Chapter 10: The Safe House
His skin was rubbed raw from the damp clothes he'd been wearing for hours on end. Shoes coated with dirt, socks soaked from lake water, and feet covered in blisters. Cold everywhere. No sleep for days; only sporadic glimpses when he felt safe in the sunshine under the blue tarp in the boathouse. At night, it was fear. Fear of being hunted. Shaking, and starving, knowing he wouldn't have the energy to put up a fight. Just running. Running, stumbling, tripping, like he did now. But, unlike before, when he was abandoned, Nancy reached out her dainty fingers, and helped him with strength beyond measure.
Eddie was surrounded by friends, if they allowed themselves to be called that. Brave friends.
It hurt worse to walk, but he was encouraged to do so by Max, of all people. Vecna's target, marked for death, and yet she bumped past his shoulder with her chin held high in the full moonlight breaking through the twisted branches of budding trees. She gave him a curious once-over, and nodded for him to follow, thinking he'd gone dizzy and lost his way. Dustin was courageous too, acting as the navigator at the front of the party. Guiding them to some unknown destination.
Steve grasped him around the bicep, and steadied him out of his stupor. He could tell Eddie was rattled after what he'd been through. Two gruesome deaths, traversing a literal hell. Still, it was Steve, with his neck torn to shreds and hobbling with gaping wounds, who comforted Eddie. "We're almost there," he said with such a strange glint of his teeth, as if he were grinning. But he wouldn't be, right?
"Where're we going?" Eddie asked, having been subjected to wandering through darkened woods for days. From the pitch-black Upside Down, to nighttime Hawkins.
"The Safe House."
"The what?"
Dustin waved his compass up ahead, and whispered-shouted at the two men lagging behind. "If you two don't get a move on, we won't make it in time for dinner!"
"Twerp," Steve muttered under his breath.
For once, Eddie focused on anything other than his abject misery. "Dinner?"
No one volunteered to answer him.
Too preoccupied from yanking his leg out of the dense bramble, Eddie also missed the shifty looks shared amongst the group, and the big blue sign outside the building they were approaching, and the orientation of the layout–particularly, the long stretch of rooms, and especially, the corner unit with an extra window facing the edge of the forest.
—Three Days, 7 Hours, 29 Minutes Prior—
Reefer Rick's address flashed on screen. It wasn't a perfect lead, but it was the best they had. Understandably, Steve nabbed Family Video's master keys from under the desk, and ushered everyone towards the door, while Robin checked for customers in the aisles. Max was ready to get out of there too, until she realized another set of footsteps did not follow.
Dustin's gaze remained glued to the phone sitting before him.
"Come on, dude. What're you waiting for?" Steve spread his arms wide in annoyance at the gall of Dustin to be the one keeping them from finding his friend. His super cool older male role model friend who listens to loud music, dresses however he wants, and runs his little nerd game, or whatever the f–
"Finding Eddie is important, but.." Dustin's curls bounced as he grabbed the phone and ran off with it to the manager's office. "There's someone else we should call! His girlfriend! She can help us."
Steve choked back a laugh. "Girlfriend?" When the girls didn't join in on the joke, he pursued Dustin with a vengeance. "Eddie "The Freak" Munson has a girlfriend?" He expected Robin to be just as bewildered, but she was in her own world, gathering the other phone to her chest and dialing 4-1-1.
Dustin nodded. "She goes to Penn State–"
Steve raised his eyebrows. "She's in college?"
"I met her when she played DND with us," he explained.
"She plays Dungeons and Dragons?" Steve's voice couldn't get higher.
"Yeah, she's really cool!"
"And she's cool?" he squeaked. It actually could go higher.
Ignoring him, Dustin turned his attention to Robin.
"Hi!" she said, full of cheer to the withered directory assistant. "What's the area code for Penn State–Uh, Pennsylvania State University?" After a second, she spoke aloud for Dustin. "8-1-4? And the weather is mild, uh.. Okay. And oh, neat, we're in the same time zone."
Dustin punched the buttons on his phone for the local operator. 814-555-1212. "Hello, fine sir, I hope you are having a swell day." Someone should tell him the fake 'adult' persona he assumed did little to convince anyone he was an actual grown up. "I'm in search of the contact information for.. Uh.. Someone in charge at the dorm for the women's athletic teams at Penn State?" he finished quickly, sounding not unlike a balloon losing its air. "I'm looking to speak to an athlete for a.. report. Project. Thing. For school."
The static funneling through the phone went silent.
After a stretch of heart palpitating seconds, the man spoke up, and gave Dustin the number for the Resident Adviser for the dorm.
Steve made an indignant scoff at them, and leaned towards Max. "Did you know Eddie Munson had a girlfriend?" She gave him a weird look, and shrugged. Righting himself, he asked Robin, "Is this really necessary? Eddie could be, well," –He dragged his thumb over his throat– "by the time we wrap up this little game of Telephone and hit the road."
She rolled her eyes at him and took the phone from Dustin to talk to the dweeby sounding Resident Adviser. "Hello, my name's Robin Buckley. I'm a reporter for the Hawkins Post inquiring to speak to one of your athletes for a story about her coming from a small town and making it big." Pressing the phone to her shoulder, she whispered to Dustin, "She is from Hawkins, right?" He gave a thumbs up. "Yes!" She spoke to the self-righteous, self-important voice on the line. He must've refused, because her face dropped. But so did her voice, as she abstained from making eye contact with anyone else in the room, twirling her finger around the phone cord. "If you patch me through, I'll.."
In unanimous effort, the rest of them tuned her out, until she shoved the phone to Dustin's ear.
He listened to it ring. And ring. And ring. And finally..
A gravelly, "Eddie?" answered.
Steve and Robin smashed their faces on either side of his, eavesdropping. Fully invested.
"Riddle Master Valendrei!"
"..Dustin?"
Way too enthused, he gasped, and clutched his chest. "You remember me! And what a coincidence you brought up Eddie! So, listen, he's uh, in a little bit of a situation, you could say."
There was rustling in the background. A lot of movement from what could've been bedsheets, followed by the metallic click of a purse being popped open. Point blank, tired, and weary, you inquired without a second thought, "How much is his bail?"
Steve snorted in approval. "She definitely knows him, all right." Dustin smacked him from over his shoulder.
"It's not that. Rest assured, nothing like that. It's, ah.. Well. It's worse. Can you come down here, like, soon? Extremely soon?"
Many responses started and died on your tongue. It was obvious you were pacing, probably wringing your neck with how it distorted your words, "Worse? H-How serious is it? I'm not on Spring Break yet, and I have midterms next week. Is there any way this can wait?"
Robin spoke up, "Probably not something you want to wait on, but we can do our best to keep him safe."
"Safe?" you cried. "Goddammit.. Okay, uhm, give me a day or two and I can be there. I need to take care of a few things first, but–Jesus Christ, Dustin–tell me what's going on before I have a panic attack. Where's Eddie? Is he okay?"
"Yeah, so, last night.."
—Present Day—
Eddie was steered in the direction he should go. A hand pressed into the middle of his back, the owner's warmth sinking through his jacket. He had the wherewithal to recognize he was delirious, but not the competence to divide his fleeting attention. Just when he'd grasped he was staring at a gray painted wall, he was shoved into a line. Someone was in front of him. Who? Too obscured by the shadows of the short building to tell. They were disappearing through a hole. A black square hole. Where to? Where.. Where to?
The owner of the hand on his back said something in his ear. Steve? Or maybe it was Lucas, and they pushed him forward. It was his turn to climb through. He complied. Not because he was brave, but because he was forced.
Nothing greeted his unadjusted eyes by sight, just the shuffling sounds of people moving out of his way. Using their hands to guide him into a packed place. Snug with bodies crowded around the entrance, whispers bouncing off the nearby walls.
"Is that everyone?" a kind, but stern someone asked.
"There's a conga line of about twelve mosquitoes waiting to get in if you don't close the window," Steve said.
Eddie was lost in darkness. Until his Light found him.
A lamp clicked on by the turn of a knob. Eddie's big, brown eyes grew. Familiarity, and a stark realization, greeted him. He was standing in the same room he'd been in half a year ago. The queen sized bed, two nightstands, an array of sitting chairs with one table near the front window next to the door, and a chest of drawers at the end of the bed balancing a large mirror.
The rest of the audience meandered to give space for the two wayward halves to reconnect.
His gaze landed on you, and his bottom lip shrugged.
Eddie was more prone to showing his vulnerability than most other men, that much you knew–wearing his sensitive heart on his sleeve around those he trusted–but you didn't anticipate his relief to be so visible, knocking the air from his lungs. Stuttering his breath with every dragging step. Long strides of aching desperation to close the vast distance between you once and for all.
To anyone else, it would have been underwhelming, but to you, your world becoming his dirty hands reaching for you was a life of eternal pleasure incarnate. You knew not to expect him to hug you, and maybe that was for the best, because the simple act of his fingers curling in, and you accepting his weight against your knuckles, had your knees wobbling.
His gaudy rings dug into your bones. Flakes of blood and dirt and ash and decay grimed on contact. You kept him steady by the extraordinary opportunity of being able to touch him. Skin on skin. You could cry as he shivered into your body heat. Leaning into the unique embrace until nothing else existed. No sound outside two overworking hearts.
He'd never been this close on purpose. Where the tense expanse of his shoulders dropped into a relaxed slouch, and his head dropped forward, foreheads a suggestion apart. Eyes drifting half-way closed as he let go of his inhibitions, and studied you up close with the tantamount enthusiasm you examined him in–like neither of you could grasp the concept of being within arms reach after drifting apart one missed call at a time.
But did you ever really drift apart?
The trembling fondness in your matching grins proposed otherwise.
Attentive to the mild abrasion on the corner of his jaw, you spoke with such hushed awe, even he strained to hear beyond the hard consonants. "You're okay."
He was worse at keeping his voice down, but he tried for the sake of the moment, without losing the absolute cloying affection in his whisper. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you."
Your eyes greedily drank in the other's appearance, and when satisfied, they met. Gazing across the months of solitude. Of pain, and loneliness, and longing. Watery, and sweet.
"I missed you."
"M'ssed you, too," you said.
And the moment came to a close with his snuffed out smile as reality sank into his features.
Fascinated, Robin said in quiet amazement, "That was the most sensual fist bump I've ever seen in my life." And Steve added a breathless, "Yeah."
Eddie pointed a strict finger at you and rounded on the people he considered closer than family under recent circumstances. "Why is she here?" The group straightened their spines against the teetering vitriol laced in his clipped words. A dangerous balance between restrained anger, and denial. Daring them to confront him.
He zeroed on one person in particular. "Dustin? Don't tell me, man.."
Robin stepped in. "We thought you could use your girlfriend here for support, Eddie."
"We're not dating," he interjected.
Lucas pulled a similar expression to those around him. "What do you mean you aren't dating? You literally never shut up about her–"
You smacked Eddie's hand out of your face and shoved your way past him. "I'm here to help you, you idiot." Rounding the corner of the bed, you reeled at the sight of Steve, blood slipping down his throat, wearing Eddie's vest and surely staining the inside with the pool of gore seeping from his abdomen. "Jesus." He fixed his mouth in a slant and shrugged.
Eddie was quick to claim your attention by following you on your heels. "This isn't a goddamn sleepover with your best friend like it's the good ol' times. I don't know what they told you, but I'm a wanted man. You can't be here. Hey, are you listening to me?" He cornered you at the other nightstand, fuming at your back while you sorted through your purse without a care in the world. "I'm wanted for murder! If you get caught, you're harboring a fugitive. That's a prison sentence! Think of your future. Your degree. The Olym–Huh?"
You cut off his ranting by sweeping your arm across his chest, moving him to the side so you could speak to the group. "Here's the key for the black car parked across the street. If anything goes wrong, there's about four days worth of food and water in the trunk to feed.. Well, some of you. I'm not made of money." You lifted the mattress and produced two sheets of dirty metal. "Fake plates are already on. I got the car from a rental outside of Indy who doesn't ask too many questions. If anything happens to it, it'll go on Sasha Pennermen's record." Answering the puzzled glances around the room, you slid the thin piece of plastic off the nightstand and held it up. "My fake ID."
"Fake plates, fake ID. How do you get this stuff?" Steve asked, catching the jangling keys and pocketing them.
"I live in a college town," you shrugged it off like a duh? and put your illegal items away. "Same ground rules as what we discussed earlier. One: no talking to cops. Two: if you need to call me, use a payphone on the corner, not the ones attached to a store. They're startin' to put those freakin' cameras everywhere. Can't have any fun these days."
Nancy made herself heard from where she shrank into one of the chairs, hugging herself. "A little late for the 'don't talk to cops' speech."
"That's not all," Erica confided with an accusatory glance around the room, crossing her arms. "I imagine we all have targets on us after we ran away from them."
You were clasping your hands so tight, they shook. You clapped, turned your palms up, and clapped them again, smiling through your grimace. "A room full of wanted people. Great. Looks like we have our work cut out for us, then. Hiding from the police smack dab in the smallest town on the planet." A few of them had the good graces to appear remorseful.
Eddie was uncharacteristically quiet.
Moving on, you apologized to the worn-down, fatigued group squeezing into any comfy spot they could fit into. "Sorry, I would've been here sooner. Had a few things to sort out before I could leave."
The pinch of confusion concentrating between Eddie's eyebrows subsided. His posture wilted, then stiffened. Jaw set. Grinding his teeth, pulsing the muscle there.
"Dinner should–ah!" The phone rang. You answered, and spoke briefly in, "Yeps!" and "Okays." Pulling your wallet from your purse, you counted some cash, and made finger guns at the door. "Be right back."
Eddie stopped you. Imposing his unassuming stature like a brick wall; expressionless, eyes glinting fragments of amber in the dim lamplight. Tone eerily calm, "You have Nationals in two days."
"How do you even know that?"
"Nationals? I thought you said you had midterms this week?" Dustin recalled.
If looks could kill, Dustin would burst into flames under the ire of your glare, and you would be in the fifth circle of hell from Eddie's.
"Midterms?" he repeated, turning his face away from Dustin to you, ever so slowly, pinning you with repercussions of his stare. "Midterms?" The incredulity spat from his lips. "Midterms?" He sounded in danger of hyperventilating. "You have got to be kidding me."
"It doesn't matter, Eddie," you stressed. You dodged him, succeeding two paces towards your exit.
He trailed you. "What do you mean it doesn't matter? Of course it matters! Wait–Why wouldn't it matter?" He caught the sleeve of your flannel, pulling the unbuttoned shirt down your shoulder, showing off your black muscle tank underneath.
You saw the question in his eyes. He saw the answer in yours.
"Why don't your midterms matter?"
"I'm not discussing this with you."
"..You dropped out?"
His weak whisper begged you to deny it. You pressed your lips in a nonnegotiable reticent line, and continued walking away, to where Robin and Steve observed you two at the table. But Eddie wasn't done. When he was determined, he dug his hole to bedrock. Stubborn. Hounding you until you grasped the door knob, saying the one thing he shouldn't.
"Please tell me you're joking? You quit college to come here? Your entire future is planned out for you! I refuse to let you throw your life away for this!" Eddie collided with a force to be reckoned with. Whatever he was going to say on that next intake of breath was suffocated under your knuckles.
Initially, you intended to stab your finger at the center of his chest, but he failed to slow down at the same time you experienced a wave of confidence, so you eviscerated his hope by eliminating the space between your bodies, planting your fist firmly on him. A monumental touch.
The toe of his shoes nudged yours. His heartbeat swelled under your mighty hand. There was a gloss to his eyes, now, knocked from his outburst and coming to accept the gravity of you being here.
Your gaze bore into his. Unwavering, unflinching. Devoted and devastatingly honest. "I have earned the right to this life through blood, sweat, and tears," your voice quivered. Channeling a lifetime of unworthiness into the cut of your words, leaving no room for argument, "I'll do with it what I want. I'm not leaving you again, Eddie." Any rebuttal vanished on those pink lips of his the moment you lifted your finger to his chin, dragging it across his stubble. "And I'd appreciate a thank you next time, sweetheart."
At that, you were gone.
Eddie's stomach clenched at the closed door.
"I like her," Erica admired from her perch next to the TV, and Max agreed in an impressed, "Yeah." Lucas shifted uncomfortably between them.
"Goddamnit, Goddamnit, Goddamnit." Eddie paced, running his hands through his hair, exhaling repetitive expletives. Combing, raking, worrying until his oily fringe stood on end, and his short curls frizzed into a mane. God-fucking-damnit. "She.. Oh, fuck."
He came to a forced halt.
"Hey, buddy," Steve caught him in the curve of his arm–winced at the impact stretching his wounds–and turned their backs to the rest of the room with the exception of Robin, who offered Eddie a gentle smile.
Controlling his voice so only his chosen trinity heard, Steve thought it was time to give Eddie a heart-to-heart similar to the one he gave him in the Upside Down.
"Now, I acknowledge my privilege in regards to women willing to jump into a lake for me, but I've never seen anything like that with these optimistic eyes of mine," he said in the same cadence Eddie used on him. Sparing a glance at the door, he clicked his tongue. "I've never known someone who's just a friend to sacrifice the amount she has to be here today. We told her you were in trouble, and she came running. College education, whatever the hell Nationals is for her to have delts bigger than mine; nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing else mattered in the world except for protecting you. And that, that, is more than casual friendship, dude." He leaned in. "To be honest, I'm jealous. If I were you, I'd have put a ring on her finger, like, yesterday."
Eddie dragged a hand down his face, and kept his eyes closed. "You have no idea what you're talking about, man. She's my best friend."
"Oh!" Robin snapped. "I love rom-coms, let me guess! You've been best friends since you were kids and–" She stood, eyes darting as she searched her memory for the hundreds of movies she'd watched. "Yeah, definitely best friends since you were kids, and you grew up together, always there for each other, fell in love with her years ago, and you're scared that if you confess, either she'll reject you or she'll admit she's been in love with you too, but then there's the fear of something going wrong in the relationship, and you'd lose not only your girlfriend, but your best friend too! How'd I do? Did I get it right?"
In love with you for years.
The knot in Eddie's throat bobbed under the eagerness of her beaming grin. Did Robin have a special talent, or was he that easy to read? Either way, his long hair was his saving grace, shielding his red ears from betraying him amidst the second worst week of his life.
"I think it's sweet she's wearing your shirt."
"My..?"
"Yeah," she answered his confusion. "The tag was sticking out. Your initials are E.M., right? Written with one of those jumbo Sharpies."
The door knob jiggled. Eddie considered ducking behind a piece of furniture, but he figured his life couldn't get more fucked than it currently was, and merely blinked at the opening door with disinterest, welcoming his fate.
"Dinner's here," you announced, juggling a stack of pizza boxes. The combined anxious energy of the room, and the deathly quiet, alerted you to the man-shaped brooding aura at your side, with his hands stuffed in his leather jacket's pockets, and head dipped to deliver a condescending remark directly into your ear.
"Exactly what part of this situation screams 'pizza party' to you?"
Overflowing with a devious pout, you raised your shoulder to your chin, and batted your lashes at Eddie with a look of pure innocence. "Don't worry, I ordered a sausage pizza just for you."
"I'm going to kill you," he stated.
"Wouldn't want a second murder charge, Munson."
"Actually, you'd be the third," Dustin clarified, opening the top box and taking a slice of pepperoni before you could set them on the table. "He got a second charge yesterday, and now his name's been released to the public. Got a whole village mob thing goin' on. Pitchforks and all, probably."
"Definitely," Lucas mumbled.
At this point, your brain was too burnt-out from receiving shocking information for one day, so you nodded at them, and said, "Ah." That's it. Two murder charges? Wonderful. Police searching for the seven sets of hands clamoring over breadsticks? Lovely. Eddie's name released to the public? Stupendous!
Life was great.
Life was great.
Yeah, life was great.
You sat on the side of the bed closest to the door, where you left your purse, and leaned against the pillow; and without a hint of communication, Eddie walked around to the other side, and mirrored you, sitting with one leg folded in front of him and the other hanging off the side, body slightly angled away, and scarfing down a slice of pizza. When he was done, you handed him another one. Along with a napkin.
Oddly, his attention seemed to be aimed at the back of your neck, and the tint of rosiness to his cheeks hadn't disappeared from your innuendo earlier.
Sitting criss-cross on the floor, Robin sighed in bliss, "Warm food feels so good right now." There was a round of drowsy hums in harmony. Tucking into their cheap, greasy fast food with the kind of melancholic joy of a prisoner eating their last meal.
"So.." you cut through the sounds of chewing. "Is anyone gonna explain why I'm here? Why the cops think Eddie murdered people, why you're covered in blood, all that?" Considering you were judging Steve and his ability to eat with a gaping hole in his stomach poorly patched over with a strip of sweater, he took on the responsibility of filling you in
"A girl named Chrissy Cunningham–"
"Chrissy? I know her. We took tumbling together at the rec center as kids." You heard Eddie's hard exhale behind you, and sneaked a look at him. His eyes were screwed closed, and his face was scrunched in pain, smoothing his fingertips over the bridge of his nose.
Steve continued, a bit more gently, "Well, she was at Eddie's trailer when she died. Murdered would be a better word, by Vecna, who I'll get to in a minute, but that's why the police think it's him. Anyway, yeah, Vecna's this dude who lives in a place we call the Upside Down.."
Calm. Calm. Calm. CalmCalmCalm. calmcalmcalmcalmcalm.
Chrissy was at Eddie's trailer.
Chrissy was at Eddie's trailer and you could feel the etch of his stare on the side of your face, analyzing your reaction. You gave him nothing but passivity. Resisting the urge to scratch at the sudden itchy sweat dripping down your back. Refusing to take your eyes off Steve, who was going on and on about shit you couldn't fathom, trying desperately to not dwell on the reason why Eddie cringed when he remembered you knew her. Thinking maybe he meant to pick someone anonymous to date, and this was crossing a boundary. Forcing yourself to hang onto every word falling from Steve's mouth in order to smother the nagging voices in your head taunting you, telling you he stopped calling because he had a girlfriend.
"And, yeah, the Upside Down is just like Hawkins, but there's monsters everywhere, and Vecna controls them.."
"Oh!" Robin perked up at you. "You would've been great with the Demobats! You could've punched them right outta the sky. Couldn't she, Steve?"
Steve stuttered, "I-I mean, they're bigger than a normal bat.. And have barbs on their tails. Big teeth and claws. And, uh, stronger than you think.. I could've taken them too, if I wasn't ganged up on by.. ten, or more of them.."
Erica's judgy sneer spoke for all of you.
You meant no offense to Steve, or any of the kids joining him in explaining this whole other dimension, and girl-with-powers thing, but it was mostly going in one ear and out the other. It was hard to follow along with what nonsense they were spouting when Eddie's gaze was still on you, and you were ashamed to admit how much it bothered you to know he was dating someone else. Not you. Never you.
"A hell world filled with monsters and a big bad guy that looks like beef jerky, and he's the one that killed Chrissy and Patrick and Fred, and now Max is next, and all this is connected to a girl whose name is a number. Got it." You sipped your water.
Dustin quipped, "Yeah, that about sums it up."
"Great," Steve groaned, pushing himself out of the chair, and unanimously, the rest of the group followed his lead. "Now that we're on the same page, we should get going."
"Wait, where're you going?" Eddie panicked.
Lucas sucked the oil off his fingers, much to Erica's revulsion, and then wiped them on his pants, much to Max's dismay. "We have our own Safe House."
"Yeah, you two get some rest, we'll be back tomorrow to work out a plan," Steve said, making his way to the window and opening it for the party to leave through. "Should probably take care of these bites before I die of sepsis. That would be lame way to go out. And your van is still in the woods next to Reefer Rick's, right? We'll take care of it for you. Make it look like you left town or something."
"Is there anything you want us to save in there before we do?" Robin asked.
Many emotions influenced Eddie's facial expressions. Fond thoughts of his precious amps, a guitar or two, a few stashes of keepsakes that were less important than the ones in his room, but worthy of rescuing nonetheless. "Yeah, there's uh.." he trailed off. The crust of his sausage pizza went limp in his hand.
He did not need a bunch of children discovering what else he had hidden in the back of his van–namely, the specially ordered magazines featuring women in little clothing, with pages dogeared on the models who resembled someone currently narrowing their eyes at him.
"Actually, forget it," he said after spacing out. "Do whatever you want."
Eddie shoved the crust in his mouth to prevent him from saying more.
"'Kay.. You two have fun," Steve said, sporting an annoying salute. It was obvious he wanted to imply more, but reading the mood of the room, he let it go, and climbed through the window, shutting it behind him.
"Not too much fun," Robin chimed in from beyond the glass as the two halves of the curtain united.
The stillness that followed was heavy. Cold. Even when they were quiet, it was impossible to disguise the racket a group of people produced; breathing, swallowing, shuffling their feet, sighing. There was an awareness in the tension remaining. You and Eddie. Sharing the same bed.
And what better way to shush your nerves than by opening the mini fridge. "Now that the kids are gone," you said, grabbing two ice-cold bottles, and walking them to Eddie.
He accepted the beer with more gratitude than you deserved. "A 40oz? Have I ever told you you're an angel?"
"Don't think you've ever called me that, no."
Each step away from him was a deliberate action. Choosing to return to your side of the bed instead of sitting next to him. Sinking into the plush duvet, backs facing each other, playing with twist tops until the other cracked theirs first–tsss. Minds drifting to the same topic, yet declining to acknowledge it. Until the bile burning the length of your chest was too much to ignore.
Staring at the joint where the popcorn ceiling met the wall, you supposed you went over the sentence in your head hundreds of times before you could articulate it casually and without an underlying tremor of jealousy.
"Not that it matters, and you don't have to answer, but.. What was Chrissy doing at your trailer?"
"It was just a drug deal." The fact he chose the direct route of correcting what you were implying was not lost on you. He used a strong, swift, powerful voice to allay any worry you had before it could evolve into suspicion, "When Vecna picks his target, they start getting these massive headaches, and have hallucinations. She came to me looking for weed at first, and then asked for something stronger. I knew I had some K at home, so I took her there, where she.. s-she.."
Glancing, you made eye contact with him through the mirror, and when he turned to look at you, you twisted to face him.
"I swear it wasn't anything more than a drug deal," he promised softly. Imbuing his words with sincerity, and his wide eyes with naked candor, pleading for you to believe him with more passion than a friend should have, as if it mattered to him that you knew he didn't have feelings for her. But neither of you addressed that convoluted mess, just like he didn't question the significance of you crawling across the bed to sit next to him only once you knew he wasn't dating someone while you were away.
He spread his legs to increase the staggering amount of thigh you had pressed against his in an invaluable moment of overindulgence.
You clinked his beer.
Both of you closed your eyes, put the bottles to your lips, and tipped your heads back, drinking with a sigh.
"In trouble and from darkness you come, Eddie, yet your coming is joy to me," you said in a wise, old voice.
"Quoting Earthsea at me?" His chest rose with a besotted hum. "Never change."
Swallowing the bitter taste of alcohol, you asked, "Is what they said true?"
"Never met Eleven, but yeah, it's all true. Robin was right, too. We could've used your help back there. Coulda punched the bats right outta the sky." He mimicked throwing weak punches while making cartoon sound effects with his mouth.
You snorted into your bottle while taking another gulp. Eddie copied you, downing his with more vigor. No one could blame him.
"Is it, ah.." he started, running his palm over the shredded strings of his jeans stretched over his knee. "Is it true, about school? Did you..?"
"It's not so cut and dry," you assured him, figuring he'd been tortured enough for one day. "I drafted my letter, but it still needs the signatures from the rest of my professors, my Coach, all that stuff." Beer fueled your dismissive hand movements. "I tried to finish my first midterm on Monday, Eddie, I really did, but I couldn't just sit there and focus on a stupid test while you were 8 hours away, in deep shit."
In your periphery, you saw his disappointed head shake, causing knotted strands of his hair to fall over his hunched shoulders.
"I still think you're ruining your future."
"What if I don't give a fuck?" He jerked at your abrasiveness. You collected the condensation from your bottle and dried your hand on your thigh, wedging your fingers over the curve of the muscle, and sliding them along his leg. "What if I don't want to go to college anymore, or work myself to an early grave and not get appreciated for it? Win all the Golds I can hang around my neck, but can't walk the next morning? What if I want to join the circus and learn to juggle while tightrope walking? What if I die there, instead? What if I don't know what I want to do with my life? Is that okay? What if New Years was the last time I saw you?" You stopped to suppress the air in your lungs. Holding it there. Not letting it go. Not until the tears stopped blurring your vision. "What if I don't give a fuck about any of your dreams for me? Not yours, not mom's, not Coach's. What if I'm finally doing what I want?"
He stopped wringing his lips together to ask meekly, "And what's that?"
You released a sad, single laugh, and conceded to the one thought repeating on an endless loop above all others in your head. "At first I was going to say keeping you out of trouble, but I think we both know.. When you're in trouble, I'm right there with you. I want to be right there with you. Forever, remember?"
Unable to verbalize what he was thinking to give the outer corners of his eyes a delicate kiss of wrinkles, he made a noise of agreement, and cheers you with a dear lean into your shoulder. You braced him. For just a brief second. It was lovely.
"And to address the elephant in the room," you began in a mocking tone, "Yes, that's my gym bag next to my suitcase, and yes, I can still compete at Nationals if I want to. I haven't officially dropped out yet."
"Good to know."
The conversation stalled as Eddie downed the rest of his beer and sat it on the nightstand with a clunk. You weren't far behind him. Despite the pleasant tipsiness you both had at this point, the humor of the night dwindled to the circular cycles of grief. Of uprooting your life for someone who unfairly witnessed too much.
"I've never been more scared in my life," Eddie admitted in a whisper. His stare was unfocused. Haunted. Remembering things he never should have been subjected to. "I've just been running.. Running away in fear. I can't even process what's happening anymore."
"Mm, I think my brain shut down hours ago." Probably after your sixth caffeine pill wore off post-midterm and post-packing your car for an undetermined amount of days trip and post-driving in the countryside at night. It was reprehensible enough your first thought upon learning of Chrissy's death was to accuse Eddie of fucking her instead of mourning her life like any sane person, but you tried to give yourself a break. Nothing about the last few days had been sane, or rational.
Gliding the back of your fingers along the seam of his jacket sleeve to the top of its broken zipper in an attempt to soothe him without direct contact, you reeled at the black goop you collected in the process.
Eddie took the hint. "Guess I should shower now."
"Yeah, you smell awful."
"Breaking my heart here, babe."
Nothing woke you up quite like him using a pet name for you. He might rejoice when his battered body hit the mattress later, but you could cry now. Embarrassingly, you could weep at his use of a term of endearment. Babe. He was so sweet to someone so selfish as you.
He asked, "Will you be asleep when I get out?"
You put your whole body into nodding, and answered gruffly, "Oh, yes."
Eddie stared at his naked self in the mirror. A bruise the size of a basketball was swelling to fruition along his ass cheek and hip from when he caught Robin during an earthquake. Spinning in a slow circle, he assessed more. Turning this way and that to find scrapes in strange places. Muddy brown blood mixed with unnatural black. Constellations of purple under layers of filth. Traumas to the surface he couldn't recall earning. He hurt so much, he couldn't feel them anymore, and scavenging his body was the preferred distraction from where he knew he was retrograding. The inevitable.
Snap.
Twist.
Squish.
Pop.
Adrenaline was a backhanded thing. It aided memory. Thrills you wanted to imprint for a lifetime, and horrors you did not.
Why did he work so hard to swim for air only to be met with the snap of Patrick's knees echoing across the surface? Jason's reedy cry when his friend's mangled body splashed his face?
Why did he keep his eyes open when Chrissy's popped, and wetness rained upon his cheeks?
Water felt awful on his skull. Drumming like their twisted fingers on his scalp, tracing the ridges of his spine. Running grungy with muck, and never feeling clean. The white soap you left for him was too pure. The shampoo bottle felt wrong under his torn fingernails paling from the strain of his clutch on reality. The cold tile dripped with sludge found at the bottom of the lake as he rested his forehead there, trying to calm himself down.
He tried. He tried. He tried.
Scrubbing himself til his skin blushed pink. Til his tangled hair combed smooth between his fingers. Til the beat of hot water on the tub drowned everything out. Til he didn't care that he was using your toothbrush after his fourth consecutive day of morning breath.
Wiping the fog from the mirror, he knew he'd lost it.
He didn't recognize himself.
He did, but he didn't.
Toeing at his dirty clothes stretched across the floor to be dealt with at a later time, he dressed in his blue checkered boxers, and peeked outside the door.
The room was dark, and you didn't make a sound.
Creeping further into the short hallway, he saw your back facing him from the bed. Shoulders just a touch above the covers.
Eddie opened the door wider and reached for the light switch. He hesitated, and dropped his hand.
He couldn't do it. Couldn't turn off the light. Too dark. For days on end. The forest surrounding Lover's Lake, Skull Rock, the Upside Down, and Hawkins. Dark dark dark.
Going to the small TV on the chest of drawers, he flipped it on, and turned the volume down low. Adjusting the antennas, it was with a passing bit of ease he understood what he was watching. The fuzz dissipated. The dampness on his skin dried. The wrestlers slammed their backs on the squared circle. Not popular wrestlers who had audiences flocking to see them. Obscure ones. Still, he knew their names from the hours he'd spent at Gareth's, insisting he used his cable to watch the weekly shows. Because it made him feel connected to you.
He walked to his side of the bed. Watched you for a moment. Shoulders rising and falling in peace under a loose white shirt. Bedsheet wrapped around your fists nestled to your chin.
You were wearing something different from earlier, and he was mostly naked.
Opening your suitcase, the black muscle tee welcomed him like an old friend. Tattered. Holes along the hem. It wasn't sleeveless when he gave it to you some odd years ago, you must've ripped them off. What a liar. Claiming you returned all his clothes before you moved away. He wasn't too surprised, though, running his finger over the tag with his initials.
Afterall, he collected many more reminders of you.
Moving on, he dug deeper. Clawing his way through your neatly folded outfits. Searching, searching. Pulling things out at random and holding them up to his body and tossing them. Over and over. He was panicking. Sweating. Couldn't catch his breath. The inevitable. It was happening. It was happening. It was coming. It was here.
His chest tightened.
He grabbed a dark blue sweatshirt and pulled it over his head. It didn't fit. The cuffs resisted meeting his wrist. Covered most of his skin. It'd have to do.
He went to his side of the bed again. And stared.
Snap.
Twist.
Squish.
Pop.
"Hey." It came out as a whimper. "Are you awake?"
The first tear beaded over his lower lashes.
Could you feel it if he touched you? The secrets he kept suppressed for years? Screaming violence in his blood when you got a little too close. When he let you take things a little too far. When he dropped his guard a little too much. When you looked at him for the first time in months, and he got carried away, almost pressing his forehead to yours in a kind of intimacy he'd never explored before. Take, take, take. More, more, more.
He couldn't. It was inappropriate. Friends. You were just friends. Best friends.
What were you wearing? He couldn't find bottoms that fit. His legs were exposed. Were yours?
Shaking. Shaking. The ache was getting worse. Building, building, building. Throat constricting. Teeth clacking. Inappropriate, inappropriate, inappropriate.
A tear clung to the corner of his unsteady frown.
"Can I hold you?"
You didn't answer, sleeping.
His Light. His Safe House.
Snap.
Twist.
Squish.
Pop.
The last of his energy being used to stave off the inevitable vanished. He buckled. He couldn't do it. Beaten down by his reputation, his cowardice, his inability to succeed, his self-destructive habit of resisting taking refuge in the one person who brought him unconditional shelter without expecting anything in return.. All of it broke at once.
Light.
Safety.
Refuge.
Sanctuary.
With his gaze on the floor, his tears dotted the carpet as he tried between desperate inhales, "N-Need to hold you."
He pulled back the covers and crawled into bed next to you. Shifting closer, closer. Sliding his arm under your head, throwing his other across your chest, and bringing you to him. More, more, more. It was wrong. It should feel wrong. It didn't feel wrong. Your sleepy face was pressed into his flexed bicep, lifting your cheek to his nose. To where his lips muttered into your soft skin. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.
He said it in coughs due to his sobs. "Sorry–S-Sorry," he wept. "I–Sorry. I. I." His tears slipped over his nose, falling to your cheek in one stride. He shouldn't be doing this. Holding you like this. Legs tucked against yours. It was wrong. Inappropriate. "Just need to hold you. I'm so sorry. Oh, God. I'm s-so sorry." He risked more intimacy. Hugging you to his chest with the strength of his dormant urges. Years of cravings stirring in his muscles. Desires coaxing his lips–just once–to discover your jaw as he attempted to control himself, and force his face into the vacancy below your ear, burying himself against your neck, making a small whine when your hand found his safe haven.
You reassured him in a tender stroke along his temple. "It's okay, Eddie. I'm here. You can hold me."
