The Dialogue Line that Launched A Thousand Prompt Requests. (Seriously 44 got requested like 5 times)
“I still remember the way you taste” (#44)
Of course she knew he was back in town. It was the only thing the people of Hawkins were talking about - or, at least, it was the only thing they talked about as they aimlessly browsed through the aisles if Melvald’s. Never to Joyce, of course. No one talked to Joyce, or acknowledged her unless she was making change for them, but her ears picked up on the particulars as she tried to look engrossed in her latest paperback or crocheting project.
Joyce wasn’t immune to his plight, even if she only learned about it indirectly. No one had kept her apprised of Jim Hopper’s comings and goings since his mother died, and she had passed over four years before his kid had. That one still stung; Gloria Hopper had been a living saint, making sure Joyce was always loved and comfortable, even when she was heavily pregnant with a child who was decidedly not Jim’s, long after Joyce had dumped him for Lonnie. Joyce still had a hard time rewatching The Forsyte Saga, which had been her and Gloria’s weekly ritual when Joyce was on bedrest. Jonathan would never know how close he had been to being called Jolyon (June if he had been a girl) - Gloria had helpfully talked her off of that particular ledge.
Anyway, Joyce knew Jim was back in town; fresh off of a divorce that came with a restraining order against his ex-wife’s new boyfriend, with a myriad of new addictions in tow. Hawkin’s P.D. took him on, though. His father had been the Chief of Police for years before dropping dead of a heart attack three weeks ago. From one Hopper to another. Easy transition.
Jesus, that poor bastard. The sentiment ran through Joyce’s head like a mantra as she sipped her wine and turned on the television. The boys were across town at Lonnie’s mother’s house, which was where Lonnie was also staying indefinitely. While it made her uneasy, not being around for one of Lonnie’s visits, the fact that his mother was ever-present did help. Betty Byers was a bit of a dragon to Joyce, but she loved her grandchildren and wanted them to be safe and happy… and it was heaven to have herself to herself, if only for one evening.
So of course there was a knock at the front door no less than three minutes after Joyce settled in. She frowned and looked up at the clock on the mantle. It was well past 10 PM, who on earth could be bothering her at this time of night? With a heavy sigh, Joyce reached across the couch and grabbed her blue silk robe - she wrapped it around her thin, camisole and panty clad frame, and headed for the door while tying the silk belt around her waist.
“Hold on!” She barked when the second knock came, louder and more insistent. She unlocked the door and flung it open. “What’s the big idea, you-… H-hop.”
He was large enough that he seemed to fill the entire space of her door frame, blocking out the porchlight, and the driveway behind him as he clutched one side of the frame to steady himself as he swayed forward, reeking of old, musty cigarettes and rail whiskey.
“Did you drive yourself here?” Joyce pressed, the concern flooding her emotions superseding the annoyance at his intrusion.
“Naw… annoyed m’date and she asked where to dr-drop me off.” His eyes were droopy and unfocused. Joyce stepped do one side and waved a hand towards the couch as she exhaled.
“And you told her to take you here, because… ?”
“Wanted to throw pebbles at your window til you snuck out…” Jim mumbled, planting himself face-first on the couch, still boot-clad and fully clothed. Joyce sat at the opposite end of the couch and pushed at his legs until he turned on his back so she could unlace his boots.
“It’s my house now, I don’t need to sneak out of it.” She was about to tug off one boot when his large, right hand closed around the wrist of her left as he pulled himself into a sitting position. It wasn’t a rough gesture, quite the opposite, actually, his thumb brushing the inside of her wrist. Joyce looked up and gasped softly at the focused and intense expression furrowing Jim’s heavy brow as he gazed at her.
“I wanted to be - I wanted to - I needed to be here,” he managed, releasing her wrist in order to cup her cheek. Despite his disheveled appearance and drunken, pungent and pathetic state, Joyce felt a shiver run up and down her spine at his gentle touch and raw confession. He was nothing like the tall, athletic golden child of their youth, all wiry strength, cockiness and romantic optimism. Here was an utterly broken man; his thinning blonde hair was a little too shaggy and his bushy, overlong beard had the beginnings of a salt-and-pepper pattern, but his eyes were still that devastating shade of blue, and his low rumbling voice still stirred something deep within her.
“That’s silly, we haven’t even spoken since before I married Lonnie,” Joyce sighed, pulling away from his touch so she could removing his boots - she barely had time to set them on the floor next to the couch before he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her flush on top of him, one of her knees nestled between his thighs. She blushed as she felt something hard and insistent pressing against her hip. She scooted up his body so her face was hovering slightly above his, their lips close enough that she could feel his breath come up hot and brush against her mouth.
“I still remember the way you taste,” he murmured, pushing a strand of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear before running a forefinger along her lower lip. Joyce shuddered and closed her eyes as his lips brushed lightly against hers. It had been so long since a man had kissed her, touched her with gentleness. She melted into his touch, sighing as he urged her lips apart with his own and plunged his tongue into her mouth, deepening the contact. Drunk or no, he definitely kissed better than he did when he was the aforementioned golden child of Hawkins.
But he was still drunk. Joyce tore her mouth from his and burrowed her face against the crook of his neck. “Not the best idea, Hop. Why are you here?”
She sighed when she felt his big hand stroking the back of her neck, still gentle and smooth, despite his condition. “Someone at the bar said Lonnie was hitting you, so I came here to beat the tar outta him.”
The admission made her snort. She lifted her head and frowned at him. “Lonnie doesn’t live here anymore, and hasn’t for months.”
Joyce rolled her eyes and pried herself from Jim’s body, pulling herself to a standing position. “Never you mind. I’m getting you a glass of water and an aspirin. I’ll take you back home in the morning… are you staying at your dad’s house?”
Jim shook his head. “Renting a trailer by the lake. Tracy owns Dad’s house.” Tracy was Jim’s older sister; she lived in Florida, and therefore wouldn’t have much use for the old place, but Joyce reasoned that grief probably played a factor in Jim not moving back to his childhood home.
“I’m sorry for everything, Hop. I really am,” Joyce remarked mournfully as she looked down at him, half-asleep on her couch.
“Probably what we did on the couch was a bad idea. At least wait until you’re not three sheets to the wind before you get nostalgic again, hey.”
Jim covered his face with his hands and groaned. “Yeah.”
“But I suppose it’s better than you killing Lonnie.”
Joyce shrugged and started for the kitchen. “What’s a slap and a cigarette burn between husband and wife?”
“I’ll kill him in the morning.”
