worked here before he left so I knew, somewhat, about what I had to do, I went with him a few times, except we walked everywhere and he always had a  boombox on his shoulder. 

Walking through the grubby glass doors, the sound of misogynistic laughter and the smell of cigarettes fuelled the air. Every pair of eyes settled on me as I crossed the room to the desk and said my name, the old lady peering at me from behind her thick framed glasses. 

"yes, this is for you," she says passing me a 3 inch thick deck of letters. "All the addresses are on the front, you just have to deliver them safely-" she says getting cut off my one of the men.

"Fresh meat," he says, cutting off all the other conversation. I turn and lean on the counter, the deck in my hands, ready to throw at his head if he tried anything. 

About 12 men sit around a table, the man at the top standing up with his hands on his hips, he unhooks his legs from around his chair and waddles over to me smugly. I hear the receptionist scoop under her breath, "good luck dear," she mutters to me, wandering off into the small room at the back of building and softly closing the door. 

"Fresh meat," he says, his breath on my face, he extends his arm to shake my hand.

I ignore it and shift swap the deck into my other hand , "actually it's Avangaline," I say looking at him, a stiff smile on my face. 

"Pretty name," he says coming closer.

"It is isn't it," I say brushing past him and striding out the door. I do hate some men. The good thing is with stoners that I hang around with is that, ignoring their substance misuse, is that they are far more accepting and peaceful. I have never met a stoner that isn't a feminist and hasn't been to a protest at some point in their lives. 

                                                                         .,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

I ride around the next street corner as BonJovi's new release 'wanted dead or alive,' plays on the radio. It's pretty appropriate considering a Hawkins Lab van drove past on the first chord. Pulling up to the next house, I see a figure lifting weights in the first room, the guitar solo from one of my favourite songs blasting all through the house. 

Walking up the drive, I hear teenagers shouting at eachother and I remember thinking that it must be the 'wreck house,' that all my 'friends' hang out at. I drag myself from the daze I was in and see the door is already open, it takes me a minute to process that is Billy standing before me. I quickly glance away and keep my head down until I'm in the porch. 

"Hey," he says shortly, leaning against the doorway, smiling like an idiot. 

"Here," I say handing the letters to him, he shifts through them and throws them on the table inside the doorway. Turning back to face me, my head is literally screaming at me to leave, but my feet were stuck, I don't know why, I just couldn't move. And I was like, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Then he finally spoke I was just like shit, shit, shit, without the oh. Which I guess is improvement. 

"What's your name?" He says, cocking his head to read my eye level. 

I cock my head in mockery, "none of your business" I say spinning on a heel and walking off down the driveway. I hear him laugh as I give him the finger.

Walking the bike back into the garage that evening, I slammed my helmet down on the work bench and started ranting to myself. "What the fuck Avangaline, he asked you your name, and you didn't take that opportunity?" My arms gestures and manic, and I smack myself in the head by accident. "You deserve that, you idiot," I say to myself. "God I'm such a dingus." I say to the tools that are hanging lifelessly on the walls. It's a phrase one of the girl in the band says. Robin, I think her name is? I don't know. We weren't aquatinted well as she was in the year below, but I heard her say it a few times. 

I'm interrupted as my mom storms in through the door that comes from the kitchen, she looks around, probably to see who I was talking to. Seeing that no body as there, she begins talking, which is never a good thing.

"You weren't out for as long as I thought you would be."

"I went to the post office and did my job, like you told me."

"Oh, it's just I thought you'd be longer."

"Why do you and dad have plans or something." I say sarcastically, they never have plans.

"Me and your father always have plans," she cringes at her own comeback. She never makes sense when she's flustered. 

"Like what are you having more kids," I say taking off my jacket and throwing down on the bench, not breaking eye contact with her for a second. 

"No of course not."

"Good, because your now your loosing me too." That was uncalled for, but I'm angry at myself and I'm always angry at her. She tries to hug me as I breeze into the kitchen but I shrug her off go and sleep until dinners ready. It's strange, no matter how much sleep I get, or how much I drink, nothing can wake me from this permanent tiredness Daniels death has put me in.