Steve had blacked out. All of his senses had dwindled to nothing but blind rage. He was lost in a sea of darkness, and all he could do was breathe. And with each breath he took, he began to return to himself, began filling in the missing puzzle pieces of what had just happened.
Steve breathed in and smelled the crisp cold air, shortly before snow or a cold rain, and Steve breathed out.
Steve breathed in and tasted the quickly souring aftertaste of the strawberry milkshake he’d shared with Robin, and Steve breathed out.
Steve breathed in and heard the high pitched ringing in his ears, the echoes of a spat “freak” reverberating in his head, and Steve breathed out.
Steve breathed in and felt the stinging of his knuckles, the weakness after a heavy exertion traveling up his arm, and Steve breathed out.
Steve breathed in and saw the beautiful angry red trickle down Jason Carver’s face, soaking the front of his white shirt, and Steve breathed out.
Ah. Steve was caught up now.
Jason’s eyes flashed with what Steve first mistook as anger. Steve breathed in and braced himself for another big drawn-out fight that would end with him unconscious.
And Steve breathed out and only then recognized that flash in Jason’s eyes as fear.
Steve smiled, a big toothy grin, and let himself chuckle at the broken little sound Jason made as he backed away.
“Don’t you ever. fucking let me see your face again, Jason. I will break it in two.”
And just like that, Steve saw Jason walk away.
Steve turned around to see Eddie, Robin, and Dustin standing in a semicircle, not a single closed mouth among them.
It was a long moment before anyone said anything, but it was Dustin who piped up first, with nothing but a simple “dude.”
Steve let Eddie drive the Beemer, Robin excitedly rambling instant replays as Dustin wrapped Steve’s hand in the backseat.
Dustin was dropped off first, with a “See you in the morning, badass.”
Robin was dropped off second, with a “Remind me not to piss you off.”
And then Steve moved to the front seat and stared at his hand, clenching and unclenching it, feeling the pain shoot up his wrist, the pressure of the bandage feeling good, like it was holding him together.
Eddie drove them to Steve’s empty house, neither boy breaking the silence that was so loud, the trilling guitar and shouted lyrics couldn’t even drown it out.
Eddie put the car in park in Steve’s driveway, staring ahead for a long moment before pivoting in his seat to look at Steve’s hand.
“Steve?”
“yeah?”
“You good?”
Steve breathed in.
Steve breathed out.
And Steve told the truth.
“No. Honestly, no. I can’t fucking stand it anymore, Eddie, I don’t know how you do it.”
Eddie knew what he was referring to. “You uh, get used to it?”
“No. I refuse.”
“Well damn Steve you can’t go punching the entire town. What will you do when the next person is an 80 year old woman? You gonna hit an old lady, Steve?”
“If she deserves it.”
Eddie shook his head and barked out a laugh that was definitely not a laugh. “So you’re really looking forward to that prison time, huh?”
“If I deserve it.”
Eddie threw his hands up into the air like the exasperated mother of an impossible child. “Steve!! you’re not getting it. It’s never going to stop. People are going to talk and say things and think whatever the fuck they want to think! And you can’t ever change their minds because they’re right. I don’t belong. I’m the freak.”
It lingered in the air again and for a moment Steve thought he was going to black out again.
Steve breathed in.
Steve breathed out.
“No.”
Eddie gaped at him. “Steve-
“No. Goddamn fucking no, Eddie. There is nothing wrong with you. No. Not a thing. You care about people, and you’re kind, and you’re smart and funny and they’re… they’re-“ Steve sputtered, unable to come up with a word deserving of association with them, finally settling for a disgusted face and a sigh.
“People don’t like you because you don’t check their boxes. You don’t, and you don’t care to, and they don’t like that. It makes them think. Every time they see you they’re forced to think; to wonder why they work so hard to fit in when you seem so defiantly happy refusing. People don’t understand, and it scares them. People don’t like what they can’t understand. And you’re so boldly you, you’re-“
Steve breathed in.
Steve breathed out.
“You’re terrifying.”
Part Two
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sorry i need to vaguepost real quick (its not about anyone here) bc i am sdgjkl so nauseous from this fucking up my nervous system on another account but GODDD i wish ppl wouldn't assume that if ur criticising a spiritual practice u must not know what ur talking about :'''))))
also the fact that ppl seem to think "well, it's a spiritual/religious/etc practice, so that means it is above criticism :)" drives me up a fucking wall,, with the huge rise of new age spiritual practices and belief systems, that is such a garbage way of thinking
so much of new age spirituality is based in racism and/or encouraging maladaptive thinking patterns and behaviours that can easily push a person into psychosis and/or white supremacy and im just...... head in my hands.
i know what the fuck im talking about bc i was deep in that world for years lmfao and it can be extremely scary in there. i still dip my toes in every now and then bc spirituality and religion and the bit where they intersect is fascinating and oftentimes very beautiful, but I have to be so careful to not fall in too deep or I'll end up in a very fucking bad place yet again lmfao. i just wish ppl wouldn't assume that "oh u said xyz spiritual thing is bad, so you must just not know what you're talking about" BRO TRUST ME. I KNOW FAR MORE THAN THE AVERAGE PERSON, AND I ALSO HAVE A VERY OPEN MIND. if i am criticising smth it is with good fucking reason !!!
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