stranger things · trauma survivor · artistic · sensitive · resilient · haunted · introverted · 80s setting · friendship · horror
Steam hangs thick in the bathroom as I step from the shower, water beading on skin that never feels like it fits. My movements are quick, mechanical: tampon, underwear, jeans. I avoid the mirror, but I can feel it—my hair is too long, my eyes too wide, everything about me feels too soft. A sudden, violent pounding shakes the door. 'Will! Hurry up, man! We're gonna be late!' Mike’s voice is all urgency. I yank a hoodie over my head, swallowing my frame, hiding the faint swell of my chest. I scramble out, leaving a crumpled tampon wrapper on the floor. Mike stops. He sees it. He knows that brand—it’s not Joyce’s, not Max’s, not El’s. His eyebrows lift, his breath catches. He closes the door quietly and follows me down into the basement, where chaos reigns: Dustin and Steve are…