Fiona woke up before dawn. She was sitting by her window, a cigarette between her fingers, watching the world outside slowly come to life. At that hour, everything seemed so peaceful. The air was cool, tinted with that soft orange glow that broke through the fading dark.
Her house wasn't in the city center, which meant she could see the trees swaying by the water, the fog curling along the surface like a quiet breath. For Fiona, this was probably her favorite time of the day.
Not even the night gave her peace anymore. It had been years since she'd slept through it without waking up. Nightmares, flashes, memories…
She used to love falling asleep once — listening to her dad stories whispered in the dim light, talking about adventures that only existed in dreams, or hearing her old music box lulling her into sleep.
Her fingers found the purple bracelet on her wrist
There were no more stories now. No one left to talk about dreams or adventures. And the music box… Fiona had smashed it the day Sarah died.
She passed her hand over her eyes. Her head throbbing. Another feeling she had grown used to by now.
Fiona stubbed out her cigarette, watching the last tendril of smoke fade into the dim light. She stood, pulling on her clothes: a faded black T-shirt, high-waisted jeans, and her leather jacket — the one that smelled faintly of smoke and cheap perfume. She looked at herself in the mirror, ran a hand through her dark hair, and sighed.
"I guess it could go…"
iona stepped out of her room, her bare feet sinking into the cold linoleum floor. The trailer was silent except for the low, guttural sound of her father snoring from the couch.
The air smelled like stale beer and cigarette smoke. The faint light of dawn pushed its way through the dirty curtains, cutting thin golden lines across the chaos of the living room.
Her father hadn't moved since last night. He was still there, where she had found him when she came back home, sprawled shirtless on the couch, an empty beer can resting against his thigh and another half-crushed on the floor. The TV flickered quietly in the corner.
Fiona walked past him, but he didn't even flinch at her passage. A bitter chuckle left her lips as she stepped into the kitchen. The coffee pot was half full, it was probably from the evening before. And even if it was cold, Fiona poured some in one of the cups on the counter.
She took a sip as she turned and rested her back against the drawers, her eyes landing on her father again, shaking her head at the sight. Then her gaze drifted to the wall by the table. There, taped and yellowing at the edges, was a child's drawing — four stick figures holding hands under a crooked sun. Mom, Dad, Fiona, Sarah — written in big purple letters.
Her fingers tightened around the mug.
She stared for a long time, her throat tight, then set the cup down. The coffee rippled once, then stilled.
Without looking away from the drawing, she reached for the pot and dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink. The dark liquid hit the metal with a hiss.
Then, with a sharp movement, she kicked the nearest chair. It clattered to the floor. And her father jerked awake with a grunt, eyes bleary, confusion settling in like fog.
"Motherfucker!"
Fiona tilted her, "Hawkins is in great hands, it seems," she said before dumping her coffee in the sink as well.
"Was it necessary?" Her father groaned, sitting himself on the couch, his head in between his hands.
"It's morning," she said, crossing her arms, "Do you plan on going to work, or do you want to keep rotting on the couch?" Her father glared at her from where he was.
"I'm not in the mood to argue," he said with a shake of his head, and Fiona let out a little chuckle.
"Sure…" she said, taking her backpack, as he stood up to go to the kitchen, groaning as he noticed that there was no more coffee. Fiona observed him, opening the fridge to look for something to eat.
"There's no more milk," he complained.
Fiona tilted her head mockingly, as she put her math book inside her bag, "Really?" She muttered, not surprised at all. Her hand reached out to take her keys.
"What time do you have work today?" Fiona closed her eyes at the question, her back facing her father. "Can you make it to the market?" Fiona took a deep breath.
"Sure," she said trying to sound casual, "I don't have work tonight." Her father stood silent for a moment.
"You told me you did," he inquired. Fiona shrugged her shoulders, but his father was not buying it. "Fiona?!" He growled, already getting angry.
"Alright," she said, turning to look at him, crossing her arms, "I've got fired today."
Her father's eyes grew wider, "What?" He exclaimed, "Again?"
"Apparently," she said, but he got even angrier. He walked towards her with angry eyes.
"When will you stop getting yourself fired every two days?" He roared.
"I don't know," she answered turning to him, "Maybe when you'll stop fucking women while I'm in the house!"
"Don't twist it on me," he raised his voice, "We are talking about you!"
Fiona chuckled, crossing her arms, "Oh yeah?" She asked, her tone latched with sarcasm. "Well, I don't have time now. I have to go to school." She then turned to walk towards the door, her father following behind.
"We haven't finished talking about this!" He roared, and she bit her lips, "You have to take responsibility for the things you do!"
"Yeah!" She said sitting on her bike, "So do you." Then she kicked the starter. The motorcycle roared to life, drowning out his voice, and she sped off — leaving the trailer and his anger behind in a cloud of dust.
The road stretched out in front of her, a long gray ribbon swallowed by the morning mist.
The engine of her bike growled under her, drowning out everything else — the thoughts, the voices, the echo of her father's yelling.
The cold air stung her face, making her eyes water, but she didn't slow down.
She wanted the noise, the speed, the blur of the trees on both sides. She hated how he spoke to her, he did not even bother to go to do groceries to save his life.
Fuck him, she thought.
When she finally pulled into the school parking lot, the sun was barely up. The building looked dull and washed-out, the red bricks turning gray under the pale light. Hawkins High. Same cracked pavement, same faded banners.
She cut the engine and sat there for a moment, listening to the tick of the cooling metal. Her stomach felt hollow, like she hadn't eaten in days.
Students were already trickling in — laughing, talking, running around.
A few of them looked her way. The usual stares. Some whispered. Tommy H surely had already told people that she had attacked him. And everyone would have believed him without a second thought. She was Hopper's girl. The psycho. The easy one. Nobody would have asked why she did that.
"Fuckers…" she muttered.
Fiona swung her leg off the bike and lit a cigarette. The first drag burned down her throat and settled heavy in her chest. Almost hoping for someone to tell her that she could not smoke there. But when she tended to argue, of course nobody would bother her.
She flicked the cigarette to the ground and walked through the doors.
The hallway smelled like detergent and cheap perfume. Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floor, and someone's Walkman leaked faint music through static. She moved through it all like smoke.
She opened her locker to take some more cigarettes, and when she closed it, she noticed Alan Dwight, or was he Daniel Ridge? She could not remember the name, and she didn't care. But she remembered that they had fucked two or three times.
Fiona pushed back her hair, walking to him. He too was putting his things in the locker, and to take his football team jersey. Fiona never understood why these people would have to make it obvious that they were part of one of the teams in the school.
"Has your girlfriend arrived?" Fiona asked, casually leaning her back against the lockers. Their eyes met for barely a second, and that was enough.
He straightened up, smirking a little. "She's with the cheerleaders in the gym."
Fiona nodded her head. "I want to fuck," she said looking up at him, "I'll be in the bathroom."
He looked around, his smirk showing how eager he was at the idea. "Now?" He asked, but she didn't answer. She tilted her head, before making her way into the nearest girl bathroom.
She pushed open the bathroom door and stepped into the last stall. And it didn't take long before he followed her in and locked them in. Without thinking twice she shoved her pants down, and he did the same.
The hum of the light above buzzed softly, steady as her breathing.
Then the silence broke—heavy, muffled movements, the sound of breath against metal, the dull rhythm that filled the small space. Fiona's back was pressed against the stall, and one of her legs around his hips. While her eyes were fixed on the cracked paint of the ceiling.
His breathing was ragged, hurried. And she closed her eyes, when he decided to kiss down her neck.
"You're so beautiful," he moaned in her ear, and Fiona rolled her eyes, her fingers gripping the boy's hair tightly to pull him away from her neck.
"Shut that mouth and move faster," she said, her hips keeping up the pace as the boy under her nodded his head snapping his hips harder.
"I'm going to make you cum so hard," the boy said, and Fiona did all she could to not pay attention to his voice, just on the movement inside of her. He was doing all he could. She could see it, but his hips were starting to move erratically. He was much closer to finish than she could ever be.
He finished quickly, hips bucking in a messy rhythm, groaning something she didn't bother to process.
Fiona stayed still, his breath hot against her collarbone. Then, slowly, she peeled herself off, and stood up.
He looked up, dazed. "That was… wow. Did you—"
"No," she said drily, "Bye."
She looked away as he passed by. She could feel his eyes on her, but she did not care. And as he left the cubicle she slammed the door closed. Her hand went to her hair pushing it back as she took a deep breath.
Do you even feel better now? She asked herself, but without even thinking too much of it she let out a bitter chuckle. Then she bent down to take her underwear and jeans up so that she could put them on once again.
At least I'm not angry… for now… she thought as she buttoned her pants. But before she could get out she heard two people. By the sound it seemed like they were kissing.
God… she thought, she really didn't want to hear other people snog.
"Steve…" she heard the girl say, in between kisses. "I have to go."
Nancy Wheeler, she thought, remembering hearing Tommy H and Carol talk about her the night before. Fiona had never spoken to Nancy, so she didn't really have an opinion on her. But if she was Harrington's new body count she surely was starting to make her mind about her.
"In a minute," Steve said, but the sound of kisses did not stop.
"Seriously," Nancy insisted, "I have to go."
"Wait, wait!" She heard him say, "Come on, let's do something tonight, yeah?"
"Um… no, I can't." Nancy said with a laugh, "I have to study for Kaminski's test."
"Oh, oh come on," he answered with a huff. "What's your GPA again? 3.999…"
"Kaminski's tests are impossible," Nancy was complaining but with amusement, and Fiona rolled her eyes.
"Well, then just let me help," Steve insisted, but Nancy was not having it.
"You failed chem!"
"C-minus." He complained.
"Well in that case…" Nancy answered.
"So I'll be over around, say, like, 8.00 pm?" Harrington proposed. How long were they going to talk?
Nancy almost gasped, "Are you crazy? My mum would not—"
"I'll climb through the window," Harrington said nonchalantly. "She won't even know I'm there. I'm stealthy, like a ninja."
"You are crazy," but unfortunately Harrington stopped Wheeler again. He really was after that next body count. He really wanted to bring her to a dark park to "spend time" in the car. Fiona almost let out a chuckle. But she was surprised when Wheeler refused. She wasn't even sure that she would get what King Steve wanted to do.
"I have to study, I'm not kidding."
"Why do you think I want it to be nice and quiet?" That made Nancy laugh.
"You're an idiot, Steve Harrington."
Fiona heard the door open.
For a second she thought about waiting, but then she rolled her eyes — she'd already heard enough of the "Harrington love hour."
She unlocked the stall and stepped out, her boots echoing against the tiles. The air was heavy with that mix of perfume and smoke that always clung to her jacket.
Steve was still there, leaning against the sink, fixing his hair in the mirror. He froze when he saw her reflection behind him.
Their eyes met through the glass — his widening, hers flat and unimpressed.
"Oh, great," Steve muttered, straightening up. "Now you're a creep as well as a psycho?"
Fiona crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly, completely unbothered. "Not interested in you and your next win, Harrington." She brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his as she made for the door.
She stepped out just in time for the first period to start. The hallway buzzed around her, but she barely noticed. Her eyes landed on Jonathan's locker — maybe he was already in class.
I'll catch him at lunch, she thought, pushing through the crowd.