Disclaimer: I own nothing.
- 12:40pm, Tuesday, 29 September 2009 –
It wasn't long into his senior year that Eddie had lost steam. What with four weekly days of training, Friday night games, classes, tests, dealing with Carl and trying to keep Peter out of harm's way, Eddie was already fed up. He'd made it nearly three weeks without blowing his lid.
Almost.
"I was hoping we wouldn't have to have this conversation this year, Mr. Brock. While I'm fully aware of Mr. Thompson's…questionable behavior, violence cannot be condoned in this school."
To be fair, he'd given Flash a chance to back down. Reminded him how bright of a future he had ahead of him if only he'd just set Peter the fuck down. To Flash's credit, he'd let Peter monologue. Something about why bullying is wrong, why toilet water was highly unsanitary and could cause infections, diarrhea and mild irritations on the oropharynx (whatever that is).
Eddie wishes Carl had given him as many warnings as he'd had given Flash.
"You not only threatened Mr. Thompson-"
Less a threat, more a conditional promise.
"-but you assaulted him-"
Eddie preferred the term 'forceful scolding' but he wasn't exactly in a position to argue.
"-collapsing a bathroom stall in the process!"
Shit. That one was his fault. He wasn't known for his tactful thinking, but he could've done it without property damage.
All 225lbs of semi-apologetic teenager leaned forward in his armless chair (placed here surely so troublemakers wouldn't know where to put their hands), finally locking eyes with the aging man seated behind the desk in front of him. The image of indifference slowly morphed into one resembling guilt.
Split lips opened. "Sorry for the damage, Principal Davis. It won't happen again."
The older man's eyes gave away his understanding, and maybe even his sympathy, but his posture did not.
Davis had been the principal of Midtown School of Science and Technology since the late 80s, 'a time before the internet drove everyone crazy and the only way to talk to your girlfriend was to hope her father didn't pick up the phone first.' Back then, it had just been Midtown School of Science. Andrew William Davis dragged Midtown kicking and screaming into the internet age, cementing the school's place in national history as an institution that demanded excellence of its student body; one comprised of New York City's best and brightest.
Eddie didn't feel like he fit either of those categories. Yet, Principal Davis advocated for him anyway.
Brow furrowing in long-held frustration, Davis' left hand reached up like a claw to stroke the thick graying hairs of his moustache. Getting up out of his equally aging leather office chair, Principal Davis strode out from behind his desk to stand directly in front of Eddie. He leaned against the desk and sighed.
" Eddie, I need you to hear me." Hazel eyes met ice blue. "You sent another student through a bathroom stall wall. Your actions have consequences. I won't lie to you: the school board wants you expelled, and I'm hard-pressed to deny them; they want you gone, Eddie-"
The guilt was much more genuine now. "I know that! I-"
Davis's hand slammed down on the flat of the desk, "Then act like it!" A growl rose from his throat, restraint temporarily lost. "Be better. While I'm proud of the progress you've made thus far, you must have a tighter rein on your temper! Mr. Parker needed help, certainly, but you should have sought out a staff member. Mr. Parker may be your friend, but he is our responsibility."
Eddie jerked and made to retort but Principal Davis simply raised his hand, silencing him. The silence lingered until Principal Davis spoken again, this time slowly and softly. "I'll make it as clear as I can, Eddie: this is your last chance. Control your anger. Don't let it control you. Do you understand?"
The quiet "Yes sir" that followed seemed so much louder in the silence of the room.
Stern hazel bore down on Eddie once more. "Both you and Mr. Thompson will be helping Mr. Brown to repair and reinstall the walls you've damaged. This will serve as a detention during your seventh hour. You'll report directly to him until the repairs are finished." Another sigh dragged itself from Davis's mouth. "Be grateful your… altercation took place in a less crowded bathroom. When the two of you have finished that, we'll discuss further punishment individually. You start Thursday, whether or not Mr. Thompson is in any condition to help you. Am I clear?"
" Crystal."
The sound of rushing high schoolers filled Eddie's ears as he stepped from the school office back into the entrance hallway of Midtown High. Students flew by to make it to their next classes. A few were looking directly at him, whispering to the people next to them. A few tried to be a bit more subtle, but between their darting eyes and their harsh whispering, they weren't doing a very good job. Eddie eyed the clock hanging on the wall opposite him.
12:57. There was more than enough time to make it to Pre-Calc.
His head swiveled left, down the hall toward his classroom.
It swiveled right, toward the exit.
Davis would forgive him, given the circumstances. Probably.
As his feet carried him out the front doors and around the east side of the building, Eddie took a moment to think about his present circumstances.
He'd been doing much better. Almost three weeks without an incident, outburst, misstep or missed assignment. He'd shown up to football practice early and played great in each of the three games they'd played so far. He hadn't even given any of his teachers back talk. If you counted the last seven weeks of his junior year, you could say he'd nearly made it to ten.
In 17 years of either losing or breaking even, Eddie would take his victories wherever he could.
Until today, he'd held off on Flash and his merry band of assholes. They'd been harassing and bullying Peter since before he'd jumped grades, but Eddie had been hoping they'd learn to back off by the time Flash's freshman year began. Time apart would cool Flash's head, surely?
It hadn't. Flash's hate persisted through those two years of middle school without Peter. If anything, his absence had made it worse.
Absentminded hands opened and closed a gate.
From the start of their freshman year, Eddie could see that Flash had it out for Peter. Whether tripping him in the hallways or "accidentally" slapping things out of his hands, Flash held little back in regard to how he felt about Peter Parker. This morning's incident was simply the first time things had escalated far enough that a well-placed insult or "Go fuck yourself, Eugene," wouldn't suffice.
Entering your freshman year, only to find out that the boy you'd bullied was two years ahead of you, had to have been a wound to Flash's pride. If there was anything that Flash valued it was attention, and Peter's achievements both in and out of Midtown's halls had pulled him directly into the spotlight. While Flash had been reaching for state passing yard records as an eighth grader, Peter had been the first non-senior student to be accepted into Oscorp's lab internship summer program, and only one of three to have ever been offered the opportunity to continue part-time into the school year. The only reason Peter wasn't a college student by the time he'd entered ninth grade was because Ben and May wouldn't let him skip any more grades.
Flash's inferiority complex ignited the moment he'd heard through the grapevine (and a year late), and Eddie's presence had been a deterrent for any plans Flash might have had, at least until today.
A pair of voices, one low but feminine and the other scratchy and pitchy from puberty, pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Eddie, are you okay? Eddie?"
Eddie belatedly realized he'd wandered his way to the bleachers overlooking the football field. He often saved his intrusive thoughts for home, but the day's events had obviously bothered him a lot more than he'd been willing to admit.
"He's broken, Petey. Eugene must've gotten a shot at Edboy's head. If you look closely, you can see the point of impact riiiiiiiight here-"
He slapped the offending finger poking the side of his head away.
"Eugene could barely graze me on a bad day, Gwendolyn."
Gwen's freckled face fell into a sad smile, "Bad day then, I guess?" Her eyes darted to his split lip before returning eye contact.
Good guess. His eyes shifted to the smaller body on his left, narrowing.
From his shaggy wheat-colored hair down to his faded white and red Nikes, Peter Parker looked disheveled. Nervous hands played with the top button of his oxford when their gazes met.
Peter's voice rose, low and uncertain. "I'm-I'm the same as I was an hour and a half ago, Eddie. Nobody touched me. I'm actually- I'm more worried about if you're okay."
Gwen sat down on the row in front of Eddie, legs together and struck out lengthwise along the long bleacher. She leaned back on her hands.
Peter sat down next to him. Eddie gave him a brief look that he hoped conveyed his immeasurable disappointment.
"I made sure he got to class in one piece," Gwen assured, "which means we can skip to the part where you tell us what Principal Davis had to say."
His eyes drifted to the field behind them. A group of students kicked a soccer ball in a circle. Maybe they needed an extra. "Just words of encouragement."
Gwen was visibly dissatisfied with that answer. "Soooo, did those words come with an expulsion letter, academic suspension or, like, a detention?"
"Davis says it's my last chance. Says the school board wants me outta here."
Sitting up and crossing her arms, Gwen looked almost…smug? "Ha! Like they could actually get away with that. Everyone knows Flash started it! Plus, I don't think Jacoby would like his big ol' tight end expelled three games into the season. He'd fight the board for you. Davis would too, probably."
"I don't want anyone fighting for me," Eddie sighed.
"The thing about fighting for someone, Edboy, is that you don't usually ask for permission."
"You sound like a fed."
"You know what I meant. What else did Principal Davis say?"
"Eugene and I are helping Mr. Brown put up a new bathroom stall."
Gwen sat up even straighter. "That's it?! He dunks Peter's head in a flippin' bathroom toilet three times-"
"It was only twice," Peter chimed in.
"-I do not care Peter. And all he has to do is clean up his mess? There's no justice in that!" Her face contorted in anger.
Peter's hands rose up in front of him in an attempt to placate, "Gwen, it's n-not that big of a deal! Flash isn't really even that bad of a guy."
Both Gwen and Eddie looked at Peter like he was a fucking idiot. Eddie was usually the one getting those looks, so it was kind of nice directing it at someone else.
"It's not good to lie, Petey."
Peter lowered his head, mumbling to himself and fidgeting with his hands. After the day's events he was anxious, and rightly so. He likely blamed himself for what happened.
Something he and Eddie had in common.
"Moving on from that bullshit," Eddie began, "I don't know what else Davis has for Eugene. I didn't ask 'cause he was, ya know, kinda pissed. To be honest, I don't really care, 'cause he got the message."
"As long as he doesn't know that you're on strike two, that is," Gwen mused.
It went without saying. If Flash thought he could get the bear put down -metaphorically speaking- by poking it, he'd do it. For all his bluster and bullshittery, Flash wasn't an idiot; he'd take the risk. Threats of violence, along with the actual thing, were only so effective for so long.
Something had to change. Somebody had to change and unfortunately it wouldn't be Flash.
Things would be so much easier if only Peter would stand up for himself. Maybe not literally -he could take an x-ray with a flashlight- but verbally, at least. Eddie believed wholeheartedly that Peter would grow into a man whose confidence matched his intellect. He just wished the kid would direct some of that insane intelligence towards insults or something! Literally anything but indefensible gibberish.
Nobody had ever made Eddie feel such indescribably conflicting amounts of love and frustration as Peter did. He'd been so unconditionally good to Eddie that he couldn't help but care back. He'd been there when Eddie had hit rock bottom, pushed him to believe in just a bit of his potential, and was the sole reason Eddie had a chance at walking the stage come May. A chance Eddie may or may not be pissing away.
Eddie would pay back that kindness, even to his own detriment.
Thoughts snapping back to the present, he checked his watch. 2:04pm. Didn't they have to be to work at 2:30?
"He won't find out. Only the three of us know, so as long as we act normal-" Gwen gave him a look that clearly read speak for yourself, "-then we should be fine. Also, don't you two have a train to catch?"
Gwen pulled an old set of keys from the front pocket of her worn canvas backpack, "Dad let me use the van this week." She jingled them. "His transfer to Transportation let's him have a take-home car, or something."
"Congrats. But don't let me hold you up."
Gwen pulled out her phone, checking the time. "Yeah, Edboy's right, we've gotta dash, Petey." She glanced at Eddie playfully, "We'll leave you to your brooding."
"I don't brood."
"Sure, you don't," she snarked. She turned to walk down the aisle of the bleachers. "Let's go, Petey."
Peter got up quickly, slinging his too-large backpack around his skinny shoulders.
Halfway down the aisle he turned to Eddie. "Do you wanna play MW2 tonight? I'm off at 8. We can talk about a game plan to handle Flash, too."
"I thought you said you hated that game."
Peter shrugged, "It's an entirely inaccurate representation of war and it desensitizes us to gun violence, which is actually a very serious issue considering-"
Gwen's voice interrupted him just then, finally visible from the parking lot adjacent to the football field. "PETER! WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE!"
Peter rushed down the bleachers and yelled out "Have fun brooding!" over his shoulder.
Eddie lazily waved with his middle finger.
Seconds later, he felt himself being pulled back into his own thoughts as he watched Gwen's minivan pull out of the lot sharply, going off the edge of the curb. Shit driver.
At that moment, his stomach gurgled. Eddie got up to go get something to eat. Anything was better than thinking himself to death.
He grumbled to himself the entire three blocks to Gino's.
"I don't fucking brood."
- 5:15pm –
Football practice came and went. In the locker room, a few of the other players -mostly Flash's friends- weren't too happy about what Eddie had done to the star quarterback. They'd been vocal about it but hadn't tried him. Points for intelligence there. The rest either offered their silent support for him out of a distaste for Flash's attitude and ego or didn't care that much. Coach Joe Jacoby, a 6'6" slab of unsuppressed semi-professional rage and controversial coaching practice, had a few choice words for him. Most were along the lines of 'Be thankful things have changed since I played or I'd knock your ass out, Brock' and 'Next time you decide to slam a motherfucker, do it to the other team, Brock.'
He hadn't seen much of the actual team today. For 'slamming the wrong motherfucker' Eddie had been subjected to the P.I.E. Period, or Personal Improvement Exercise Period. Those were saved for unexcused tardies, late assignments, missed trainings and usually given after practices, but Jacoby wanted to make a point to the other players, and he did: don't fuck with his team.
Eddie had been through three P.I.E. Periods in his time at Midtown; this time was no different. Everything hurt, everything ached, and he could only thank the virgin Mary that he hadn't fucked up on a Wednesday or a Thursday, because playing a full game while recovering from a P.I.E would be agony. A full body tackle from some Bayside asshole on Friday would be a hundred times worse otherwise. He was already fighting an uphill battle as the smallest Tight End in his conference and muscle fatigue would only make things worse.
Eddie left the field quickly, showered quickly and dressed quickly. He wanted dinner and his bed.
He checked his phone as he walked out of the locker room to find a text from Peter.
Are you still at school?
He flipped his G1 horizontally, slid the keyboard open and texted back.
Bouta leave.
A few seconds later, Peter replied.
I forgot my Oscorp ID in my locker. It's an emergency. Can you drop it off?
He cried a little inside.
Fine. Stop forgetting shit.
Eddie didn't wait for a reply before shoving his phone in his pocket and making his way back into school.
Peter was relatively forgetful, so Eddie knew this routine. He moved quickly through the East entrance of the hushed school building to the Junior class lockers. Inputting Peter's locker combination he snatched the ID off of the top shelf and shut the locker.
Suddenly, his instincts screamed at him to move. Eddie's instincts had gotten him through a lot in life, so he didn't hesitate in doing so, just in time to avoid a gloved fist as it crashed into the locker he'd just closed.
Now Peter's locker was dented. Wonderful.
"You got fuckin' lucky, Brock!"
Eddie began to back away slowly, hands out in front of him. "You overstepped, Eugene."
"My fist breaking your teeth; that'll be overstepping." Eugene began rolling up the sleeves on his varsity jacket. He took a step forward.
Eddie took a step back.
Another forward.
Another back.
An ugly smirk made its way onto Flash's bruised cheeks. "Really? You're gonna act like a pussy now that the halls are empty? No pet dweeb for you to protect, so all the fight's left you. Fuckin' pathetic."
A muscle in Eddie's jaw tightened. He was half a second away from reintroducing Flash's face to the floor when a head of curly black hair wrapped itself around Flash's middle. A shrill, bitchy voice spoke up.
"Flaaaaash, if we don't go now, we'll miss the previews!"
Never in his life did Eddie think he'd ever be grateful to see Sally Avril; she was one of the most obnoxious people he'd ever met. His gratitude was short-lived as Sally turned to address Eddie.
"For the umpteenth time, Eddie, you need to leave Flash alone!"
The reply left Eddie's mouth before he could stop it.
"Considering you're not his girlfriend I could say the same."
Sally's face contorted in outrage -as if she had any right- then quickly settled into adoration, gazing up at Flash's fucked-up face. "What Liz doesn't know won't hurt her, I'd wager."
Was she serious? Weren't they friends?
Eddie's gaze turned to Flash, who looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.
"I told you to wait in the car, Sally."
Oh, Eddie was getting a good feeling about this.
Sally cooed at him in what might have been the cringiest display of affection Eddie had ever seen. "I couldn't just let you face the Big Bad Brock on your own! Look at what he did to your handsome face~" Her hand reached up to cradle Flash's jaw and was immediately slapped away.
"He didn't do jack shit to me, h-he got fuckin' lucky is all!" Flash deflected, "I'm not some punk bitch either, so get back to the car!"
"But Flash, I just-"
"Car. Now!"
Sally gave Eddie a dark look over her shoulder as she left. It failed to do anything. Looking back to Flash, Eddie tried his best to remain stoic. He chose his next words carefully.
"Wow, you're a sack of shit." Okay, maybe not that carefully.
Flash at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Before he could open his mouth to retort, Eddie opened his again. "I'm telling Liz."
Blackened green eyes widened in alarm. "H-hey, man! S-Sally and I aren't like that, we're-"
"-Going to a movie? Isn't that what a boyfriend does with his girlfriend? Last I checked, she ain't yours."
"Listen, Brock, you didn't see shit, alright? Just chillax."
Indignant rage filled Eddie's chest much faster than he could've expected. This little prick had the gall to tell him to chillax? After the shit he'd pulled? Eddie wasn't going to chillax, he was going to railroad this prick. Now that he'd been given the right ammunition, he wasn't going to let it go to waste.
This leverage was exactly what he needed to keep Flash off of both his and Peter's backs -likely for the rest of the year. Eddie had every intention of capitalizing on Flash's fuck up.
Eddie's face set in a scowl. "If you fuck with me or Peter again, I'm telling Liz."
"Are you fuckin' serious man, it's not-"
"I'll make a bunch of shit up, too. I'll lie on my own mother, Eugene. Who's Liz going to believe, the asshole who cheated on her? Who is still cheating on her? Not a chance."
Flash's body language gave away his outrage. His shoulders tightened, coiled; his fists balled and clenched; his jaw set and teeth grit; Eddie wasn't sure Flash wouldn't just attack him anyway.
Astonishingly, he didn't. Flash began to walk away instead.
"Fine. But you'd better watch your back, Brock. 'cuz if I get even a whiff of dirt on you-"
"First of all, nobody under the age of 35 uses the word whiff. Second of all, goodbye, Eugene."
"You heard me, Brock! A fuckin' whiff and you're hosed!"
He watched Flash go. Whatever else he had to say, Eddie didn't hear it, grumbled as it was. As soon as Flash's varsity jacket disappeared through the East side exit, Eddie took off West towards the main entrance, jogging down the marble steps and out onto the street toward the subway. By the time he'd made his way down the stairs and stood waiting for the train, the station clock read 5:39pm. Exactly one minute to spare. Too close.
He'd wasted too much time on Flash.
The thirty-minute subway ride from Forest Hills to Midtown Manhattan was only made shorter by the fact that Eddie brought his iPod Nano everywhere he went. Filled to the brim with songs he'd pirated to iTunes -he wasn't paying for shit- it'd been the only gift Carl had given him in recent memory. Even then, it'd been last year's model last year.
When his stop came up, Eddie swiftly exited the subway car and jogged up the stairs, headed Northeast toward 57th and Madison. Within minutes he arrived at Oscorp.
Gliding through the revolving glass door at the entrance, he found himself making eye contact with the side of the receptionist's brunette head.
Without looking up from her computer, the woman addressed him in between smacking chews of gum. "Welcome to Oscorp, where change begins with-"
"Persistence and determination, great, yeah, thanks," Eddie interrupted. "I'm here to deliver an ID to Peter Parker."
Painted fingernails flew over the keyboard. She then pointed to an elevator on the other end of the foyer labeled E. "35th floor. You're on camera."
"Thanks," he said, and made his way to the elevator. A frankly gigantic man with a vest labeled 'Security' swiped a card over the digital lock on the elevator, nodding to Eddie as he entered.
Arriving on the 35th floor within the next minute, Eddie left the elevator and entered the lobby of the E Sector Labs.
Glass cases lined the small seating area, all full of odd gadgets and awards. Seeing he was the only person in the room, Eddie took the time to look at the laminated picture in the closest glass case, of what looked to be Norman Osborn and a strong Elton John.
Eddie pulled out his phone and shot Peter a text.
In the lobby. Come out.
The reply was almost immediate.
On the way!
While he waited, Eddie's attention drifted toward the large placard labeled 'Staff' next to the lab security door.
Curtis Connors, PhD
Principal Investigator
E Sector, Labs 1-3
A small list of lab staff sat underneath the placard.
Vincent Stegron, PhD - Research Associate
Conrad Marcus, PhD - Research Associate
Gwendolyn Stacy - Statistician
Anthony Serba - Research Assistant
Peter Parker - Research Assistant
Huh. Peter had mentioned that one of the associates had been fired for stealing research data early in the first summer he'd worked at Oscorp. Peter was his functional replacement. That was no surprise. E Sector was led by only the best and staffed by only the brightest, like the Midtown of corporate research facilities.
Oscorp had labeled Peter a super genius among super geniuses; A child who wasn't just gifted in one or two fields, but damn near every single one. Peter was someone who would go on to do amazing things. He was built different.
He'd built his own version of Reed Richards' neutrino catcher in Ben and May's living room when he was 13. Eddie had no idea what a neutrino catcher was supposed to do, but apparently it did something that caught Oscorp's attention. Norman Osborn himself had paid the Parker's a visit that week, near demanding that Peter come join his summer program.
The second he'd turned 14, Oscorp had offered him a part-time position and an egregious wage. Ben had been quick to switch his tone from wholesome support to 'You better not fuck this up, so help me God'. May had been reluctant; it was too much too soon for a child his age. Ben was stubborn and eventually got her to accept it too. The rest was history, albeit recent.
Academics weren't Eddie's gift. That's why Davis had assigned that same grade-hopping 13-year-old as his private tutor in his sophomore year.
For all two times Eddie had stood in this lobby before, he'd felt some kind of understanding of what a higher calling was. What purpose was. How much of what he took for granted every day had come out of labs like these? Men and women, day in and day out, bringing their minds to the line and creating all the things he saw -and all he didn't. Every commercial celebrating longer battery life, new adaptive touch screen technology and AI that could start and stop a 2,000-passenger train without a conductor. All of it from the minds of people like his friends.
What had he ever made? Ever done?
Eddie's heartbeat like a drum in his chest, the ever-building pulse drowning out all else but his thoughts.
What could he ever do to compete? Push a man over? Catch a ball? Play a fucking position?
He lowered himself into the chair behind him, hands tightly clenched around the arched arms.
Was he supposed to just fade away while they both went on to live great lives? Was he supposed to answer phone calls in a cubicle while they re-split the fucking atom?
He was sweating now. A scowl carved itself into his moist cheeks. The lowest section of his stomach began to go numb, the sensation pulling up through the sides of his chest and ribs into the undersides of his arms, all the way up to his jaw and bottom lip.
Oh god, he was nothing, wasn't he? Just an old friend they'd call to get a break from their overstimulating lives, to glimpse into the mundane. Just another meatbag meant to live, consume and die in this piss stain of a society.
He inhaled as deeply as he could, then finally, exhaling slowly-
The security opened just then, a still-disheveled Peter stepping out into the cold flourescent light of the lobby.
"I'm so sorry, I hope you weren't waiting long! One of our test subjects escaped the enclo-wait, I'm not supposed to talk about that! Gosh darnit- I mean, I-I was held up by my boss. I really appreciate you for…" Peter trailed off, finally taking a long look at the clearly shaken teenager in front of him. His face changed quickly from exasperation to concern.
"Eddie…are you okay? You're sweating. And breathing really hard," He asked with no small amount of worry.
Eddie took a second, drawing deeply from his chest, waiting for the numbness to leave his face. He then stood, eyes glued to the floor.
"I, uh…I dunno. Just," he stuttered, "just take the ID."
He held out the ID with his right hand, willing it to stop shaking.
Peter stepped forward quickly, grabbing the ID from Eddie's outstretched hand. When Eddie went to pull away, Peter's other hand came around and grabbed his wrist, stopping him. For a split-second Eddie thought he felt something crawl up his arm. He inspected his arm briefly, finding nothing.
"I don't know what exactly you're thinking about that has you like this, Eddie, but you're my best friend. When and if you want to talk about it, I'm here."
A beat of silence.
"Thanks, Pete."
Peter let go of his wrist and smiled warily.
"Any time."
It happened near the end of the subway ride home: a sharp, precise stabbing pain lanced through Eddie's upper right arm like lightning, lasting no more than a few seconds. Then it was gone.
Something else took its place very soon after.
A throbbing sensation began where the stabbing had ended, traveling down to his fingertips and back up through his arm and into his torso, stopping short at his waist.
Eddie's arms throbbed and throbbed and throbbed and fucking throbbed. They felt swollen and hollow at the same time, contradicting sensations that both confused and horrified him.
"The fuck-" he tried to get out, as his chest suddenly seemed like bursting.
His heart was on fire. It ached and burned as if somebody had removed it from his chest, dipped it in magma and shoved it back in. He nearly called out in pain, were it not for the chill burn rotating in his lungs, catching his scream in his throat.
The teenager to his right, a boy with a tall red mohawk and skull face paint marking him as a member of Tombstone's gang, told him he smelled like shit. The go fuck yourself chambered behind his uvula never fired, choked out by a sudden throb in his lower right abdomen.
Strands of strawberry blonde hair were matted to Eddie's forehead, lather leaking from what felt to be every pore he possessed. He probably did smell like shit seeing how the other passengers of the car were pushing against each other in disgust, trying to inch away from him.
Eddie slumped in his seat; head laid against the edge of the window behind him. As his vision blurred, he felt a hand reach into his pocket and take his iPod, roughly snatching his earbuds out with it. He had neither the presence nor the mind to care, comprehending little beyond the noiseless blurs and formless sound the world had so quickly become.
As the horrible sensations reached his legs, Eddie vaguely remembered arriving at his stop and stumbling out of the subway. He looked as awful as he felt; crooked gait, dripping body and unfocused glare carrying him through the short walk to his apartment.
He remembered a spark of joy seeing the dimly lit entrance sign to the complex as it came into view.
He didn't remember climbing the apartment steps, though.
By the time Eddie managed to regain some form of lucidity, he found himself laying face first on the carpeted hallway floor of his apartment complex. Dry bone creaked; all of his joints were stiff; his gums were like solid rock; he could create sparks by rubbing his tongue against them.
Through the ever-present pain of his entire body collapsing from the inside, Eddie picked himself up off the ground and pushed his way into his apartment, slamming the door closed behind him.
Nearly face faulting into the kitchen sink, he ripped a glass out of the cabinet above it. The burning sensations somehow felt worse as he watched water fill the glass. He ran out of patience before it was even halfway full, throwing it across the room. Manic, eyes wide and pupils dilated, Eddie dunked his head under the faucet and drank and drank and drank.
He drank until he was forced to stop and breathe. He repeated the process multiple times, but his mouth dried as quickly as he wet it.
It was then that, if possible, the pain multiplied. Eddie's spine felt like it had grown arms and was tearing it's way through his back muscles to escape his body, his muscles liquifying into his bloodstream. Any strength the young man had in his legs gave way and he crumpled to the linoleum floor.
Darkness grew from the edges of his vision, pulling him into sweet unconsciousness.