A/N: Ah, I am so sorry this is late! Chapter eight is almost done, too, so that will be published shortly :)
"Eddie, sweetheart, baby, honey. I swear to Glenn Danzig, sit the fuck still," Caoimhe demanded, digging her nails into his chin.
Eddie was restless as hell, and it was so annoying that she wanted to tie him down. Caoimhe, Chrissy, and all of Corroded Coffin were chilling in the back behind the stage, waiting until they got the okay to go on. The lights dimmed, but it was either for dramatic effect or because the Hideout had a terrible electrical system. Caoimhe tried to do Eddie's eyeliner after he'd begged her the whole ride over. Not because she did it better than he did but because he liked her touching him nicely before a gig.
A keyed-up and jumpy Eddie made Caoimhe insane because he was always draping himself over her, trying to put a finger up her nose, or running around so fast that she wanted to tell him to sit down and shut up. To get him to do that, all it took was Caoimhe's hands on him, stroking him just right. They'd snarled at each other for a while before packing the van. They ended up being a little late picking everyone else up because Eddie was busy fucking Caoimhe into his mattress. At least the rest of the band knew now.
Eddie's eyes went a little heavy-lidded when he felt the prick of Caoimhe's nails.
"There we go," she said. "Thanks."
"Uh-huh," he sighed, melting against the disgusting wall behind him.
The Hideout was an absolute shithole. Caoimhe never knew what to make of it. There was a thin layer of grease over every surface, and the floor was always suspiciously sticky. The walls were yellow from all the cigarettes. Caoimhe always pictured her lungs collapsing whenever she walked past the group of regulars blowing smoke in her direction. The bathroom was even worse—grime-covered floor, an overfilled wastebasket, never any paper towels or soap. The sink and mirror were dirty, like tens of people over the years used the bathroom to shoot up or shower or change their identities as they fled from the cops. The place was horrible, but Eddie loved it, and Caoimhe always went for him.
When Eddie was a sophomore, Corroded Coffin started getting regular gigs every Tuesday at 6:30 p.m. Even still, to this day, no one ever came to watch their shows, save for the regulars that lived at the Hideout and a few dedicated groupies that stared at Eddie like he was a meal. There were three others in the band- why the hell couldn't they salivate over them?! Eddie was on fire whenever he played his guitar, but Christ. They were always clamoring for his attention. Granted, not that he gave them a passing glance once he saw Caoimhe sitting at a table and flipping him off cheerfully. That jealous side of her, that nasty side of her, preened. Eddie liked her the best. Even if he had hooked up with his groupies before, who cared? He always mimed stabbing himself in the chest when he noticed Caoimhe like he was so thrilled to see her and had to do the most dramatic thing possible to express that.
"Chris, wings like mine or not?" Caoimhe asked.
Chrissy, talking to Gareth about drumming styles of all things, leaned over and peered at Eddie's face.
"No wings, but smoke it out even more."
"Good idea. You're gonna look sick, Eds."
Caoimhe adjusted herself on Eddie's lap. He hissed, dropping his hands to her waist and shooting her a glare.
"Sorry, I can't see."
"Blind as fuck," Eddie said, peeking at her with a grin curling the corners of his mouth.
She smiled and leaned forward, tongue poking out in concentration- trying to ignore how nice he smelled. Typical Eddie. Stale pot, cigarettes, spicy cologne, and earthy-smelling conditioner that he always denied using. But she knew better and thought he wasn't slick. His hair was always very soft. No crunchy hairspray was required to keep it looking so nice.
He was still looking up at her when she brushed his bangs away from his eyes- like he couldn't believe she was sitting on his lap. Caoimhe swallowed back the snarky comment on the tip of her tongue because she wasn't about to ruin the moment, goddamn it. Instead, she kissed Eddie's cheek and smiled when he turned a little pink.
"Close your eyes, baby," she murmured.
He did. Caoimhe pulled the skin of his eye tight to make sure her lines were as straight as possible. Eddie's shoulders slumped as soon as she put the pencil to his skin. He looked like he could fall asleep. She'd never been with a guy she liked so much that all points of existence narrowed to him, but they did with Eddie. It didn't matter that there was hardly any light; Caoimhe knew the shape of his face so well that she could do this with her eyes closed. Time melted. The conversations around them fell away until it was just her on Eddie's lap doing his eyeliner for a gig where he and his band didn't even get paid.
"Looking good, killer," she said, turning his head.
He kept his eyes closed but squeezed her three times.
"Mhm," Caoimhe hummed.
She didn't miss the huge smile on his face. Her heart did that thing it'd been doing where it felt like it tripped out of her chest and landed all gross and pulpy in Eddie's hands.
"Almost done, my little rockstar," Caoimhe said.
"Do not call me that."
"My li'l metal man?"
"Nope."
"I'll think of something."
She started smoking out the eyeliner.
"I know you will," Eddie said affectionately.
"Damn straight. And. There. We -wait, one sec. And- go. You are done. Comments, concerns, cash payments?"
Eddie examined himself in the small mirror she had in her hand. He grinned, vibrating with so much excitement that she could feel her brain rattling around in her head as he shook his legs underneath her. He was hyped again but still looked at her in that way that made her wanna puke. (Is that what lovesickness was? Terrible.)
"It looks so metal, Kee. Ozzy should hire you. You'd make millions!"
"Well, when you send your next fan letter, include my info."
Eddie looked stupidly good. Ripped jeans, chains, and two studded bracelets matched the choker she wore around her neck. Black nail polish and a crop top made her want to dig her nails into his stomach as she sucked his dick. Goddamn. Stupid Eddie Munson, that beautiful asshole. He grinned like he knew what she was thinking. She bit his chin.
"Anyone else want eyeliner?" she asked. "Jeff?"
"I'm just the singer," Jeff replied.
"Just the singer, he says. Shut up. You sing like a demon," Caoimhe said. "You make me enjoy listening to thrash metal, dude."
"Thank you?"
"You're welcome. Gareth, you want eyeliner?"
"Uh-"
"I can do it if you want it," Chrissy murmured.
Caoimhe didn't think she made any sound or did anything with her face, but Chrissy still shot her a look. Okay, it was fine. She could be calm about it. Chrissy liked drummers- wasn't that what Caoimhe'd told Eddie a few days ago?
"Sure," Gareth said to Chrissy.
Oh, Caoimhe was going to lord this over Chrissy later.
"I've got another one in there," Caoimhe told Chrissy.
"Cool."
"Kenny. Baby. You want some eyeliner?"
Kenneth was a weird guy. Caoimhe had yet to figure him out entirely. He didn't seem to despise her outright anymore, but maybe that was because she hadn't been to a Hellfire Club meeting in a while. They'd started the Cult of Vecna weeks ago, but Caoimhe was still too new and useless. She didn't want to drag anybody down or have them carry her through the campaign. She was much too proud for that to happen. If she was going to join, she would be way overpowered and kill everything that got in her way. She wanted to destroy everything Eddie put in her path because she knew he wouldn't go easy on her. He'd make it harder, probably. Would mock her whenever she did something wrong. Yeah, no, Caoimhe wasn't playing until she could destroy Eddie.
"No," Kenneth snapped. Then: "You got red nail polish?"
Oh, what an exciting development. Caoimhe tossed him a bottle, and Kenneth caught it with his fingertips.
"Just your luck; it dries quickly. Paint fast," she said.
He glowered in her direction. Caoimhe suppressed the urge to wink at him in case he lunged. He still didn't like her: mutual feeling there, kiddo.
Caoimhe turned back to Eddie, scrutinizing his face. She pressed her fingertips into his chin and turned his head this way and that way. He let her do it.
"It needs something more. Do you want streaks of black down your cheeks?"
"No. I'm not Mick Mars."
"She'll slice you apart; Now she's a cool, cool black; She moves like a cat; If you don't get her name; Well, you might not make it back; She's got the looks that kill, that kill, oh!" Caoimhe sang.
"Jesus, do not sing that glam shit at me."
"W.A.S.P. is glam metal."
"They are not."
"They dabble, Eds."
"They have to. Otherwise, they wouldn't break into the mainstream." Eddie sounded disgusted. "Vince Neil wishes he was Blackie Lawless. Fuck Mötley Crüe."
"I dunno. They sound the same to me."
"Blasphemy!" Eddie cried, grabbing Caoimhe's arm and biting her. "Never say that shit again!"
"Ow, you fucking bitch, that hurt!" she cried.
"The hell do you know about music, anyway?"
"Excuse me? Thrash metal, the stuff you like, was influenced by hardcore punk. We did it first."
"We did it first? What instrument do you play, Kee?" Eddie asked, tapping his chin like he was deep in thought.
"Shut up," she bit out. "You're so condescending. It's not like you're Johnny Thunders."
"Do not compare me to that dude. Compare me to Tony Iommi or Dimebag Darrell. Shit, I'll even accept Johnny Ramone."
"You wish you were Johnny Ramone."
"Ha! I know more than four chords."
"Oh, bite me."
This was another thing, Caoimhe thought. She and Eddie worked so well together because they both pushed each other. They spent half the time goading one another until one of them snapped and went nuts. They argued, yeah, but it was playful. Caoimhe never said anything that would hurt Eddie, and he never did, either. They knew each other well enough to know what would genuinely hurt. She'd never say anything about Eddie's parents or call him a failure. Sweet to one another one minute, provoking the other the next. It was never the same thing. It was magic.
Eddie dropped his gaze to her lips, looking like he wanted to kiss her. She was all set to let him, ready to drag his shirt up with her teeth and get down and dirty, but the owner of the Hideout, Frank, poked his head around the corner. They were ready. Caoimhe slipped off Eddie's lap as he threw his guitar around his neck. He was using the strap she'd gotten him.
"Break a leg," she said.
Eddie pulled her in to kiss her forehead.
"Thanks."
Chrissy took her arm excitedly. And, okay, Caoimhe didn't know what she was expecting. Corroded Coffin was a high school band. The only one who took it utterly and entirely seriously was Eddie, and even then, they still only did covers. Eddie had half-written songs all over the place but had yet to complete one. He had too many ideas and could never commit. It wasn't his fault. Gareth and Kenneth, as the rhythm section, had issues jelling sometimes. One would be just a bit faster or slower than the other. They weren't that polished, even though the rhythm section was supposed to be the backbone of the entire band.
She and Chrissy took a seat near the stage after getting their drinks, close enough for Caoimhe to see who she was aiming at when she threw peanuts at Eddie. He was the first on the stage, as always. Two dedicated fans were making eyes in his direction, and he did his little devil face at them.
"Asshole," Caoimhe muttered.
"You look a little green," Chrissy said pointedly.
"Shush."
"Eddie's a flirt. And you know you're his favorite anyway." Chrissy grimaced when she put her hand on the sticky table. "Jeez, do you think they ever clean this place?"
"Right? I'm not sure what I'm sitting in right now. Eddie says it's part of the charm."
"Is getting E. coli part of the charm, too?"
"Hell no. Syphilis."
"Gross!" Chrissy exclaimed. "Yeah, syphilis for sure. Did you go in the bathroom?"
"I told you not to go in there."
"I thought you were being dramatic."
There was no opening to Corroded Coffin's first song because Eddie always claimed it wasn't metal to introduce yourself. He caught Caoimhe's eyes, and she flipped him off. He flashed his teeth, biting the air as the stage exploded. Chrissy jumped like she wasn't expecting it. Caoimhe didn't know what the song was, but she was mesmerized by watching Eddie play. It didn't matter if Gareth missed a few beats when Eddie played so nicely that Caoimhe had to cross her legs.
"Seriously?"
Caoimhe refused to take the bait. Eddie was red hot.
"You put eyeliner on Gareth. You can't say anything to me. He's single, by the way."
"You aren't subtle," Chrissy said, pointing a pink frosted nail in Caoimhe's direction. "And you know I like Karen Carpenter better. Except my clear favorite is-"
"Ann Wilson, I know. I could never get into Heart."
"Okay, who'd you pick then?"
"Stevie Nicks," Caoimhe replied.
"Really? Not, like, crap, who's that woman who sings the bondage song you like so much? Oh! Not Poly Styrene?"
"Nah, Stevie Nicks all the way. But, you know, maybe not all of her music."
"What if Stevie did a hardcore punk album?" Chrissy asked.
"I would die."
"I'd perform a cheer routine as they lowered your body down."
"That's all I've ever wanted," Caoimhe sighed. "You're a great friend."
"No, you are." Chrissy looked happier than Caoimhe'd seen her in days. Stupid Jason Carver. "This is so much fun, barring all the germs. They're outstanding."
"Right? I have no idea why they don't have a bigger audience."
"We should make T-shirts."
"Yeah, we should! Hold on, who do we know who's artistic? Corroded Coffin doesn't have a good logo."
Caoimhe pointed to the sign hanging on the stage. An old bedsheet that had been around since 1978 with Corroded Coffin crudely painted on it in black and highlighted in red. The paint was faded, and the sheet was filthy. Caoimhe was no artist, but a band needed a decent logo, at the least. (And some original songs, but they'd get there eventually. Eddie just had to decide which ones he wanted to finish).
"That's the same sign they used at the eighth-grade talent show," Chrissy remarked.
"It looks like shit. I tell Eddie all the time."
"Hm. I could check out the art club tomorrow."
The first song wound to a close. Caoimhe and Chrissy readied their peanuts and threw them onstage.
"We! Are! Corroded Coffin!" Jeff shouted.
"You suck!" Caoimhe yelled, hitting Eddie. "Get off of the stage!"
"Whoo!"
Even as she hit Jeff in the chest with a peanut, Chrissy cheered beside her, ever the sweetheart.
"I'm going to let our esteemed guitarist take the next song!" Jeff hollered. "Munson?"
Eddie took the spot that Jeff vacated, slotting himself in front of the mic. Chrissy looked at Caoimhe, who shrugged, feeling very lost. Eddie only sang occasionally, and even then, he'd be opening the show. (He'd say how bad he sounded when he sang, to which Caoimhe'd reply that he was good. He had a voice for metal music. Then he'd hide behind his hair like he was shy because of Caoimhe complimenting him).
"I thought-" Chrissy began.
"Me too," Caoimhe finished.
Eddie's groupies were losing their minds, looking ready to rush the stage, when their man took a deep breath and wrapped a big hand around the microphone. A few beats of silence. His rings looked fucking nice under the stage lights. Caoimhe furrowed her eyebrows because what was going on? Eddie wasn't talking- usually, once you got that kid in front of a mic, he never shut up. The stage was quiet, and Caoimhe's eyes glanced around the bar because it had gone quiet too. She felt like she was missing something. Why weren't they playing?
Chrissy nudged her, and Caoimhe looked.
"Eddie," Chrissy mouthed, gesturing to the stage.
"I know," Caoimhe mouthed back, confused.
The expression on Chrissy's face looked so tired- like Caoimhe'd sapped every bit of energy from her body.
"What?" Caoimhe hissed.
Chrissy stepped behind her and turned her head until Caoimhe looked at Eddie. He looked back, waiting for her to notice before he did anything else. He grinned at her with an indecipherable look in his dark eyes, and existence narrowed to the two of them. Caoimhe stood from her chair and walked nearer to the stage. What was up his sleeve?
"So, there's this girl I'm fuckin' crazy about," Eddie said to her. "Been coming to see us for as long as we've been playin' here, right? Thing is, she hates metal. So, I wanted to play something she'd like."
Caoimhe stood frozen next to Chrissy, who was gripping her arm tightly. What was he doing? He never deviated from his carefully curated setlists, even when other members of Corroded Coffin asked him to. And he'd never play the kind of stuff she liked. Not the "four chord songs," as he mockingly referred to every punk rock song Caoimhe liked, even if they were more than four chords and complicated as anything.
"This isn't our normal shit, but, Kee, this one's for you."
That asshole- laughing at her dumbfounded expression as he played the opening riff to "Bastards of Young." She stood frozen even as Eddie screamed, shaking his head when he started singing. Is this what love felt like? Caoimhe couldn't feel her legs. Was she having a stroke?
"Come on!" Chrissy shouted, tugging Caoimhe even closer to the stage. "Nikki, come on!"
Chrissy started doing her best approximation of moshing. There weren't nearly enough people to pogo off the stage or get tossed around, but Chrissy was trying, urging Caoimhe to start too, but she was watching Eddie sing a punk rock song all for her. She felt all at once like she wanted to puke, but this is where it got weird: the good kind of puke. Like she was nauseous all night, and throwing up finally made her able to fall asleep. Like she was about to go on stage, nervous butterflies making her queasy even as she was so excited to be there. Caoimhe nodded to herself. Okay. Maybe it was too early, but Eddie kept all her tapes. Maybe he was too afraid to say it outright, but she wasn't.
He looked at her, and Caoimhe knew what he wanted.
"Unwillingness to claim us!" Eddie sang.
"Ya got no warrant to name us!" Caoimhe shouted.
His answering guitar solo was the answer to every remaining question she had.
The rest of Corroded Coffin's set was a blur. Chrissy wanted lemon drops, so Caoimhe got them a couple. Then Caoimhe wanted melon ball shots even if vodka messed her stomach up, so Chrissy got them two of those. Too much. Not enough. Caoimhe pulled Chrissy onto the dance floor again, where they spent a few songs jumping up and down. They got one beer each; Caoimhe made Chrissy drink some water, and Chrissy returned the favor. They hopped up and down. Caoimhe met Eddie's eyes every so often and grinned crookedly, feeling the ground spinning underneath her feet. He smiled and played his guitar faster, drawing her eyes to his beautiful fingers on the frets. Strumming more quickly because he knew she was watching.
After Corroded Coffin had finished their set, there were more drinks for the road. Caoimhe turned away to the bar for a second, and when she turned back, Chrissy had tears in her eyes. Eddie's groupies. The taller one, the leader that constantly flirted with Eddie the hardest, was mocking Chrissy's tears and laughing with her friends. Caoimhe was always too overprotective. She rushed at the fearless leader, tackling her. They both fell to the ground. The girl was bulked out in layers of denim and leather, so she quickly got the upper hand. Caoimhe kneed the girl as hard as she could in the gut. The girl gasped, letting up enough so Caoimhe could slip out from underneath her. The room was spinning, but Caoimhe'd be a shitty punk rock fan if she'd only been in fights when she was stone-cold sober.
"The fuck did you say to Chrissy; you fuckin' asshole?" Caoimhe yelled. "Say it again! Huh?"
"You heard me," the girl spat, all metalhead toughness with none of the finesse to back it up.
Caoimhe popped her in the nose hard enough that the girl yelped, and Caoimhe had to shake her hand. The girl thrust out an arm. Caoimhe caught it on her cheek, feeling her skin splitting underneath the girl's rings.
"Wanna say that shit again, honey?" Caoimhe snarled even as she started bleeding. "Come on; I fuckin' dare ya! Where are all yer friends now, huh?! Can't take the fuckin' heat?! Never been in a real fight before?!"
This was the wrong thing to say. Caoimhe's hair wasn't long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail and yanked on, but someone ended up yanking her up by the back of her shirt. She stumbled and spun, getting the second girl in the stomach. Jab, left hook. (Four push-ups, ten sets. Thank you, kickboxing class.) The third girl crowded Caoimhe and threw a punch but missed her nose, getting her other cheek instead. She yowled.
"Nikki!" Chrissy wailed.
Two against one? Metalheads couldn't fight at all. All they did was run their mouths. Fell at a punk rock show, and it was all good luck trying to survive. It's how Caoimhe broke her arm in her junior year of high school and fucked up her jaw in her first year at Tisch- elbow straight to the face. Sid Vicious types trying to look cool by beating the snot out of people, whether they deserved it or not. Go to a punk rock show, and it was either kill or be killed—like the real world.
Caoimhe was surrounded. That was fine; that was good. She'd taken on guys twice these girls' sizes before.
"Keep my friend's name outta yer fuckin' mouth!" she shouted.
She stumbled from a kick to her kneecap. Were these girls serious? She fell to the ground, spitting mad and leaping up almost as fast as she fell. Hollering, she rushed at the leader. Her lackey tried to pull Caoimhe off, but Chrissy was there before she even got close.
"Stop it!" she yelled, shoving the girl.
Caoimhe punched the first girl, the girl who'd been mean to Chrissy.
"You're a fucking cunt!" the girl shouted.
"Oh, you- Fuckin' try an' touch me one more goddamn time!" Caoimhe yelled.
She heard someone cry out, hoping to hell it wasn't Chrissy. An uppercut to the jaw. Her knuckles were sore, and she was still bleeding from the cut on one side of her face. Why get such sick rings if you couldn't even land a punch in the spot you were aiming for? That was the real question. She whirled around to see Chrissy land a punch and then looked surprised that she did so. Caoimhe dodged a rogue fist. Chrissy was swearing up a storm. She'd pulled off her shoe and tried to hit one of the girls with it to get her to back off.
"Cross, Chris, cross!" Caoimhe called, taking her own advice.
She didn't see Chrissy swing. She was too busy pushing the first girl into the wall. The girl blocked her face from hitting the bricks, but Caoimhe still held her tight, jabbing her arm underneath her chin. The girl bared her teeth.
"Fuckin' say that shit to her again, an' you'll be picking your teeth out of your hair. Got it?" Caoimhe growled.
"Fuck you."
"D'ya think you an' you friends are so tough with your leather an' rings? Can't fight for shit. You don't know anythin' about Chrissy. Fuckin' hurt her feelings like that again, an' I won't be so goddamn nice."
The girl was a wuss, but she was a tricky wuss. They usually were. She took advantage of Caoimhe's bleeding face, reaching up and digging her nails in until Caoimhe shouted in pain.
"What the fuck?" she cried, knocking the girl's head against the wall. "The fuck is yer goddamn problem?!"
"Kee," Eddie said from behind her.
"Not now, Eds," she growled.
"Kee, you're going to get arrested. Let up."
"Fuck no. This asshole-" Caoimhe pushed down on the girl's neck a little harder. "-Made Chrissy cry!"
Eddie plucked her right off the ground and tossed her onto his back in a fireman's carry. Dickhead.
"Put me down," she demanded.
She could have kicked her feet hard enough into the soft part of his side until he dropped her. But she didn't because she liked him too much, and he tried to bite her to get her to quit fighting him. Caoimhe saw Chrissy being helped off the ground by Gareth. Eddie carried her off back to the spot behind the stage where they were earlier and pressed her up against the disgusting wall. He dabbed her bleeding cheek with his handkerchief. He was gentle, but she hissed through her teeth, laughing because her adrenaline was still pumping hard in her veins.
"Can't take you anywhere, can I?" Eddie said hoarsely.
He kissed her, dropping the handkerchief and hauling her tight against him—a smirk when she whined. Caoimhe felt like she was floating above her body. Eddie nudged a knee between her legs and held her there. She went dizzy.
"Eds," she moaned.
"Yeah, babe, I know." He kissed her again. "You're hot when you're kicking ass."
"So're you. Singin' me a punk song. Yer so great, Eddie. Musical genius. I like you so much, you know? You fucking asshole."
Eddie laughed. "You drunk? How many shots did you do?"
"Three."
"Tequila?"
"Vodka."
"Oh no. You didn't."
"They're Chrissy's favorite."
"You better not puke in my van."
"Shh, Eds," Caoimhe soothed, pricking her teeth on his chin. "Shh. I can beat the shit out of ya."
"I know you can."
He sounded fond even while he was trying to be pissed at her. He had every right to be. Vodka was terrible. It was awful. Caoimhe loved it. She could smell it and get nauseated. Eddie knew this because he'd seen it happen many times. Bless him for sticking around even when she threw up in his van. She'd felt so bad she spent hours cleaning it and did his biology homework for a month afterward.
"I think I have some Band-Aids in the van for that cheek. Come on," he said.
"Yer groupies are mean," Caoimhe told him. "I don't like 'em."
Eddie flung an arm around her shoulder.
"My groupies, eh?"
"Yeah, the ones Chris an' I- where's Chrissy?"
"Gareth got her."
"Oh, good. Yeah, your groupies. The tall one made Chrissy cry, but she couldn't fight."
"Why are they "my" groupies?"
"They stare at you all the time. There are three others up there they could stare at but nope. Gotta be you."
Eddie was grinning.
"Wha'?" Caoimhe asked.
"You. Are. Jealous," Eddie sang, punctuating each word with a kiss on the side of her head.
"Am not," she grumbled.
"You so are."
"Bite me."
"I knew it! Kee, sweetheart, baby, honey, you know you're the only one I ever see, right?"
"Shaddup. Don't mock me."
"I'm not! I'm -Where are you going? Come back; you're going to fall on your face- I'm not mocking you. I sang you a punk song."
"You did, huh? Keep it up, Eds; I'll start thinkin' you like me or somethin'."
"We're fucking dating, Caoimhe," Eddie said tiredly.
"Are we dating? I don't 'member bein' asked to go steady," Caoimhe said.
"I forgot how annoying you are when you drink. Get in the van and try not to puke all over the place."
She saluted him. "Yessir."
Caoimhe hopped up without any assistance. She wasn't drunk, Eds, shut up. She was just tipsy and drained as her adrenaline from the fight left her. She slumped down against an extra amp as Eddie got in after her. He had a First-Aid kit- what a guy. Caoimhe liked him so much, even when he wiped her cut off with a stinging alcohol pad. Was this the same kid who wouldn't clean his trailer park tattoos because he wanted to show how cool he could be? Infections were not cool, but Eddie didn't think about stuff like that. (Caoimhe did because Eamon got an abscessed tooth when he was like seven, and even though her ma was the one who took him to the dentist, Caoimhe was the one that watched over him. She'd held cold packs to his face and ensured he took his antibiotics. She knew her ma wouldn't do it right.)
"You falling asleep over there?" Eddie asked.
"No," Caoimhe said. "Yer hands feel nice, s'all."
She sighed, letting Eddie's touch lull her into a doze. It was nice. She was thinking about Sonic when:
"Caoimhe!" Chrissy shouted.
Caoimhe shot up like a rocket as Chrissy flew in the back of Eddie's van.
"Quit gettin' into fights on my behalf," Chrissy snapped.
She was tipsy, too. She nudged Eddie out of the way, ripped the Band-Aid out of his hand, and sat down to bandage Caoimhe up herself.
"Uh," Eddie began.
"She made you cry," Caoimhe said to Chrissy.
"Been cryin' a lot lately; you haven't noticed?"
"That isn't the point, Chris."
"No. Point is, it was three against one. Wasn't gonna let you fight my battles fer me. 'M not thirteen anymore."
"You call that fightin'?" Caoimhe asked, grinning despite everything. "You hit that girl with a fuckin' shoe."
Chrissy snorted. "An' you were pullin' your punches."
"Wasn't gonna roundhouse kick 'er in the fuckin' face."
"You shoulda. Heard her call you names."
"She did?" Eddie asked, all protective.
"Been called worse by better people. 'S fine," Caoimhe said.
"There," Chrissy tapped Caoimhe's cheek three times. "All bandaged up."
"Thanks. You hurt?"
"Gareth got me an ice pack."
"Good. Hey, don't let someone who dresses like that tell you shit, okay?"
Chrissy nodded, though she looked unconvinced. She sat next to Caoimhe. Eddie said something about helping the guys pack up and waved off Caoimhe's slurred offer to help. Eddie hopped out of the van, and Caoimhe settled back. Chrissy was warm, slumped against Caoimhe's side, her hair an unkempt mess. All of her eyeshadow was wiped clean off. Chrissy, with her green scrunchie and fists of fury. If only her horrible mother could see her now. She'd be terrified, and Caoimhe'd love it.
"Nik?" Chrissy asked, her voice small.
"Hm?"
"You know how I like Ann Wilson more'n any other artist?"
"Yeah."
"It's 'cause." Chrissy trailed off, chewing her lip. Then: "Remember how we promised always to tell each other everythin'?"
Caoimhe's voice was gentle because Chrissy looked like she was three seconds away from never speaking again.
"Of course."
"You won't hate me?" Chrissy said.
"Nothin' could make me hate you."
"'S just- you like Eddie. Have for years. An' I like Gareth, but Karen Carpenter, too. Maybe one over the other, or maybe just both; I haven't figured that out yet. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Do you?"
"Of course I do."
Caoimhe would never tell Chrissy this, but she'd always kind of had a feeling, and maybe Chrissy's mother felt the same, which was why she was so awful. It was hard. They were in a town of around 12,000 people surrounded by churches in the Midwestern United States. The Cunninghams were obsessed with pretending everything was fine. Most families in Hawkins were.
"Never toe the line." "Do what your parents tell you and what is expected." "Don't be your fucking self no matter how much it hurts."
It's why she pushed Chrissy and Eddie to get together. Caoimhe knew out of every guy at Hawkins High, if Chrissy did decide to say anything, Eddie would be the most understanding. But Caoimhe had Eddie now, and Chrissy was ready to dump Jason and live her life the way she deserved.
Caoimhe pulled Chrissy in for a hug. Chrissy was crying, but it looked more like relief than anything. When they pulled away, Caoimhe wiped Chrissy's cheeks.
"Those girls in there called me a poser. An' they were right, just not in the way they meant. Didn't wanna be anymore, I guess," Chrissy said. "Couldn't tell my parents or anyone else, but I wanted to tell someone, an' you're my best friend."
"Listen, Chris, don't take this the wrong way because I know how hard this is, and I'm not tryin' to undermine the moment, but I go to Tisch," Caoimhe said. "We have Rocky Horror performances once a semester. I have the whole fuckin' thing memorized, Chrissy."
Chrissy smiled.
"Yeah, you would."
"I'm glad you told me. An' nothin' you ever tell me will make me hate you. Okay? You could, I dunno, kill a guy, an' I'd love the shit outta ya."
"Thanks."
"Always. You're my best friend, an' you throw a mean punch."
"Ah, did you see it land? Can't believe it landed, Nik!"
"Tough as fuckin' nails, Chris."
"See why you like fightin' s'much." Chrissy yawned. "Think they'd lemme come back?"
"I'll make 'em. It's borin' sitting there by myself," Caoimhe said. "C'mere, Eddie's comin' back with an amp."
She and Chrissy hurried out of the way as the band started loading the van. They chatted about mindlessly things, both a little too tired and drained to talk about anything beyond surface-level stuff, even if Caoimhe was aching to ask Chrissy if she had a specific girl in mind she wanted to be with so much that she'd tell her best friend. They had plenty of time for that later. Caoimhe wondered what food they had at home and if Chrissy would agree to eat something before they crashed on the magic bus. She was exhausted.
Finally, the van was packed up, and Eddie tossed an arm around her shoulder.
"Good?" Caoimhe asked, huddling into his side.
Eddie kissed the side of her head. God, she loved him.
"Yeah, you?" he asked.
Caoimhe and Chrissy looked at each other, grinning.
"Yeah, we are," Chrissy answered for her. "Let's go."
