Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I've traveled the world and the seven seas
Everybody's lookin' for something

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These) - Wheezer Cover

Cracking open the door to the apartment for the first time feels like opening the door to the New World. They both wait, letting the musty tang of dust settle around them, as they stare at the white walls and scratched hardwood floors, their key fisted in Eddie's palms.

They'd charmed the landlady. Eddie knew exactly how to make women just fall into goo at his feet, and Scott is the type of (fake) man that Chrissy has a feeling every age of woman would be eating out of his hand.

She said they looked 'so in love' and the picture of a 'perfect God-fearing couple' that ought to rent from her. And perhaps they did; Eddie pulling Chrissy close to him, her nose nestled in his shoulder and an infectious giggle bubbling out of her lips that made even an old woman with thick frown wrinkles smile, for what Chrissy guessed was the first time in years.

It felt good to have all the pieces fall into place.

Almost easy.

"Shit…bigger than my trailer," Eddie said, "Which, I know, isn't saying much." He turned, sighing, "I'm sure you'll need some time getting used to it."

If it was meant to be an unkind jab at her former wealth, his tone didn't indicate it. It seemed like it was just a statement.

No, an apology.

For how things turned out.

But Chrissy wasn't dampened. No; she was ecstatic.

"Are you kidding?" She asked, pushing inside, spinning around in the living room, "The house back in Hawkins was my parents. And they were so stuffy and strict. I felt like if I sneezed on something wrong I'd be grounded!" She pressed her palms against the walls, "We could paint every wall a different color! We could hang records on the walls of all our favorite bands! We could watch MTV at 3 am and no one will tell us no!" She turned, breathless, "Eddie…this is fantastic!"

She saw the relief on his face gradually rise, until he was eagerly exploring the rooms too.

Two bedrooms. Two whole bedrooms between the two of them.

Eventually, it would become a room for them each, but right now; in their empty space, it felt like they were living in the Taj Mahal.

They ended up on the floor, a whole bottle of champagne drank straight from the bottle deep, deliriously happy and hiccupping.

Chrissy felt like she'd known Eddie all her life as they leaned into each other's shoulders to keep upright, telling jumbled stories with no middle or end that was uproariously funny to both of them.

The champagne was cheap and it tasted more like sour grapes, but Chrissy couldn't remember a better night.

"Really?" Eddie asked, stumbling, "What about the night you won your cheer award?" He asked and she realized she'd spoken out loud.

"Nope! Not even then. Not even my first dance compares to this." She held pressed her hand to her lips.

"That's kinda sad," Eddie said, "That this is your best hits album. Wow."

"I guess. It would be sadder…big sad…more sad…" Chrissy struggled, "Aw, who cares. I don't have an English teacher to correct me anymore. It would be sadder if I was still living that life," She flopped back onto the floor, staring at the hairline cracks in the plaster on the ceiling, tracing the lines with her fingers, "I'm free Eddie. You killed Chrissy and set her free."

Eddie frowned. She knew because he was very silent, so she had to face him.
"I don't like thinking of it that way," He mumbled.

"But you did, don't you see? Chrissy Cunningham, ding dong, the witch is dead. And Wanda is left. Or no name. But I'm not her, I'm this me, and I…" Chrissy raised her hands, drunkenly trying to explain, "And I don't have to worry about my parents, or grades, or Jason."

"Okay," Eddie murmured, and if she were sober, she would say she heard anxiety in his voice. Or guilt.

"I dunno what Wanda will become, but If I'm ever grumpy or angry, remind me of this," Chrissy demanded.

"The night you got super drunk and thanked me for 'killing' you?" Eddie asked, wincing.

"Yep!" Chrissy chirped, "Oh…oh god."

She stood up but wobbled. Eddie must have known what she was feeling because he stood too, helping her to the sink where she felt that champagne come back up.

"Little lightweight there, huh?" He asked, teasingly.

"I've never had any," Chrissy mumbled, pressing the cool metal of the sink against her cheek.

"Jesus, like…never?"

"Only at weddings. Hah. Our wedding." Chrissy giggled, her mind still not working, "Oh, I mean, my aunt's wedding two years ago. Three sips. One, two, three, Chrissy."

"Jesus H. Christ," Eddie mumbled, "I'm corrupting you. I'm a terrible, terrible person."

"S'okay, I like it," Chrissy assured, "But urg, I don't like this."

"Yeah, that's what they all say." Eddie sighed, "Just wait until hangovers tomorrow, blech."

Chrissy looked up, squinting and confused, "What does a hangover feel like."

"Hard to describe. Just, uh, remember how great this night was when you wake up tomorrow. Or, yikes, try to." Eddie said, "But I think it's time for bed."

"Can I kiss you?" Chrissy asked, swaying on her feet, "We're married and it's our wedding night. I should kiss you."

"Erm, Chrissy. You sort of just barfed in the sink. Not exactly romantic or shit."

Chrissy looked back at the sink, having already forgotten.

"Oh. Yeah, right. Where are those secret brains hiding, Munson?" She asked, reaching out to pat his head, which seemed like a wrong move because Eddie completely stiffened and stared at Chrissy with wild deer-in-headlight eyes.

"Soft hair," She mumbled, leaning against the countertops. Mhh, sleep sounded really good right now… really nice…

"Okay Sleeping Beauty, c'mon," Eddie snorted, badly trying to hide his amusement, "Let's call it a night."

XXX

Chrissy woke the next morning with the worst headache in the world. It felt like the Hawkin's band was marching right through her mind. No; scratch that. It felt like the youngest, stupidest Freshman of the Hawkins Marching band with no musical talent had been handed trumpets and tubas and told to 'go batshit crazy' in her mind.

She moaned, and something cool came in contact with her hand.

"Water?" She croaked, surprised that her voice sounded like an old crone that smoked thirty packs a day.

"Good as shit tap stuff," Eddie said, "Drink."

Her stomach rolled, "I don't think I can," She mumbled, shoving it away, but Eddie was insistent.

"Really. You need something to balance it out," He said, "I promise you'll start to feel better."

Chrissy sat up, scowling, taking careful, slow sips.

"What the hell did I have last night?" She asked. Eddie raised an eyebrow, snorting.

"No recollection, huh?" He asked, and some part of him almost sounded disappointed. Chrissy thought very hard about it, then shook her head.

"Sorry," She mumbled.

Eddie shrugged, as though shoving away some feeling that she had inadvertently caused him to feel, and just fished out one of those little hotel notebooks and a pen. With fascination, she watched as he drew a star on it and then tore around the edges. She was so fully engrossed that until he licked the back of it and pressed it against her forehead, she almost didn't comprehend his actions.

She let out a squeal of half-laughter, half-shock, "What's this for?"

"Your gold star. Sorry, only black pens. Gold star for your first blackout. Gotta be celebrated."

He shifted the pad to show her a row of little stars, "One for your first real drink, one for your first hangover, and one for getting married since I'm assuming that's your first too. I gave myself a star for that one down here." He pointed.

"Yeah, no, uhm, first time getting married," Chrissy let out a stilted laugh, picking the tiny star off her forehead, "Why?"

"Dunno. Celebrating the little things and some flowery bullshit. You did a lot of firsts last night."

Chrissy spun the star around on her finger, "Yeah. If my mom or Jason saw me now…" She pressed her lips into a line, "I don't think they'd recognize me."

"Literally," Eddie said, lips quirking into a smile.

"Ouch. Did I really sleep on the couch the whole night?" She asked, patting the uncomfortable mid-century mod piece in their living room. 'Furnished' was a generous assessment of their apartment. It was more or less empty, with a few sparse pieces of furniture. Chrissy had initially been drawn in by this, liking the idea of adding their own touches as they went, but currently, she was a bit overwhelmed with how empty it felt.

And the couch was far from an enjoyable place to sit, much less sleep.

"Naw, mattress," Eddie said, "I sleep in all sorts of weird ass places, so I don't mind the couch. But you barfed again at six A.M so I kept you out here in case you needed to vomit again." He said, so matter of factly.

Chrissy still had some residual traits from her former life, and the idea of Eddie helping her while she threw up everything had her incredibly embarrassed.

"Oh, no," She muttered, covering her face, "I didn't."

"Hey, naw, don't be like that. It's the fare of drinking. If you don't think I've been face-down into a trashcan more than I can count…really. Everyone does it."

Chrissy picked at her nails, wincing still, "Yeah, but…sorry. I just…thanks, I guess. For taking care of me." She mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.

"Of course, I'll take care of you," Eddie said, eyes soft, "Remember, in sickness and health."

"That was Scott and Wanda."

"Pupputted by us…whoever we are. And even besides that, we forged our bond in blood. I don't think you can just leave someone after that." Eddie pointed out, scratching his head, "You'd do the same for me."

Chrissy stared at him, considering it. It was horrible, but she had to pause. Would she?

Of course, she would. The answer came a second later. Not just because it was Eddie, but because she was kind and she did help those in need. In fact, she was so used to helping others that needing help herself felt a tad uncomfortable, though she knew she had no reason to be.

"Yeah, I know. Still." Chrissy sipped another inch of her water, "Just…I don't know what I'm saying."

Eddie gave a snort, "Then I guess you'll really hate to hear how you tried to kiss me last night."

"What?" Chrissy asked, almost dropping her glass.

"Yeah, you really wanted to lay one on me right after barfing. Don't worry, I was totally a gentleman."

"Well, of course, you would be," Chrissy said, almost confused, "I wouldn't think you'd be the type of guy to…well, you know," She fidgeted with her wedding dress, which she hadn't gotten around to actually taking off last night.

"Yeah, you say that, but not many would," Eddie said, almost bluntly and dryly, "I just want to make it clear that I may like metal and may act tough shit, but I'm not that person."

"I never had that fear. Sincerely. Or else I wouldn't have gotten drunk." Chrissy said, reaching forward, wanting him to understand that even the Eddie before she knew this Eddie, would have never been the type she would have thought did something like that.

"Sorry, also. For trying to kiss you."

That it. She was never drinking again. She was sure she was going to die of embarrassment.

"Awe, it was sorta cute. Sorta funny too," Eddie said, no hard feelings, "But girl…you need to learn how to hold your liquor."

"No need if I'm never gunna drink again," Chrissy muttered sourly.

"You live in Las Vegas. Good luck there."

Chrissy stood, really taking a catalog of their furniture for the first time.

In the living room was the couch from hell with a small side table. She could see a place for a TV stand and wondered if they could afford a TV soon.

In their kitchen was a small circular table with a pair of chairs.

The first bedroom had a mattress and a dresser.

The last bedroom had a desk.

Utilitarian. Perfect for a young couple just starting out, spare in thought.

"One bed," Chrissy sighed. She knew it would be an issue, but until now, it hadn't really hit her. She, wordlessly, took out their envelope and leafed through the cash, counting in her head.

"What?" Eddie asked.

Chrissy scrunched her nose, "I guess I'm going to have to like that damn couch. I don't think we have enough for a second mattress. And if there is this couch here to sleep on-," She started.

It wasn't out of some hidden desire. It was a pragmatism that at least one of them needed when it came to their funds.

Chrissy hadn't learned much from her parents, but she had learned that a bad and cheap mattress is almost as worthless as no mattress at all. It was one of the few things you didn't cheap out on. And, if they were buying one, Chrissy would prefer buying one really nice one than one lumpy inexpensive one and one mid-priced one.

"Shit, we down that much?" Eddie asked, leg bouncing as she saw his anxiety spike.

"We just need jobs." Chrissy said, "As I said. Couch."

Eddie shook his head, "You think that my Uncle Wayne wouldn't have some sixth sense and come down and hunt my ass down if I let a girl sleep on that while I took the bed? No way. You are categorically not allowed to sleep there."

"Eddie, it's fine, seriously. I could take some hard lessons, you know? You deserve a mattress that's halfway decent."

"I am not letting you take the couch. I will fight you for it every night. I swear to god, Cunningham."

"And what, we both ignore the bed that isn't half bad in favor of this thing?" Chrissy lightly kicked the leg.

"Apparently!"

"That's just silly! Take the mattress, Munson."

"Absolutely not! I'm serious! I would be raptured in a second and sent to hell. The hell where men that are jerks to women go."

"It's not if I'm telling you I'm fine. Take your chivalry, shove it up your ass, and take the mattress!" Chrissy snapped, stomping her foot.

Eddie stared at her for a few seconds before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

"Holy hell. Did Miss Perfect Cunningham just tell me to shove something up my ass? I must be dreaming!" He said, wiping tears from his eyes, "That was so unexpected. I loved it!"

"Oh, come on, Eddie," Chrissy mumbled, redness splotching her cheeks as she realized what she'd said, "You are being stupid."

"I think we're both being stupid," Eddie decided, "The bed is a king-size bed. I think if we both sleep on it, we'll be fine. It's not sacrilege or something. We are married." He said, waving his finger and letting his wedding band catch the light streaming in through the window.

"I…" Chrissy stuttered, swallowing, "I don't think that's the solution."

"It totally is. Until we save up, of course," He hastily added, "Because if one of us has to sleep on that couch, it will eventually lead that person to mass murder. It's that uncomfortable." Eddie said punching the couch, "And as soon as we have the mattress, we see about replacing this." He said.

She'd never slept with a boy, not in the biblical sense and certainly not in the innocent way. She stared at Eddie, trying to think of a good reason, but coming up dry and empty.

"You'll just have to keep your hands to yourself at night. That might be hard for you," Eddie added, teasingly.

"Oh, in your dreams," Chrissy muttered, letting out a hint of a smile. Eddie seemed to know exactly what to say to break the tension. She wished she had that sort of people skill.

"If it doesn't work, really don't, we'll revisit the couch thing. But let us at least…try it." Eddie offered, surprisingly logical, "It's not like it's a contract written in blood or some shit."

"Right," Chrissy sighed, "Guess we should probably go find some sheets and pillows for it. And while we're out, we might as well attempt to find some jobs."