Auto-complete in Pages is a fucking nuisance. And I guess warning for drug use? Also we stan a wholesome drug dealer. We had a rule in college that you never went to the dealer's house alone. Be safe about your drug use, including where you get it from.
Eddie didn't actually get going to Casey's house until later in the day than he had wanted. Meeting his supplier had taken longer than expected, the guy feeling extra chatty. And he spent way too long trying to get dressed. It was too hot for the leather jacket at this point of the summer, even a denim one seemed oppressive in this heat. He stood in his bedroom, dressed from the waist down in a pair of black jeans with large holes in the knees and scuffed up Reeboks, going from pile of laundry to pile of laundry to find a decent enough shirt. This one had a red stain on the front, that one had pit stains, the other one smelled like onions. The clean had somehow been mixed with the dirty, making everything just dirty. Finally in a fit of rage, Eddie forced his head and arms through a faded old Black Sabbath shirt, repeating "Fuck it, just fuck it," to himself. Then, beat up tool box under arm, Eddie hurried to his van and out of Forest Hills.
He had to fish the scrap of paper out of his back jeans pocket once he made it to Harvest Hill Road. He thought maybe it was three twenty four? But he couldn't find that house number anywhere, so he had to double check. Of course, he had flipped the numbers around, and had to turn his van around to go back down the street in the opposite direction to get to Casey's house.
The neighborhood was all small, older homes. It wasn't the nice part of Hawkins to be sure, but it was a step above Forest Hills. Finally, Eddie found four twenty three, mostly thanks to Casey's car being parked in the driveway. It was a small pink brick house, with aged and chipping white trim. The grass was browning in the summer sun, and the boxwood hedges lining the front of the house were a little overgrown. But still, Eddie was impressed she had her own house. Did she really make that much in tips?
Eddie parked in the driveway behind Casey's car, and got out, walking quickly to the front door and ringing the bell. There was a little cement statue of a frog next to the door, and a pot of now dead flowers. After a long minute, Casey finally flung open the door. Her long hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, her bangs tucked behind the ears. She was wearing the shortest shorts he had ever seen her in, and God bless America, did he appreciate that. They were little black athletic style shorts with the white trim. Her shirt was an old oversize tee with the sleeves and bottom half cut off, the well worn, raw cotton edges rolling in on themselves. The bottom of the shirt brushed against her waistband as she moved. And she was barefoot, her toenails painted a bright blue with a little smiley face on her left big toenail.
"I think your flowers are dead," Eddie said as a greeting, shifting his gaze from her feet to the sad pot.
"Have been for a while," she replied, stepping to the side and holding the door open for Eddie to come inside.
He hadn't really pictured what he thought the inside of her home would look like, but this really wasn't it. The carpet was pink, the walls covered in wood paneling. The front door opened into the living room, which bled into a small dining area, which fed into a small kitchen. There was a hall to the right, probably leading to the bedrooms, and a door on the left, probably leading to the one car garage. The couch was a floral print, a fat Persian cat asleep atop a needlepoint pillow. Above the sofa hung a painting of irises in a vase. It was so grandma.
Casey had closed the door behind Eddie, and was in the kitchen as he took it all in. There were hints of Casey throughout the place, Eddie noticed. The record player by the TV, and multiple milk crates full of records next to that, several bottles of nail polish on the coffee table in varying colors, including black, dark red, and lime green. A familiar Pink Floyd tee draped over the back of the light green club chair. An empty beer bottle on the little table next to the couch, and a very worn looking, dog-eared copy of Pet Semetery ironically next to the sleeping cat. There was a copy of The Haunting of Hill House on the coffee table, next to the nail polishes. OK, so she had a thing for horror, it seemed. That was kind of metal.
Eddie moved further into the house, stopping to examine the massive piles of paper work stacked neatly on the dining table, absolutely covering the entire surface. "Getting ready for court?" He joked.
Casey looked up from what she was doing, it looked like she was cleaning the stove top, to see what Eddie was talking about.
"Oh, that," she sighed. She took a minute before explaining it. "My grandma died a while ago, and there's a shit load of paper work you have to do when people die, apparently."
"Oh shit, I'm sorry," Eddie suddenly felt bad for joking.
"Like this was her house, and I inherited it, but I have to pay an estate tax, right? And I have to have a million certified copies of her death certificate, which cost money, and its such a pain in the ass transferring all of the bills into my name, or closing old accounts, or even just figuring out where she had accounts," Casey started to rant, clearly frustrated with the situation. She cleaned harder as she spoke. Not being able to sleep and needing some pot made sense now. Also, the decor finally made sense.
"I was wondering who decorated," he said, looking at the floral print wallpaper of the kitchen, making Casey laugh.
"Not really my taste, but I'm not ready for a remodel yet," she explained, and threw the sponge she was using into the sink from across the kitchen.
"That your cat?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at the cat still asleep on the sofa. Maybe it was dead? It didn't seem to be particularly bothered to have a stranger in the house.
"Oh, you mean Satan's beast?" She corrected.
"Cherished family pet, I see," he smiled.
"We've had that thing since I was 8, and he refuses to die," Casey told him. Eddie believed her about the cat being evil. There used to be a mean as hell cat, probably feral, he'd see around the trailer park. It may or may not have scratched the fucking shit out of him a few times, before he finally learned to leave the damn thing alone.
"You want anything to drink?" She asked, pulling open the refrigerator door. "I've got Coke, beer, apple juice, shitty white wine," she listed.
"Coke is fine," Eddie answered, moving back into the living room and setting his tool box down on the coffee table. Casey followed him into the living room, two cans of coke in hand, and set them both down on the coffee table next to his box.
"Sit down, I'll be right back," she said, leaving Eddie alone with the cat, disappearing down the hall into what he assumed was her room. Now, that was a part of the house he would like to see. But he didn't want to be creepy. Someone once told him he was the least creepy drug dealer they'd ever had, and he realized that the drug buying experience was probably a lot different for girls than it was for guys.
Eddie sat down on the club chair, not wanting to disturb the allegedly evil cat on the sofa. But the moment he sat down, he realized the cat had been watching him, tail twitching back and forth in interest. Eddie cracked open his coke and took a sip as he waited.
"So are you guys playing tonight?" Casey asked, coming back down the hallway. It was Tuesday, Corroded Coffin's usual night at the Hideout.
"We're on hiatus at the moment," Eddie said. "Jeff is at his grandparents' in Maine until August," he punctuated his disappointment with a roll of his eyes. The party usually disbanded during the summer, everyone going their own ways for the three months that school didn't rule their lives. Even Hellfire kind of fell apart in the summer. Gareth was working part time at the general store, Jeff at his grandparent's house, Dustin at nerd camp. Even the younger Sinclair was at sleep away camp for five weeks, and she was secretly Eddie's favorite member. Wheeler was in California visiting his probably made up girlfriend and the weird Byers kid, and the elder Sinclair was teaching little kids how to play basketball or something stupid at some stupid day camp at the middle school. And now Eddie had an almost respectable, albeit part time, job.
"Oh good, that means you're free to hang out with me," Casey said, smiling brightly, and it damn near took the air out of Eddie's lungs. She didn't seem to notice as she pushed the cat off the sofa to sit down. The cat hissed but scurried off, its fluffy fur bouncing as it moved.
"I seem to remember saying I could make time for you," Eddie said, returning her smile. God, that smile could power all of Hawkins, Casey thought. So damn bright.
"So what did you bring me?" Casey asked, staring pointedly at the tool box on the coffee table between them. "Hammers?"
"Much better than that," he replied, flipping open the latches and opening the top to reveal several little baggies full of weed.
"Jesus, I think you've got enough to get the whole football team high as fuck," she laughed at the sight.
"I just resupplied. This isn't all for you, you know. I do have other customers," he said, almost sounding professional to Casey. Something about his tone made Casey laugh, totally melting Eddie's heart. "But you're my favorite," he added.
"I'm not even your customer yet," she reminded him. She was technically right, they hadn't exchanged goods for money yet. A mere technicality.
"So what are we looking for?" Eddie asked, dipping his hand into the tool box and shifting the bags around.
"You're the professional," she shrugged.
"Then this should do it for you," Eddie pulled a baggie out of the box. "You need papers or anything? I can roll these up for you," he offered.
"What? You think I can't roll?" Casey feigned offense, narrowed eyes but a smirk in place.
"Now, I didn't say that," he cooed.
"Well, you're right. I'm dog shit at rolling,"' she confessed. She suddenly popped up from her seat, clumsily climbed over his legs and sprinted down the hallway. She came back almost immediately, thrusting a hot pink and yellow swirled glass spoon pipe into Eddie's face.
"The fuck is this?" He took the pipe from her as she climbed back over his legs and sat back down on the couch.
"You're the weed guy, thought you'd know a pipe when you saw one," she smiled, tried to control her breath. Casey was embarrassed that just running down the hall made her a little winded. Eddie noticed the slightly heavier breathing, though, and he didn't mind one single bit.
"I've just never seen one so pink," he said, appraising the little pipe, rolling it in his hands. It was cute. "You got a grinder? I just realized I left mine at home."
"Oh, shit, um, maybe? I can go look." Casey stood up, eyebrows knitted together as she tried to think of the last time she saw her grinder. "Last night was the first time I smoked in over a year, so it's been a while since I've seen it," she admitted, stepping over Eddie's legs once again to go back to her room. Eddie reached out for her, his hand landing on her leg, just above the knee.
"S'all good, I don't need it," he assured her, gently pulling her back. She followed his guiding hand, stepping past his legs and sitting back down. Eddie set the pipe on the coffee table and picked up the bag, searching for a good sized nugget. "Wait, do you wanna do this right now? You were doing stuff before I came," his hands suddenly stilled.
"Oh, yeah, perfect timing actually. I clean when I'm stressed," she explained, though not offering what was making her stressed. Eddie could guess it had something to do with the paperwork mountain. Eddie replied with a quick "cool" and started breaking up the weed with his fingers. He packed a big enough bowl for the two of them to get a decent high, and handed the pipe over.
"I gotta wash my hands," Eddie stood up suddenly, flexing his fingers, uncomfortable with the slightly sticky feeling. Casey lit the bowl and took two hits while Eddie scrubbed his fingers with dish soap in the kitchen sink, and held it out to him when he came back into the room. Instead of returning back to the green club chair, Eddie sat next to Casey on the sofa, wedged between her and the arm, their legs pressed against each other. The bowl was cherried, and he took a long hit.
"I forgot how much smoother this is then a joint," he said once he released the smoke from his lungs, almost instantly feeling more relaxed. The sight of Eddie using her bright pink pipe was surprisingly endearing. A lesser drug dealer would have given her more shit for it.
"I used to pretend I was taking a shower and smoke with this, practically hanging out the bathroom window," Casey laughed at the memory. "I didn't have to commit to a whole joint and be high as fuck just to eat dinner with my grandma."
"Such a bad girl," Eddie feigned surprise, putting a hand over his heart and staring at her in mock horror.
"You have no idea," she warned, smiling at the gleam in Eddie's eye and smirk on his lips.
"Enlighten me," he goaded. "A dropout and a stoner, what else is there?"
Casey held up her hands, her fingers splayed wide, a knowing smile on her lips, her pink eyes shining. Eddie didn't catch on until she spoke.
"Never have I ever been a drug dealer," she said, making Eddie laugh loudly.
"We are not playing Never Have I Ever!" He said incredulously. Casey grabbed his wrists, forcing his hands up in the air.
"You have to!" She said, forcing his right index finger down into his palm.
"Fine," he conceded. "Never have I ever dropped out of high school," he said, making Casey sigh and put a finger down.
"You can't say things you already know I've done. That's just gonna make me lose faster," she said.
"I didn't realize your could win or lose at this game," he said amusedly.
"Well you can. Never have I ever been on a plane," she said. Her face twisted in disappointment when Eddie's fingers stayed put.
"Then what's the prize for winning?" He asked, not at all attempting to hide the mischievous tone.
"Loser does the winner's side work," she said. Not exactly what Eddie hoped for but he agreed.
"Neve have I ever been arrested," he said. He nearly lost his goddamn mind when Casey put a finger down.
"Are you fucking with me? Holy shit!" Game forgotten, Eddie's hands flew to his head, fingers pushing his hair out of his face. He could barely handle the new information.
"I got a DUI the week after I turned 16," she said, obviously not proud of that particular moment in her life.
"You are a bad girl," he hissed, totally and completely in awe.
"I like to consider myself reformed," she corrected him. Casey put her hands back up, two fingers down. "Never have I ever been to a school dance." Eddie groaned, putting a finger down. This time, Casey was surprised.
"I cannot picture you in a school gym slow dancing to Cyndi Lauper," Casey giggled at the thought.
"I went to one dance in eight grade and I left early and that was the first and last one," Eddie explained defensively. "And they didn't play Cyndi Lauper."
The evil smile stayed on Casey's lips as she reached for the pipe and lighter for another hit. There was enough left for one more and she held it out to Eddie. "But did you slow dance?" She asked teasingly, as Eddie inhaled the last bit of smoke. He shook his head, holding his breath. Casey stood up again, this time going to the milk crates full of records. She squatted on the floor in front of them, in search of a particular one. Eddie exhaled the smoke and watched her. She wasn't about to pull out a Cyndi Lauper record, was she?
Casey finally found what she was looking for, and as she stood up to put the record on, Eddie caught a glimpse of the album cover. He'd seen it before, but couldn't make out the words before Casey set it down, trying to find the song she wanted.
"I'm not high enough to slow dance," he said, rooted to his spot as a slow electric guitar started to play. Casey turned around to face him in a huff.
"It's not Cyndi Lauper," she needlessly pointed out, as if that would instantly change his mind. Obviously it wasn't, as a low, male voice started to sing. It was "Oh! Sweet Nuthin'" by the Velvet Underground. Eddie would later learn that it was one of Casey's favorite songs, and he would forever regret not taking her in his arms to dance to it. But he loved the pout on her face and couldn't help but grin at it.
Casey gave up on the song without another thought, and walked into the kitchen. Eddie followed her with his gaze. She opened a drawer and rummaged around, finally coming back with a handful of brightly colored packages. She dropped the packages on the table; it was candy- starbursts and warheads. She unwrapped a green warhead and popped it in her mouth, dropping the wrapper back on the table.
"How the fuck can you eat that?" Eddie asked, incredulous. Warheads were sour as fuck, he could barely stand one without making a face. Casey just looked at him as she sucked the sour candy and shrugged.
"I like sour," she said, pushing the hard candy into her cheek.
"I'm a cliche and like a salty snack when I partake," Eddie confessed. Casey popped up form her seat again, stepping over Eddie's legs again. She had gotten up like, twenty million times. Eddie ate a pink starburst while he watched her put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. She filled a glass of water at the sink while she waited for the bag to pop, and met Eddie's gaze, and smiled. "Water?" She asked, holding up her glass.
"I'm good," he answered, holding up his still half-full can of Coke, which had been sitting next to the unopened can Casey had apparently forgotten about. "You move around a lot," he observed.
"Nervous energy," she shrugged.
"You're nervous?" Eddie asked, completely unsure what to do about that. Some people got anxious when they smoked. But this wasn't Casey's first time, she had specifically sought it out to calm down. He had picked this particular strain just for that reason. But he tried to play it cool, using a flirtatious tone and a devious smile.
"Not about you," she said over the sound of kernels popping in the microwave.
"Good, because I'm just sweet, innocent ol' Eddie," he smiled that million watt smile, the one that touched every square inch of his face.
"Sweet, sure. I don't know about innocent, though," Casey jobbed, giving him a knowing look. As if to say, you're literally selling drugs to me right now.
"Fair enough," he shrugged. "I'll settle for just sweet." Eddie ate another starburst, a red one. "I don't get why nobody likes the red ones. I like them," he said, his train of thought completely hijacked by candy.
"Do you like chocolate chips?" Casey asked, suddenly struck by a thought.
"What kind of question is that?" Eddie screwed his face up in confusion as he chewed, genuinely curious who the fuck didn't like chocolate chips?
"I mean in popcorn," she explained, stopping the microwave and pulling the bag out. She came back from the kitchen, handing the hot bag of popcorn to Eddie.
"Should I?" He asked, carefully opening the bag of popcorn so he didn't burn his fingertips. Without a word, Casey opened the half spent bag of chocolate chips and dumped it inside the bag of popcorn, and tossed the now empty bag towards the direction of the coffee table, but it landed on the floor.
"Yes," she said simply, putting her hands over Eddie's to squeeze the opening of the popcorn bag shut, and shook it, mixing up the chocolate and the popcorn.
"It's gonna be melty." Eddie looked up into Casey's eyes, trying not to completely melt from her hands on top of his. Fuck, they were only kind of holding hands and he was about to lose his goddamn mind.
"That's the point," she said excitedly. Suddenly her hands were gone, and she was sitting back down, only this time at the very far end of the couch. She put her back to the armrest and swung her bare legs up onto the cushions, her feet landing in Eddie's lap. He played it cool and sampled the now chocolate covered popcorn.
"This is fucking delicious," he said through a mouthful. It was salty and chocolatey, gooey and still fucking hot and it kind of hurt his fingers but it was delicious. "You have to make this every time."
Casey laughed at him. He was probably a fucking mess, covered in chocolate or something. He was actually spotless except his fingers and little bit of chocolate on his upper lip. It was just that everything he did made Casey laugh, and not in a mocking way. Just in a long-haired sweetheart kind of way. She let him eat the whole bag, still working on the warhead that was slowly melting away against the inside of her cheek.
Casey payed a lot more attention to Eddie than he ever realized. She had since she first saw him play during one of her shifts. He had a passion and an energy that made her look, and kept her looking. The way he presented himself to the world, his dress and grooming habits, kept a lot of the world at arms length, but Casey was desensitized to leather and tattoos, heavy metal and long hair. Eddie would have teased that she was more hardcore than him, given her personal history. He'd always been nice to her, though, and everyone else at the Hideout. She remembered how he tried to flirt with her the first few times they interacted, but he'd never been disrespectful.
She noticed the way he moved, confidently if not a little erratically. How he'd rub his palms on the thighs of his jeans when he was a little nervous, how his fingers would tap against his knees or any surface close enough. How he glanced at her every so often during a shift. How his face lit up like a neon sign when she came to rescue him during his first Saturday night shift.
Casey liked Eddie. She fucking liked the kind of bad at bartending really good at playing guitar, funny drug dealing, long haired guy. She was sure that if she made a move, he'd almost certainly reciprocate, and vice versa. But he was nice, so nice to her. So Casey stayed in her seat, holding him at arms- or legs length,- as her current position would have it. She'd kissed plenty of guys, but she didn't have very many friends. She could go out and get as many dates as she wanted, but it was hard to find a friend like Eddie.
In the moment, it didn't even occur to Casey that he could be both, a date and a friend.
"So are your parents in Hawkins?" Eddie asked, sucking the chocolate off of his thumb. He looked at her like he didn't realize what he was asking. Casey couldn't blame him. Most normal people wouldn't have a problem answering that question.
"I don't think so," she answered coolly, shrugging. She wouldn't meet his eyes, though, and Eddie realized he'd asked the wrong fucking thing. Why she lived in her grandmother's house suddenly made more sense, how dealing with all of the aftermath of her death fell on Casey's shoulders. "You?" She turned the heat back on him.
Eddie scratched at the side of his face as he thought, staring at the wall across the room. "I grew up with my uncle. Still live with him," he finally said. Casey didn't say anything. Eddie turned his head to look at her. Her face was unreadable. Suddenly, she sighed and pulled her legs away, shifting to tuck them under her.
"My grandparents raised me," she finally said, though Eddie kind of already guessed that. But she'd only ever mentioned the grandmother, no grandfather. "My grandpa died and I turned into like, a monster version of myself," Casey started, pausing to reach for a pink starburst. She didn't eat it yet, just played with the wrapper. "I wasn't very popular to begin with, but one day this girl, fuckin' Carol, said something to me, and I don't even remember what anymore, and I just punched her in the mouth, right in the middle of Mrs. Curry's social studies class."
"Mrs. Curry was hot," Eddie said, the unexpected comment making Casey laugh. "Was that Carol Perkins? Because she was a total bitch," he continued, making Casey laugh even more. "I'm glad you punched her. Someone shoulda done it again a few years later."
"Yeah, well, it got me sent to Catholic school. Never went to church a day in my life and suddenly I'm going to Mass once a week."
"They kicked you out for one little punch?" Eddie was surprised, he knew plenty of kids that got into plenty of fights, himself included, that never got expelled.
"My grandma pulled me," she explained.
"Well, that's too bad because we probably would've been friends, and school wouldn't have sucked so bad," he said wistfully. "You want any more of this?" Eddie held up the bag of weed. Casey shook her head.
"I still have shit to do today and if I smoke any more today I'm going to have to take a nap. I gotta work early tomorrow anyway," she told him. "What do I owe you?"
"Don't worry about it, first one's on me," he said, snapping the lid of the tool box shut, leaving Casey's bag on the coffee table.
"Last night was the first one. That's like, what, at least thirty dollars worth?" Casey stood up again, looking for her leather backpack.
"You have another job?" Eddie ignored her.
"I babysit for some families," she answered, spotting her backpack hanging off the back of one of the dining chairs. "Also, we so would not have been friends in high school." A wound he didn't even know he had was suddenly ripped open, exposing Eddie's raging insecurity. Yeah, they probably wouldn't have been friends. Freaks don't make very many friends.
"I was too much of an asshole," she finally added, pulling cash out of her wallet. "You would have hated me."
"I seriously doubt that," he laughed. He could't imagine Casey being mean. It went against everything he knew about her, everything she had shown him about herself.
"I told you I was reformed," she sat down in the club chair, smiling again. Finally.
"When do you work next?" Eddie asked, referring to the Hideout.
"Friday."
"Then I'll see you Friday," he grinned. "You can do my sidework." Casey looked very confused.
"You forfeited the game," he said. He never forgot about the Never Have I Ever the way Casey obviously had. Now who had the short attention span?
"You had more fingers down," she said, finally catching on.
"But you stopped playing first, meaning you forfeited, meaning I won by default," he explained the convoluted logic.
"I'll cut your limes but that's it. You cut them too fucking big," she conceded, making Eddie laugh.
"Since when is big a problem?" He teased, earning a punch in the thigh. "Fuck," he cried, "I'm surprised Carol isn't disfigured with a punch like that!" Casey reached out again to do god knows what, but Eddie caught her hand, pulling her forward. Her face hit his chest and suddenly his arm was around her neck in a loose half-Nelson. She was laughing hysterically while pinching the skin under Eddie's shirt. When did her hand get up there? And fuck, her pinches fucking hurt. He released her, marveling in the muss of her hair. Her bangs had come loose from behind her ears, her ponytail nearly half pulled out. He ached to pull it all the way out, to throw the hair tie across the room. And her face was fucking flushed, too. Goddamnit.
Eddie stood from the couch, toe to toe with Casey. Damn near chest to chest. "I've got some more appointments to make, so I guess I'll see you Friday?"
"I'll be there," she said. Casey didn't really want him to leave. Not fully. A small part of her did. Because if she got higher, and he stayed longer, he'd probably end up in her bed and she'd never forgive herself for it. She liked him too much to rush things, to go too fast just to push him away. He was too sweet to treat badly.
Casey leaned over to pick up Eddie's tool box and handed it over to him, then walked him to the door.
Eddie wouldn't notice the $30 and three red starburst she had somehow snuck into his supply until later that evening at a different deal in the grocery store parking lot. She was fucking magic.