And so we keep walking, knowing that we must be close to the end but still not able to see it. Robin and Steve take the lead, Erica lagging behind slightly and Dustin and I making up the caboose. I give him a sideways glance before speaking.

"Since we're practically walking towards a sure death, be honest," I say, a smug smile becoming my features despite the efforts I put into keeping a straight face, "is Suzie real?"

"Really, Liz? Right now?"

"Yeah, right now." I nod, "When's a better time?"

"There is no good time," He shoots back at me in annoyance, "is it so hard to believe that I have a girlfriend?"

I give him a look, and he rolls his eyes.

"You know what I think?"

"What do you think, Dustin?" I say flatly, though a small smile is still on my face.

"I think you're just jealous."

I laugh, though it's dry and mirthless, "Don't flatter yourself, Henderson."

"Not of Suzie," he clarifies, "you're jealous of the fact that I'm in a stable and loving relationship because Jonny cheated on you."

Okay, ouch.

I try not to show my reaction, instead responding with the usual insulting and sarcastic comments that I always rely on to replace intense emotion.

"Oh is that what you think?" I scoff, "Because that sounds like you changing the subject from my previous question. Don't drag my love life, which at least existed, into this to make yourself feel better about having an imaginary girlfriend."

"Is having an imaginary girlfriend really worse than a boyfriend who decides you aren't good enough?" Dustin retorts, and my brother turns around angrily.

"Woah! Hey!" He points at Dustin, but we both ignore him.

"Are you really so pathetic that you value the approval of someone you made up?" I scoff, genuinely annoyed at his words and slightly hurt by what they imply.

"No, because Suzie is real, and she would never cheat on me," he answers, and I nod seriously.

"Not even with the captain of the chess team?" I gasp dramatically, "The self control she must have!"

"I am so over your pointless insults!" He snaps, and soon we've both slowed to a stop to turn to one another in anger, "Ever since your 'Steve Stage' you've been nothing but awful!"

"Steve Stage?" Robin turns to my brother, who stops to face us.

"Yeah, can we not call it that, guys?"

"Am I so awful for calling you out on your bullshit?" I ask, raising my voice, "Ever think that maybe it wasn't that stage that brought my insults and it's just the fact that you can be unbelievably unbearable?"

"Oh I'm the unbearable one?" He says, and I wipe his spit off my face as he talks, "It's not my fault you went all crazy on us three months ago!"

"Would you two shut the hell up!" Erica suddenly cuts us both off, shouting loudly and effectively stopping mine and Dustin's argument. We all turn to look at her in slight shock, eyebrows raised as she rolls her eyes, "I am not walking for the next half hour with you two blabbering on about stuff that doesn't even matter! Blondie, your boyfriend cheated on you, big gist! Curly boy, even if your girlfriend is real, she lives in Utah! That ship has sailed. Now give me some peace and quiet!"

Our mouths all clamp shut, none of us having any words to respond to the ten year old. Steve and Robin glance at each other, looking slightly amused as I just glare at Dustin and continue walking, leaving him to roll his eyes before following.

His words ring through my head as silence falls and we start our trek again. Maybe I have been a little rude to him, and it's clear that this Suzie thing is starting to bother him, so maybe I'll leave him alone a little. As for everything else, that's harmless bickering, and if he can't take it then he's softer than I thought.

Maybe my Steve Stage did change me. I am a lot more careless with what I say, but at least I don't make stupid decisions like I used to.

~~flashback~~

It's been three days since I've even stepped foot into my house. At this point I'm wondering if it's too late to go back. I know if I do my dad will have a few things to say about it, same with my brother.

Life is a lot better sleeping on the streets. There's no looming fear of my father waking me up. No Steve telling me I need to smarten up. It's a lot more free, a lot more fun.

As for my friends, they worry about me, but it's not like I'm lost. Just . . . away. I'll go back eventually, but not tonight. Tonight I just want to walk down the dark streets, while everyone is asleep, and enjoy the idea of no one telling me what to do.

I wear dark clothing so as to not be seen. A black leather jacket, which may be tacky but is surprisingly comfortable, as well as black pants and boots. My hair is tucked into the back of my shirt because I never had the energy to free it.

I reach into the pocket of my jacket to pull out another cigarette, but soon realize that I'm all out. I throw the empty pack onto the ground in frustration, even though there's a garbage can less than two feet away. Maybe I have an issue, but all I want is to smoke and forget about everything I used to worry about. I peer around the road until my eyes fall on a convenience store a block away. I look out for cars or anyone walking before making my way over, grabbing a rock from the sidewalk as I go.

Maybe it's the heat of the moment, or the feeling of invincibility I've had since I stood up to my dad, but I don't hesitate to break the window of the small store and hop inside. I tug my hood to hide my face in case there are surveillance cameras, then hopping over the shards of glass and to the cash register, where the cigarettes are. I grab a pack and pocket it, about to leave and not look back when I see something that catches my eye.

It's a stack of spray paint bottles, ranging from black to red to blue and taunting me with a challenge I feel inclined to accept. I look around once more before stepping forward, examining the bottle and losing myself in the thought of all the possibilities.

I think of spray painting obscenities on my dad's precious car. I think of spraying some words smack talking his workplace so when he pulls into the parking lot his boss will fire him. I think of heading over to Max's house and doing the same to Billy. I can only imagine how angry he would be if someone defaced his baby. His sacred Chevrolet Camaro.

I smile to myself at the thought of getting revenge on those who have wronged me. It's never before been something so appealing, but recently all I've wanted to do is give the people who have hurt me a piece of my mind. The anger I feel as of late is too much to keep inside, I need to let it out and this is the perfect way. It's not like they don't deserve it. Maybe it'll teach them a very much needed lesson on manners.

My rage fuelled thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of sirens, and my eyes dart to the street, where undoubtedly police cars are racing towards me. I swear under my breath, pocketing the spray paint as well before rushing outside, swearing even louder when I cut myself on a shard of glass sticking out from the side. It rips through my jacket and slices into my arm, but I have no time to examine the damage, as I see an all too familiar cruiser pulling over in front of me.

There's no point in running, because it will only make things worse for me, so I do what I do best and throw on a smile, acting as if my heart isn't pounding out of my rib cage.

"Hopper!" I say cheerfully as the Chief of police steps out of his car, an anger so fierce lying in his eyes as he storms towards where I lean against the wall behind me in a casual manner, "Thank god you're here, I was just examining the crime scene, and it looks like petty theft."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He says, his voice scarily calm.

I shrug, "Well you didn't get here quick enough, so I thought I'd lend you a hand. The guy ran though, and you know I've never been the track-and-field type, so I didn't bother."

He's in front of me now, looking at me so furiously that I feel my cool slowly slipping away. He nods at my bulky jacket before turning his penetrating gaze back to my eyes.

"Empty your pockets, Liz," he says, and I still marvel at the fact that he's remaining so composed. It just makes me more afraid for the moment he explodes.

My smug smirk falters, "What? Why—"

"Empty," he starts, fists clenched, "your pockets."

I stare up at him for a moment, both of us daring the other to look away. I feel my heart pounding even harder than before, and I'm sure he can hear it. How could he not?

Then, I reluctantly look away and sigh, pulling out the cigarettes and spray paint and shoving them into his waiting hands. He snatches them away and examines the labels before looking up at me.

"What, you smoke now? Jesus, Liz, you're thirteen," he says, his voice slowly raising, "What the hell is wrong with you lately? And spray paint? What's the plan, huh?"

I shrug, "I'm angry, some people need to know it."

"Oh, you think you're angry?" He says, shouting now, "You haven't seen angry yet. Get in the car."

"I'm not—"

"Get in the damn car!" He yells, and I visibly jump, looking away before shoving past him, pushing on his shoulder with as much force as I can muster before heading for the cruiser.

"Hey!" He shouts, grabbing my elbow and tugging me towards him until I'm staring him straight in the eyes. I put every ounce of hate I can into my glare, but his is still more powerful, and it makes me recoil slightly, "Watch it!"

I tug myself away angrily before circling around the vehicle, heading for the passenger side.

"Backseat," he says suddenly, and I look up to where he has a hand on his walkie talkie, probably having called for backup to deal with the break-in.

"What?" I ask in disbelief, and he walks towards me, eyes blazing with a fire that I'm having no trouble igniting.

"Back. Seat." He spits the words at me, "That's where the criminals go."

His words hurt, but I don't let it show, just taking my hand off the passenger handle and instead heading for the rear. I slam the door angrily behind me, crossing my arms as Hopper gets in as well. He wastes no time in driving off, and the shouting starts shortly after.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He asks, his voice low but ready to rise.

"I was thinking that I needed a cigarette," I shoot at him, and he glances at me in the rear view mirror.

"So you decide to break into a building to steal it!?" He snaps, "Honestly! The last month you've been acting like a little piece of shit, and I'm tired of it! This is the last straw, kid! I've dealt with finding you sleeping at a bus stop, but stealing! I can't make excuses for you!"

"Then don't!" I shout back at him, "I don't need you to always be hovering over me!"

"Well clearly I do if you're gonna pull stuff like this!"

"It's not your job to look out for me!" I retort, "You're not my father!"

"Oh don't I know it!" He says, laughing mirthlessly, "Where's your father now, huh? Why don't we pay him a visit!"

My face visibly pales, my glare falling as he looks back at me smugly.

"Oh, yeah, now you're scared," he says, watching as I angrily turn to look out the window, "What do you think he's gonna do when he finds out you got on the wrong side of the law, again."

I think back to when I first met Hopper and he called my father informing him of how I crashed the cruiser. I think of how awful he had it in for me that night, one of the worst I've ever had in my life. I shudder at the memory, and Hopper uses my fear to his advantage.

"Remember, Liz?" He asks, his voice quiet now as he watches my expression closely, "Because I do. I remember your face the day after I handed you to your brother."

I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes as I laugh softly in disbelief. I stare right back at him, "You're an asshole."

"Oh I'm the asshole?" He's shouting again now, "You're the one in the back seat, Liz! You're the one who stole a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of spray paint from a convenience store! Why don't you think that over for a minut—Hey!"

I cut him off mid sentence by opening the door and rolling out, not about to sit there and take his threats to turn me in to my father.

He's lurched to a stop as I stand up, staggering backwards as he marches around and towards me. I'm about to turn around and run, but he's already grabbed my wrist roughly, forcing me towards him.

"Hey! Hey!" He shouts as I struggle, keeping me firmly in place, "Stop that!"

"Or what!?" I shout, "You'll give me to my dad!? You'll let him deal with me!?"

His expression softens slightly, though anger is still the reigning emotion.

"I'm not gonna turn you in to your father," he says loudly, holding me in place effectively, "I just want you to see how ridiculous you're being! You have to stop acting like this before it's too late for you to go back. Before your friends give up on you and your brother never forgives you."

"My brother will always forgive me," I say angrily, "he owes that to me."

"Like hell he does!" Hopper shouts, "Steve owes you nothing! Who cares how he's acted in the past, he's been a damn good brother since! And you? You're a shitty sister if you hold that over his head!"

He's right, I would never bring up how Steve used to act to get myself off the hook. I don't hold grudges, especially with him. I know he regrets it more than anything in his life. But I'm angry, and nothing is making sense anymore.

"I just want it to stop," I say after a minute of silence.

"Want what to stop?"

"Everything," I press on, "My dad, the anger, feeling like a worthless piece of shit all the time."

I guess I've never really voiced it, but the things my dad say to me every day start to go to my head. I can't help but wonder if he's right. I can tell Hopper understands, and he sighs.

"Forget what that lowlife says," he answers, "Why have you started to listen to him now?"

"I've always listened to him," I confess, my voice picking up as I start to hyperventilate, "I've always been hurt by his words, how can I not? I'm his daughter and he hates me. He hates me, Hopper. Why does he hate me so much? I didn't do anything to him!"

"I know, kid," he says grimly as tears start to pour down my cheeks. I feel my chest closing in, my rib cage smothering my heart as I try to breathe.

"I didn't do anything," I repeat sadly, hiccuping as I start to sob, "so maybe I am just useless. Because why else would he hate me so much?"

I'm unable to say anything else, as the crying stops me. But Hopper doesn't hesitate to pull me into a hug, a hug that I didn't realize I needed so much until that very moment. I sob into his shirt, big ugly cries that I can't control. He just holds me tight, not making any move to let go as he does.

"You're not useless, kid," he mutters in comfort as I cry harder, "don't ever say that about yourself. You're not useless."

And as if he knows I need it, he repeats those words over and over, his car parked messily beside us and me just curled up in fear and sadness. I sob and I sob because I've never said the words out loud, and now that I have they seem so real. Ever since I was a kid my dad hasn't let it get out of my head that I'm a piece of shit. And honestly, if Steve hadn't stopped following in his footsteps, I don't think I would've survived.

It's always been the physical stuff, but no one ever asks about the verbal. No one ever comforts me about how worthless my dad makes me feel. But Hopper is here, and he's exactly what I need in that moment. He continues to tell me what I need to hear until I start to believe it, but even then he doesn't stop. And I know he'll only let go when I've stopped crying and he's sure I'll be okay. And I will be, but in that moment I'm not.

I guess all along I've just needed someone to tell me that I am something. I just needed someone to let me know it's okay that it gets to me. It's okay that I'm not as strong as some may think.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hey people, I know it's been a fat second since I've updated but school has started and it's confusing and difficult.

Anyway, I'll try to be better, but I'm not sure. Here's a chapter explaining her Steve Stage a little more. Sort of cried writing the end though.

Comment your favourite song, I need new ones.

Word count: 3103