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The streets of Hawkins were eerily quiet, the faint buzz of fluorescent streetlights filling the silence. The grocery store loomed at the corner, its dark windows reflecting the pale glow of the moon. Madison Foxx stood in the shadows, her leather jacket pulled tightly around her, pink-streaked hair falling into her eyes as she glanced around the deserted block. She had done this before—too many times to count—but the thrill of breaking the rules always gave her a small rush.

She adjusted her grip on the brick she'd found in the alley, her fingers curling around its rough edges. With a sly smirk, she hefted it in her hand, aimed, and hurled it at the large front window. The glass shattered with a satisfying crash, fragments scattering onto the sidewalk and inside the store. The sound echoed through the empty streets, but Madison barely blinked.

"Good evening, Hawkins Grocery," she muttered under her breath, stepping through the jagged frame of the broken window. Her boots crunched against the shards as she entered, the cold air inside hitting her like a welcome breeze.

The aisles stretched out before her, neat and orderly, the dim emergency lights casting long shadows. Madison strolled casually through the store as if she were shopping during regular hours, her fingers trailing along the shelves. She grabbed a bag of chips and tossed it into her worn leather backpack. A candy bar followed, then a bottle of apple juice from the refrigerated section.

Satisfied with her haul, Madison slung the backpack over her shoulder, the candy bar sticking out of one of the open zippers. She popped the cap on the apple juice and took a long sip, smirking to herself as she walked back to the shattered window.

The cool night air greeted her again as she stepped outside, glass crunching beneath her boots. But as she adjusted her backpack and prepared to make her getaway, a familiar deep voice cut through the stillness.

"Seriously, kid? Again?"

Madison froze mid-step, her smirk faltering for just a moment. She turned slowly, and there he was—Chief Hopper. He stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his broad chest, his face a mixture of exhaustion and irritation. His squad car was parked nearby, its headlights bathing the scene in a harsh glow.

Madison's grin returned as she let the apple juice dangle loosely in her hand. "Well, well, well," she drawled, taking another sip. "If it isn't Hawkins' finest."

Hopper didn't look amused. His heavy boots crunched against the gravel as he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing.

"You've got to be kidding me, Foxx," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "This is the second time this month."

"Second time you caught me," Madison quipped, tossing the apple juice toward him with a casual flick of her wrist.

Hopper caught it easily, his grip tightening around the plastic bottle as he stared her down. "You think this is a game?"

Madison shrugged, her grin never wavering. "Lighten up, Hop. It's just some snacks. No harm done. Now, why don't you drive me home so I can get some sleep?"

Hopper's jaw tightened, and he let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to ward off a migraine. "Absolutely not. This isn't a free ride home, kid. You're coming down to the station with me, and we're gonna have another talk about this little hobby of yours."

Madison groaned loudly, throwing her head back like a petulant teenager. "Oh, come on! I didn't even take the expensive stuff!"

Hopper raised an eyebrow, his voice firm. "Get in the car, Foxx. Now."

With a dramatic roll of her eyes, Madison slung her backpack over her shoulder and trudged toward the squad car. "You know, you're really killing my vibe here," she muttered as she climbed into the passenger seat.

Hopper gave her a sharp look as he slid into the driver's seat. "Your vibe is breaking windows and stealing snacks at three in the morning. Maybe it needs to die."

Madison smirked, leaning back in the seat and kicking her feet up onto the dashboard. "You're lucky I didn't grab the ice cream. That would've been harder to carry."

"Feet off the dash," Hopper barked, his eyes flicking toward her boots.

With an exaggerated sigh, Madison dropped her feet, folding her arms over her chest. "Fine. But you're not getting any of my snacks."

Hopper grunted in response as he started the car, his patience clearly running thin. Madison sat back, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. Sure, she was headed to the station for another lecture, but to her, it was all part of the game. And if there was one thing Madison Foxx loved, it was playing by her own rules.

The fluorescent lights in the station's interrogation room buzzed faintly, casting a harsh, sterile glow over the small space. Madison slouched in her chair, her boots propped up on the table despite Hopper's earlier order to keep them off. She toyed with the zipper on her leather jacket, her expression one of studied indifference. Across from her, Hopper paced back and forth, his hands resting on his hips, frustration etched into every line of his face.

"Look, Maddie—" he started, his voice a mix of exasperation and concern.

Madison's boots hit the floor with a loud thud as she sat up straight, her eyes narrowing. "You don't get to call me that," she snapped, her tone sharp. "Only one person gets to call me that."

Hopper froze mid-step, his brows furrowing as her words hung in the air. He knew exactly who she meant. His voice softened slightly as he turned to face her. "Madison," he said carefully, "I know you miss her. You saw her as a sister. But this—this isn't the way to deal with it."

Madison leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she locked eyes with him. "You think I'm doing this because of her?" she asked, her voice low but laced with defiance. "I've been acting out way before I met her, Hop. Don't try to psychoanalyze me."

Hopper sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. He pulled out a chair and sank into it, leaning forward to meet her gaze. "Where's your mom, Madison? What's she up to these days?"

Madison's lips twitched into a smirk as she leaned back in her chair, her arms crossing over her chest. "No clue," she said with a shrug. "Probably passed out on the couch or gone for the week. She doesn't exactly keep me updated on her schedule."

Hopper's frown deepened, and he shook his head slowly. "You can't keep living like this," he said firmly. "Breaking windows, stealing snacks, running around like you've got nothing to lose. You're going to end up in real trouble one day, Madison. And I'm not talking about a slap on the wrist."

Madison rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in a half-smirk. "Spare me the lecture, Hop. You're acting like I haven't heard this all before."

"That's because you have," Hopper shot back, his voice rising slightly. "And yet here we are, again! You've got so much potential, Madison, but you keep throwing it away on this...this tough-girl routine."

"Tough-girl routine?" Madison repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wow, Chief, thanks for the deep insight. Maybe next time, you can just leave me alone and let me keep doing what I do best."

Hopper's eyes narrowed as he leaned closer, his tone dropping into something softer but no less serious. "This isn't who you are, Madison. I know that. And I think deep down, you know it too. You're just too damn stubborn to admit it."

For a moment, Madison's smirk faltered. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her gaze darting toward the corner of the room before snapping back to him. "Yeah? Well, stubbornness runs in the family, doesn't it?" she shot back, her voice quieter but still tinged with defiance.

Hopper exhaled slowly, his frustration ebbing into something closer to sympathy. "Look, kid," he said, his voice softer now. "I know you've been through a lot. More than most people in this town. But you've got to stop digging yourself into a deeper hole. This isn't just about what happens to you—it's about what you leave behind."

Madison didn't respond right away. She tapped her fingers against the edge of the table, her expression unreadable. Finally, she gave a small shrug, her voice flat. "Maybe I don't care what I leave behind."

Hopper shook his head, his voice firm but kind. "That's where you're wrong. You care more than anyone I've ever met. You cared about her, didn't you?"

The mention of Eleven made Madison's jaw tighten, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something softer—something like pain. She stood abruptly, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. "Are we done here?" she asked, her tone clipped.

Hopper stood as well, his gaze steady as he regarded her. "We're done for now," he said. "But this conversation isn't over."

Madison rolled her eyes as she walked toward the door. "It's always the same conversation," she muttered.

As she reached the door, Hopper's voice stopped her in her tracks. "You've got people who care about you, Madison. Don't push them away."

She paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Without turning around, she muttered, "I'll think about it."

Hopper watched as she disappeared down the hall, shaking his head. He hoped, more than anything, that she meant it.

Madison trudged up the driveway, her boots crunching over loose gravel, the cold night air biting at her exposed hands. Her house loomed in front of her, its once-white paint now faded and peeling, the porch light flickering like it might give out at any second. She felt the familiar ache of frustration creeping in. Home sweet home, she thought bitterly.

Across the street, the Wheelers' house stood in stark contrast: warm, inviting, lights glowing softly behind the curtains. The picture-perfect family home. Madison felt a pang of something she refused to name—jealousy, maybe—but she shoved it down as she noticed movement near the curb.

Steve Harrington's car was parked outside the Wheelers', his shiny BMW gleaming under the streetlamp. He was leaning casually against the driver's side door, arms crossed, a stupidly charming smile plastered on his face as he talked to Nancy Wheeler. Madison stopped mid-step, narrowing her eyes at the scene. Steve laughed at something Nancy said, his voice carrying through the quiet street, and Madison felt her stomach twist.

Nancy gave him a little wave before heading inside, the door closing softly behind her. Steve lingered by his car, turning slightly—and that's when he noticed Madison standing frozen in the driveway. His smile faltered for a split second before he covered it up, raising a hand in a casual wave.

"Hey, Maddie," he called out, his voice annoyingly cheerful.

Madison's expression darkened instantly. She stormed up the steps to her porch, her boots thudding against the wood. "Don't call me that," she snapped, her tone dripping with irritation.

Steve shrugged, unbothered. "Alright, Madison. Happy?"

"Not really." She glared at him, arms crossed as she leaned against the porch railing. "What are you even doing here? Trying to score extra credit with Nancy's parents? Or maybe you're hoping her brother will finally give you his blessing."

Steve blinked, caught off guard by her venom. "I was just dropping her off," he said, holding up his hands defensively. "No need to bite my head off."

Madison's smirk widened. "Please, Harrington. You're like a stray puppy, wagging your tail for attention. Newsflash: no one cares."

Steve's smile tightened, his jaw clenching slightly, but he didn't take the bait. "Well," he said, pushing off his car and opening the driver's side door, "someone around here has to set a good example."

Madison let out a dry laugh. "Good example? That's rich, coming from the guy who used to pick fights just to look cool."

Steve's eyes flicked toward her, his expression softening slightly. "People can change, Madison. You should try it sometime."

The comment hit harder than she expected, but she didn't let it show. Instead, she rolled her eyes dramatically, turning toward the front door. "Yeah, I'll get right on that," she muttered sarcastically, fumbling with her keys.

Steve climbed into his car, but before he closed the door, he called out, "Try not to get yourself arrested again tonight, alright?"

Madison flipped him off without turning around, her lips curling into a bitter smile. "Not if I see you first," she shot back, yanking the door open and stepping inside.

The smell hit her immediately: stale beer, cigarette smoke, and something faintly sour. The living room was dimly lit by the glow of the static-filled TV, which cast eerie shadows across the mess of empty bottles and crumpled fast-food wrappers.

Her mom was sprawled on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, an empty bottle still clutched in her fingers. Her hair was matted, and her chest rose and fell with the deep, unsteady rhythm of someone dead to the world.

Madison let out a sigh, her frustration shifting into a heavy, resigned weariness. She stepped over a discarded bag of chips and approached the couch, carefully prying the bottle from her mom's hand and setting it on the coffee table. She stared at the woman for a moment, her face a mix of pity and contempt.

"Mom," she said softly, nudging her mother's leg with the toe of her boot. "Hey. Wake up."

Nothing. Not even a groan.

Madison stood there for a moment longer, her hands balling into fists at her sides. She wanted to shake her awake, scream at her, demand to know why this was all she was capable of anymore. But she didn't. She just sighed again and turned away, heading for the kitchen.

The fridge was nearly empty, its contents consisting of a half-empty carton of milk, a moldy block of cheese, and a cold slice of pizza. Madison grabbed the pizza and leaned against the counter, staring out the small kitchen window.

Steve's car was still parked across the street, the engine idling as he sat behind the wheel. For a moment, Madison wondered what it must be like to be him—to have parents who gave a damn, a life that wasn't constantly on the verge of falling apart.

She took a bite of the pizza, the cold cheese sticking to the roof of her mouth. "Good guy act," she muttered bitterly. "What a joke."

But as she watched Steve's car finally pull away, she couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that maybe the real joke was her own life.

ASH SPEAKS!!!

poor madison :(

i cant wait to write madison and el's relationship (they're like sisters</3)

STEVE AND MADISON EHHE

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!!!
VOTE AND COMMENT!! IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:)