#cindy cooper

[witchthewriter]

@rainbowpitofdoom.

[rainbowpitofdoom]

Roll Of The Dice

Chapter 4: I Had To Turn My Heart Away

Words: 2822

Warning(s): PTSD flashback, Anxiety, Reference to violence or injury, Brief description of a dead body and Ableist comments.

Note: Finally managed to finish this one. This chapter was a LOT harder than the other three. And that's saying something.

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Hawkins, Indiana (Nov 8th 1983)

There are many things that I hate about Mrs Clicks’ History Class. For one, it is first thing in the morning. Two, there is the teacher’s annoying habit of clicking her tongue. Thirdly, the Tammy/Steve/Bobbie Drama. Bobbie always gets that look on her face when Tammy twirls her hair at Steve. 

Bobbie will bite her bottom lip and she’ll blink rapidly. She’ll be staring at the interaction with watery eyes. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap. 

Before it gets too bad I’d knock my foot into hers. Until she’d knock her foot back into mine. If I was lucky then I’d get a small smile. But if it was bad then she wouldn’t react at all. Those classes would be followed by hushed affirmations in the nearest girls bathroom. 

Today, thankfully, is a good day. 

Bobbie taps back after the third one. A small smile breaks through her solemn expression. She mouths an exaggerated thank you. The warm fuzziness soothes the buzzing underneath my skin. But only for a couple of seconds. 

There’s a tight grip in my chest.The scratching of pencils. Tapping of feet. The chew, chew, chewing of gum. Each sound pierces my skull. The scar across my face throbs. A thrumming pressure builds in my head. 

All I can hear is…THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. My heartbeat hammers against my chest. The gap between them is smaller than the last. 

Why is this happening all of the sudden?

My jacket is off so it can't be the heat. I didn't drink any coffee this morning. I haven't touched the stuff in months. So why?

Dammit woman, BREATHE. Drawing one in and out felt impossible. Like pushing Sisyphus’ boulder uphill. The burning weight of eyes on me only adds to it. I need to calm down. I can't afford to have another freak out.

Okay. Focus. Words on the board. Christopher Columbus and the Discovery of America. Discovered America in 1492 on the boat, Santa Maria. Weird guy with a funny hat. I take a deep breath in then out. In then out. Things slowly come back into focus. 

I look to the desk then to the door. Where’s Mrs Click?

Suddenly my chair moves forward with a loud thump. The edge of the desk digs into my stomach. More importantly the scars. I wheeze as the air is knocked out of me. My head whips around. 

“Why do you have to be such an attention whore, Cynthia?” He spits. 

Why is he here?

The buzzing becomes a roar. The tightness, a compression. A jolt of fear flashes through me. 

No. No. No. 

I escaped. I did. Didn’t I?

“Well, are you going to answer me?” Bill stares at me with dead eyes. 

Fear clogs my throat. I feel like I’ve been dropped into an ice bath. The blood splatter on his varsity jacket. Joe’s blood. The wet noise of blade meeting flesh. The screaming, screaming for help. For them to stop. To run. Run, I need to run. The ropes are gone. I need to get out before Matt gets back. 

I trip over something but catch myself. I look up and Kristin is staring at me. Her gaze curses me from where she’s slumped against the wall. The strands holding her jaw to her face twitch. I skirt around the table and head for the door. The handle slips with the sweat on my hands. But it finally opens. I slip out as soon as the gap is big enough. Where do I go now, Chris?

“Chris?”

The floor tilts underneath me and I feel like a bobblehead. My vision swims with tears. Was I wrong about the rope, is it still tied around my chest?

I fall through another door onto the cold, smooth floor. Tiles, they are called tiles. I pull myself up with help from the sink. I scramble like a fawn on ice to the furthest corner. Pressing myself into it and sinking down to a crouch.  

Did he hear me?

Did he follow me?

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to knock sense into my head. The pain feels real so this must be reality, right?

“Cindy” Someone says “Cindy please stop.” 

Delicate fingers wrap around my right wrist. I open my eyes. Blonde hair instead of brown. Blue eyes instead of grey or green. Bobbie instead of Bill or Matt. This doesn’t make sense. Bobbie wasn't in Sunnytown. She’s never been so why is she here?

“You are in the Girls bathroom of Hawkins High, okay?” Bobbie slides her hands down from my wrists. She holds my hands instead.

No. We’re in the abandoned Bradshaw building. With its long, dark corridors. Rats and bugs, dirt and webs. I never escaped. It was all fake including what happened to Chris, it has to be. It must be. But…but that place didn’t have bathrooms like this. Not with clean and modern sinks and toilets. Or the sound of footsteps, laughter and bustle outside of the door. 

“Not there?” I force the words out.

“You’re right here with me. In Hawkins. In this stupid school.” Bobbie promises.

“Promise…?” I squeeze her hands.

“I swear on my Great Aunt Dottie that we are in a Girls Bathroom in Hawkins High.” Bobbie says all in one breath, her cheeks flushed.

I blink once then again. I pull my hands out of Bobbie’s and wipe my eyes. Instead of the weight of fear and panic, I’m heavy limbed and lidded. And the school day has only just begun. Oh joy. 

Thankfully in her panic she hadn’t forgotten to grab our bags. Perhaps because it wasn’t my first school freakout. It certainly won't be my last. That's a fact. Another fact is that Mother is a damn liar about this “waterproof” mascara. I bet she just bought a regular. Small problem, yes. Could it become a big thing, yes. Especially if anyone apart from Bobbie sees. I look like I’ve been dumped on Prom Night for my sister. So off it all comes and we begin again. Foundation, blush, mascara, eyeliner and lipstick. 

Bobbie is standing by the door. She’s biting her lips and her cheeks are flushed. I can tell that she’s been crying too. A twinge of guilt throbs in my chest. I probably scared her again. It's not her fault that she’s the only one of my friends that I’ve told. At least the sanitised version of events of 82’. I wash my hands a little more roughly than I should. Then take a deep breath in and out. 

I approach Bobbie and swing my bag back over my shoulder. 

 “You’re awfully quiet.” I knock my foot into hers “Are you okay?”

Bobbie looks over at me with watery eyes and a frown “Am I okay?” she raises both eyebrows “Am. I. Okay?” She kicks her foot against the tiles “You just had one of the biggest…biggest…you know since you first arrived.” She shakes herself like she’s trying to throw off the intense emotions “And you’re asking if I’m alright. Are you okay?”

I blink once, twice, three times. Oh. OH. She’s mad that I’m not concerned about myself. I mean that's not entirely untrue. I care more about her feelings than mine.  But isn't it a good thing that I put others before myself?

It’s one of the few things I’m praised for by adults.

“I’m okay now.” I say.

And it's mostly the truth. By teachers, fellow students, everyone else's standards, I’m not. But by mine, I’m okay. Even if I feel like it sometimes, I’m not crazy. Sometimes I even believe myself when I think that.

“We need to go then before Mr Robertson scalps us for missing English.” She opens the bathroom door and makes a sweeping motion.

With that we head out. 

-------

Before heading to lunch, I stop by Perri’s locker and slip a note in. Our friendship is what people would call a double edged sword. When it was just us it’s great, we have fun. But in public, its torture. Because we have to be strangers. We could be openly friends when we were kids. But then when I came back to Hawkins, everything had changed. Perri’s dad had gotten a fancy new job. And her Mum had sunk her claws into Perri’s self esteem. It took us months to get as close as we could to the old us. 

We’re still working on that so I don't mind being a secret friend. Even if I want to knock those jocks around her down a peg. The notes however helped both of us. Physical proof if you will. Bobbie used to tease about the notes until I revealed who they were for. That was a weird moment. I couldn’t quite decipher her expression. It was gone before I could even brainstorm an idea. Bobbie now accepts it without making any comments now. When I ask she says it's for plausible deniability. 

I have a sneaky suspicion that Bobbie believes that me and Perri are a thing. It's more of an impression than anything concrete. I don't know for certain. I suppose it seems kinda gay to be secret friends with someone. Especially in a small town like Hawkins. 

“What do you think they’ll be serving today?” Bobbie bumps shoulders with me. 

“Something somewhat edible and lukewarm?” I bump back.

The food wasn’t that bad by my standards. But I had learned through middle school that kids are supposed to dislike school food. I also learned that parents “suck” but don't use words like hit or kick. Instead say that they are “too heavy on physical discipline” or that they are “heavy handed”. Like at home you play a role in school. Some were popular like the Jock King and Queen. On the opposite end were the Freaks, Psychos and other undesirables of Hawkins. 

Bobbie’s head tilts back and she cackles. Before slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. That sound fills me with warm happiness. My jokes don't always land with Bobbie. I’m glad that this one did. 

“Oh I bet!” She grins.

I nod and a smile splits across my face. 

If anything went right today it would have to be the pizza. It's about as thick as a piece of toast and covered in cheese. I could eat a whole plateful of them. Bobbie says I’m like a feral raccoon with my food. All grabby hands, stuffed cheeks and quick reflexes. Hands will be slapped if they try to take my food.

People learned quickly. The sky is blue. School is hell. And don't steal Cindy’s food. 

By the time we arrive at our usual table, most of the regulars are there. 

Deanna is swapping the meat parts of her lunch with Lily. Cleaning the meat juices off of the salad parts of her hamburger. I didn't personally understand why she didn't like meat. But I didn't question it either. It isn’t my business. Just like Deanna doesn’t question any of my quirks. 

Deanna looks up as we approach and nudges Lily. She points two fingers at her eyes and then towards us. Lily looks in that direction and sees me and Bobbie. A smile sparks across her face and her eyes light up. 

“Heeyyy!” Lily signs and says aloud. 

I clock the glares from the people on the other end of the table. Side Pony and her associates are new to our table at least. I’ve seen them around. The three of them giggle to each other and talk in unsubtle whispers. Side Pony is the clear leader or instigator among the three. She sits back while Bunches and Fawcett Jr do all the dirty work or work in general. I flip them off to their gawking faces. 

Am I jumping the gun, perhaps. Do I feel bad, no. 

“Hey, you two.” I sign, slightly rushed.

“Did Mrs Brown serve you meat again?” Bobbie signs and says “I thought you told her not to last time?” 

“I did.” Deanna simply signs.

Her whole self droops like the air rushing out of a balloon. An annoyed frown restrains itself from becoming a sad one. Her eyes have a light glassy quality to them. A small fire of anger burns within me. Was no meat too much to ask?

“They might hear but they don't listen.” I uncap my water bottle after signing the sentence “It’s so stupid.”

“So stupid” Lily signs enthusiastically. 

Then reaches over and squeezes Deanna’s hand. And with that the air comes back to her. A soft, adoring smile replaces the frown. She wipes her eyes with her spare hand. Before touching her chin and extending it out to Lily. 

Someone clears their throat and I turn to look. Side Pony and her lackeys are staring. Smirks on their lips and a sharpness in their eyes. 

“Cynthia, be a dear and tell them to stop. It’s putting us off our lunch.” A voice like halloween candy filled with razors. 

“No one’s forcing you to look.” I take a sip of my water.

Fawcett Jr scrunches up her face “That's not the point!”

“The point is control your deviants” Bunches points a neon nailed finger at us. 

“Deviants” Bobbie’s voice is filled with incredulous rage “What is this the 1800s?”

I grip the sides of the tray, hard. The plastic digs into the palms of my hands. A painful throb, throb, throbbing in my head. My lungs heave and my heart begins to speed up. I desperately hold down the lid over my bubbling anger.

“Well if the shoe fits…” Side Pony smirks “But if you don't want us calling them Deviants” Her eyes light up “How about Retar-”

The lid flies off. I’m on top of her before she can finish. The tray connects with her face. And I hear a crunch. Something gives way. I raise it again and see a red line. Blood. I throw the tray aside. And get up. She’s crying and trying to prop herself up. I grab a fistful of her hair. Tightening until she cries harder.

“You’re a psycho!” She spits at me. 

I grin, “Oh you haven't seen me crazy yet.” 

I clench my free hand into a fist. An evil, dark part of me whispers, Make her bleed more. My fist connects with her nose. Her cheek. Her right eye. Nails dig into my palms. The shouts, cries and yells are a blur of noise. All I see is fear, her fear. Tears stream down her face. It mixes with makeup and blood. And I laugh.

Someone pulls me off of her from behind. I stumble and steady myself. Bobbie is staring at me with furrowed eyebrows. She’s biting her lower lip. Deanna and Lily are standing over where we had been sitting. They were trembling with their eyes wide and mouth open. Deanna is clutching Lily’s shoulders. I huff out an exhale and allow Bobbie to escort me out. 

The buzzing under my skin needed to get out. But my heart squeezes painfully at the thought of pushing it upon Bobbie. She didn't deserve that. So I dig my nails into the palms of my hands. I clench my muscles as tight as I can. 

“Do you have your walkman?” Bobbie asks “I know music helps me when emotions get big but I don't know about you.” She begins to ramble “I mean I can't remember if you mentioned it before?” 

I interject “I have it. Music can help, sometimes.”

Bobbie hands me my bag with a strained smile. The ugly, evil part of me whispers, You’ll end up hurting her too. I unzip the pocket and pull it out. The former owner’s initials have long since been replaced by mine. Finders keepers, losers weepers as they say. 

The tapes are kept in the main part of the bag within another bag. Heart, Joan Jett, ABBA, Zeppelin, AC/DC and some playlists of my own. Those were gifts. As I come across Perri and Cece’s Dance Mix 1 and 2. Followed by Kris and Her Crazies Demo. Nope, too riled up to go down that memory lane. Stick to non friend related music. 

“Good, good, good.” Bobbie bobs her head “Let’s head in this room, it's empty. Miss Nowak won't mind. I hope.” As she opens the door.

Perched on one of the tables is Eddie “Self Proclaimed Freak” Munson. Next to him is Just Jeff. No surname, not short for anything, Just Jeff. Then my eyes register the details of what I’m seeing. There are red marks on Munson’s face. Around his bloodshot right eye. On both of his cheeks. The right side of his lower lip is cut and he has tissues stuck up his nose. Looks like I’m not the only one who has been in a fight.

[rainbowpitofdoom]

Roll Of The Dice

Chapter 3: Sometimes human places, create inhuman monsters

Words: 2052

Warnings: Nightmare, Mild Gore. Mild Body Horror and reference to abuse.

Note: Had a wee break before coming back to this. I doubt anyone missed this lol.

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Sunnytown, Illinois (Nov 1982)

Someone is following me. I can tell by the burning sensation on the back of my head. As well as the hairs on my neck standing up. That and the noises it was making. It was the only thing I could hear. A wet THWAP sound every ten seconds. Heavy wheezing and coughing like an out of breath asthmatic. 

Every cell, every fibre of my being is screaming at me. I need to walk, not run. And don't look behind you. Don't look at it. 

Sometimes I have a clean kitchen knife. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes it looks like it's been used. Not in the conventional way. 

I turn the corner from Greenhill Street onto the main road. My eyes are fixed ahead of me. Even though some small part of me wants to look back. It would end this, quick and not easy. Or it might not. I look up the main street towards the town hall. Across the road, hanging from two posts is the Sunnytown Celebration banner. A garish combination of firetruck red, forest green and flamingo pink. 

The banner falls in slow motion. From behind the rippling fabric, he appears. 

His gelled curls framing his face. A face that is blank like a mannequin. He’s dressed in the same suit that he wore to Prom. Right down to the baby blue bowtie. In his arms, he is cradling a bouquet of red roses. Each step he takes towards me leaves behind a red footprint. I take a step back. And another and another. Until I hit something cold and wet. Someone who reeks of a familiar metallic smell. 

A cold, wet hand grips my right shoulder 

It leans over me so that its head is resting on my left shoulder. I break my promise and look. His face is worse than I remember. It's cracked like porcelain. Instead of emptiness there is red flesh. The cracks weep blood. He doesn’t have any features either. No eyes. No nose. Nothing. But I can tell that he’s grinning. 

“Going somewhere, Thea?” He croons teasingly.  

Hawkins, Indiana (Nov 8th 1983)

Small, needle-like claws hit my stomach which has me upright in seconds. Unimpressed green eyes stare up at me. Trash is really living up to her name. She places her paws on my chest and headbuts my chin. Perhaps I’ll forgive her. I look over at the window sill. The clock reads 4:45. 

“Ma-ow,” Trash says.

“Yes, I agree it is way too early to be woken up.” 

“Mrrrp” She flops on my shoulder, her head on my neck. 

“Ah so it's my fault for not already being awake, huh?” 

Trash shimmies down my chest and flops on her side “Maow” 

This being her sign for me to cradle her like the little goblin child she is. So as her majesty demands, I cradle her as I swing my legs off the bed. Before my feet hit the ground, I pause. There is the faint sound of Mother humming. As well as the smell of a “Good Day” breakfast. I exhale the breath I was holding. That means I can walk normally. Praise the Trash Cat Goddess.

Niamh Cooper is a 50’s housewife in modern times. She looks like Elisabeth Taylor if she was a redhead. Regardless of what kind of day it is, she's always immaculate. Hair is always perfectly arranged. Her makeup is always tidy. The clothes are always stylish. 

A sharp contrast to me. We often joke that I’m like the cygnet in the Ugly Duckling. The comfort being that I’ll eventually become a swan. But what's the point of being a bird if your wings are clipped?

“Good Morning.” Mother signed with a wide smile. 

“Morning” I sign back and matching her expression

She hasn’t looked me in the eyes yet. I know why. My face feels sore especially across the right side of my face. Her eyes go kind of watery but not for long. Mother turns away and serves the breakfast up on the plates. 

I transfer the plates onto the table before picking out six cutlery sets. The homemade jam, store bought syrup and ketchup are on the table. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement. I look up and see a grinning face. 

Lex is standing in the doorway. An oversized top ending at her knees. Her hair looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards. 

“Is it a pancake morning today?” Lex mumbles.

“Yes” I say and sign at the same time “bacon and egg too!”

A happy cheer comes from behind Lex. Ruth bounces into the room with a big smile on her face. Her braids swing and hit Lex in the arm. So, she grabs the offending braid and tugs it. Ruth hits Lex’s arm until she lets go of it. I just shake my head at the scene.

Mother taps me on the shoulder before signing “Get River Please” 

I set Trash down. River is the sign name she gave Shan. Baby Shannon had been born not long after we had moved back to Hawkins. A chubby little thing she is who is constantly giggling. All smiles and innocence. 

“Dee-Dee!” Shannon squeals. 

She makes grabby hands at me. I scoop her out of her crib and into my arms. I bounce her on my hip as I head back through. 

“Who’s a precious baby?” I cooed at her.

Ruth and Lex are side by side in their usual seats. Already digging in. I ruffle Lex’s hair as I pass and set Shan in her highchair. Fastening her in with its buckles. Before pressing a kiss on her big baby head. Mother slides past me with Shan’s baby food in one hand. And a spoon in the other. I take my seat next to Shan. 

Picking up my cutlery, I dig in also. 

Father won't be up until at least nine so we don't have to worry. He tends to sleep in after nights like last night. I scoff. Glad to see that he doesn’t lose sleep over it. I clear any crumbs off my plate before heading to the sink. 

----

It has become routine for me to get the younger ones ready before myself. Lex no longer needs me to help her as much. Which allows me to focus on Ruth and Shan since the two of them need it.

Ruth has a colour of the day kind of approach. Some days it's a general colour like Blue or Red. Sometimes it's combos like Purple and Green. And sometimes it's a specific shade like Blush Pink or Sea Blue. 

“It has to be Sunset Orange, Cece. Not Orange Orange.” Ruth pouts.

“Aye aye, Captain.” I hang her orange-orange dress away. 

A softer orange catches my eye, her jumpsuit. If I remember correctly this is the sunset orange outfit. Short sleeved with ankle length trouser legs and a sun on each pocket. I pull it out and Ruth beams.

“Finally!” She claps her hands, excitedly.

I help her step into the jumpsuit. Before waiting patiently as she attempts the buttons. As always I help with the last 4. Ruth bounces over to sit on her bed. She brandishes the brush at me.

“Ponytail, please.” Ruth wiggles the brush at me.

I perch myself behind her. Plucking the brush from her soft grip. Hair care on others is easier it seems. At least when it comes to those I’m acquainted with. The hair tie is of course orange. The sneakers as well.  

“Please put on your school bag.” I hold it out to her.

Ruth nods “Okay, Cece. I won't forget.”

I pat her head and press a kiss on her forehead “I know, Cap.” 

Ruth sits herself back down and picks up The BFG. I step out of the room and come face to face with Mother. Then I register Shan being handed to me. I press a kiss on her forehead. And smile at Mother before heading back into Ruth and Shan’s room. 

Once Ruth and Shan had been gotten ready, I could see to myself. 

My outfit for today is hanging over my chair. Well, the red top and plaid skirt are but my sneakers are underneath. I move my clothes onto my bed and the chair over to the door. If anyone comes in it won't stop them but it’ll give me plenty of warning. 

After getting changed, I move the chair back to my desk. Time for my hair. First, I section it. Add some dry shampoo. Then start from the tips heading towards the roots. I flip my hair over to one side. I tie a red bandana around my head. Hairspray then done. 

“Cindy, have you seen my ABBA tape?” Lex peeks her head into my room.

“The Arrival one or the Voulez Vou one?” I unzip my makeup bag.

Lex raises an eyebrow and me “The Arrival one, duh!” she sighs.

I rack my brain for the last time I saw it. All the while I carefully apply my foundation. The last time I saw it was…her friend’s sleepover. Lex had packed it in her overnight bag. She had been adamant about bringing it. That was about a week ago.

“Did you check your shoulder bag?” I ask as I tap off the excess blush.

Lex’s eyes light up and she disappears behind the door.

“Lex, door!” I call after her.

It remains partially open. I roll my eyes and gently apply some lipstick. Whore red as my Father calls it. I snort laugh and slip the lid back on. With how shaky my hands are, eyeliner is tough. Years of practice though save me from racoon eyes. 

I check the clock, 7:00. 30 minutes until school starts…oh crap. Bag. Bag. I need my bag. There by the bed and leather jacket is hanging on the door. Shades are in the right pocket. Okay, ready to go. Trash stares up at me when I turn around. 

“Maowww!” Trash whines petulantly.

“I have to go, bud.” I step around her.

With all things set with my family, I can leave.

As I turn to walk down the driveway I am greeted by a familiar sight. A certain blonde attempting to do her mascara in the reflection of my Father’s car. It seems at least by her outfit that she had a clothes crisis. These outfits were always a surprise and always last minute decisions. 

“Getting ready for Mrs Click-Clack's class?” I ask.

Bobbie startles, flailing “Jesus H Christ, Cindy!” she almost shrieks “You’re like a ghost or ninja the way you just…appear.” Bobbie mimes an explosion.

I subtly inspect her outfit. It takes effort for my expression to remain neutral. This outfit was certainly one for the books. A blouse which was striped red, yellow, blue and green. Blue jeans and suspenders. Black sneakers and blazer. Her tie is undone. I reach out and begin to sort it. Thin over thick, thick around again, tuck in and down the drain. Or something like that.

“Not my fault that you’re oblivious.” I straighten the tie. 

“Not as oblivious as King Hairington is to Lady Tammy’s advances.” Bobbie flicks my hand away to it herself.

“True, true.” I link in with her and begin walking.

Tamara “Tammy” Thomson is a classmate and only known to me through gossip. An aspiring singer with auburn hair and sky blue eyes, at least according to Bobbie. From what I’ve heard she sounds like Kermit or some other Muppet. I haven't heard her so it could be a cruel rumour. She runs around with the popular students. I hear about her from Bobbie almost as much as I do about the King, Steve Harrington. 

Stefano Harrington or King Steve as he’s called. He’s like a celebrity in Hawkins High. Every day, a new rumour. These would either be denied or accepted by his fan club. Almost every girl claims to have some sort of “contact” with him. I could sort of see in an objective sort of way. Carefully styled hair, creaseless clothing and polished shoes. He is bilingual and athletic. Him being rich is certainly another point in his favour. 

Between the two of them I’m not sure who she’s obsessed with more.

[pwc45]

The future is already here: it’s engaging all of the senses with the same ferocity as the most sit-on-the-edge-of-your-seat stage play.

Cindy Cooper, Playwrights’ Center Affiliated Writer, on what theater will be like in 45 years