The Promise

      The night breeze swirls around and slips through an open window, brushing against bare skin. Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers lie asleep beside each other in the Byers’ house. The room is messy and cool now, though it had been stifling before the window was opened. Peace settles in and holds, unbroken, until morning comes and the birds begin to chirp. Nancy wakes up first. Her curly hair is tangled, mascara smudged beneath her bright eyes. She rubs sleep from them and smiles at Jonathan, his mouth slightly open against the pillow. His short hair is never tangled. Then her gaze drifts to the nightstand. She frowns. There’s something there she doesn’t remember seeing last night, something out of place. Her smile fades and silent irritation kicks in. She exhales slowly, feeling as though the air has been knocked from her chest and she can’t quite draw in a new portion of it. Purple Palm Tree Delight, flushed down the toilet, slips away like a rainbow that suddenly fades. Nancy washes her face and goes to the kitchen to make a plain breakfast. She cracks the first egg into the pan and the yolk breaks. It bleeds and spreads like a quiet wave. Nancy stares at it for a second before reaching for the spatula. Then she cracks another egg; this one lands perfectly. Bacon sizzles beside it, darkening at the edges. The smell fills the kitchen. Nancy turns the heat down, then up again, not sure what it is that she’s forgotten. Salt. She forgot to add salt. But she doesn’t worry about it, it’s easy to fix. And then Jonathan enters the room. Nancy doesn’t hear him at first. She startles when his arms slide around her waist, then relaxes into the warmth of him. He kisses her cheek, and for a moment her mouth curves into a small smile before her attention drifts back to the stove. She pours black coffee into two identical mugs, and sets the table. “I’ll wash the dishes,” Jonathan says. They eat in silence. Jonathan gazes at her, smiling. Nancy smiles back, but her smile is faint like a blink of a slow eye. He eats the egg with the broken yolk without comment. It still tastes good. “What’s on your mind?” Jonathan asks gently. He cuts his bacon into smaller pieces before taking a bite, careful as always. Sunlight glints off the grease turning the meat porcelain pale. Nancy doesn’t answer, hesitating. She is getting lost in her own thoughts like a child in the woods. Jonathan raises his eyebrows and playfully strokes her hand. “Nance?” She breathes in. “I noticed something by the bed this morning. Didn’t know it was there.” Her voice stays soft. She quickly tucks a loose hair behind her ear, looking straight at Jonathan. His smile fades as he searches his memory. Then it clicks, and something in his expression closes. “I forgot it was there,” he says. “Sorry.” Jonathan stares at the half-eaten bacon on the plate. The room goes quiet. Nancy exhales. “I just want us to be okay.” “Me too.” Nancy takes his hand. “I flushed it down the toilet.” It was his last joint. Jonathan doesn’t flinch. He nods quietly, never breaking eye contact. Her hand is warm in his. He thinks of how long they’ve had each other. It has been years before this ever showed up. And it hasn’t been there long enough to outweigh what they have. Right now, he doesn’t feel like he needs it. He needs her. He appreciates what she did. And he will let her know. “I promise to never ever take Purple Palm Tree Delight again,” Jonathan says clearly. Nancy believes him. It’s not that it’s hard to believe. It’s just that you never fully know what is actually going on until it’s too late. Nancy Wheeler, the girl that has gone through so much, is still hopeful. And it’s not that bad. Right?       Weeks go by. Nancy laughs again, full of life and trust. Everything feels lighter. Jonathan, he doesn’t think about it much. He is grateful that she gave him a second chance. And it is quietly working out. They dance in every kitchen they stumble into while traveling through different states. Music fills narrow space between them as they smile, and kiss, and cuddle. It stops in New York. It seems like Jonathan has been replaced by someone so similar. Nancy doesn’t notice much at first, but it escalates like an earthquake, shifting the ground beneath what they’ve built, damaging it all. Something worse than Purple Palm Tree Delight finds its way into their lives. And there’s no turning back. Jonathan grows talkative, restless in a way Nancy has never seen before. He paces hotel rooms, talks through nights, and sometimes unintentionally wakes her up. She tells herself it’s just adrenaline from the road, from being young, from wild New York. But then he barely sleeps. When he does, it’s shallow and brief. He eats less, pushing food around his plate until she stops nagging him. By midday he looks exhausted, and by night he’s wide awake again. Nancy starts counting. The money disappears in small amounts at first. Ten here, twenty there. She tells herself that prices went up. She hopes she imagines things. But when it happens again, she is too tired of pretending not to notice. It hurts. The most annoying part is Jonathan’s total obliviousness. He walks around like nothing happened. He doesn’t notice anything remotely harmful. They just go through motions at this point. But it started out so great… Nancy decides to wait until morning. And she promises herself it’s the last time she has ever waited for something instead of ending things abruptly. She discovers she’s quite patient, especially with those she still loves. Sad but true. She packs slowly, taking everything that’s hers. Jonathan is in the bathroom. She hears him talking into complete emptiness under the running water. His voice now is too loud for such small space. She looks around, seeing things remained untouched. His stuff. All that life they keep dragging from place to place. And when she almost loses all her patience, he comes out of the bathroom. His eyes are bright, words already forming. “Hey-” Nancy turns to face him. He is stunned. “I can’t do this anymore, Jonathan.” Her voice doesn’t shake, not yet. He laughs shortly, confused. “Do what?” She gives him a resentful look, mixed with dying concern. She barely recognizes him anymore, like something essential for him is missing. And it hits her like a ton of bricks. Her eyes start to water. “I love you,” she says, half-whispered. “I know,” Jonathan says quickly. “I just need more time, I can fix this!” “That’s the problem, Byers. I don’t believe this bullshit anymore.” She shoulders her bag and looks at him for the last time. But she doesn’t look for too long because it’s not that Jonathan she wants to remember. Then she goes. She pauses in the doorway, thinking he might stop her, but he doesn’t. Then she leaves. Completely. Ever since, his table always has one mug on it, filled with cold black coffee and a trail of cocaine resting beside.