#Eddie Munson x Cello Player/ Visual Artist! You

[ryuzakemo128]

Demons in my head, Angels in my eyes

(Part One) (Part II) Masterlist

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cello Player/ Visual Artist! You, Female Reader x Chrissy Cunningham

Content Warning: Mental Illness mentioned and embedded into it. Like Depression, Synaesthesia, and PTSD. Suicide Ideation also heavily referenced.

Words: 4717

Summary: You can’t say anything to your mother because all she ever did was “Don’t do that. Do something else.”

Your parents left over the weekend, you didn’t hear them leave out the front door, you slept too heavily to notice much of anything these days. You were determined to make the most of the rest of the weekend before returning to school on Monday morning. At three in the morning, you grabbed your journal, the one that had all your thoughts, feelings and everything in between tucked inside.

To anyone else, it’s a normal journal, to some it’s a diary. For you, it’s part of your soul, your mind, and your body. If someone were to ask for it, it would be like asking to cut off one of your limbs. Severing part of your soul as well as your body.

You wrote in cursive, much like your grandmother did, the Italian script swirling over the pages like whispers of the past. The words bled into the paper, dark and heavy with the weight of your thoughts. It was a therapeutic act, the scratch of the fountain pen on the parchment a lullaby to your restless mind. You detailed your days, the way the light danced across your cello strings as you played, the vibrant colours that filled your vision with every note. It was your escape, a place where you didn't feel so alone.

I don’t think they quite understand how I feel. How alone I am in the middle of the night. While they have friends, and I’m alone in the middle of the night. Crying myself to sleep because they don’t see me. They chose not to. I am alone in my bedroom in the middle of the night, crying my heart out as it burns to ash and cinders. How can I be truly alive if I feel so dead on the inside?

You continued to write into your journal, the sleeves of your black jumper kept rolling down like the waves of the sea and the wind in the air. Your phone rang, “(L/N residence. This is (Y/N) speaking. How can I help you?”

The voice on the other line was unfamiliar, yet it sent a chill down your spine, “Is this (Y/N)?”

“Yeah. Who is this? Where did you get this number?” You were creeped out by this. You were sure that you didn’t share your number with someone outside the people you knew. “If this is a prank call. Please leave me alone. If you are making this into a prank call. I want you to think about your life choices that led you to this point. Then I want you to leave me alone.”

“This isn’t a prank. It’s Eddie. From school?” He spoke slowly, almost nervously. It was clear he didn’t expect you to be up at this hour.

“Right, right, doesn’t answer my question about where you got my number, though. If you could answer that question before we get any further information out of the way. It would be both nice and rather creepy if you didn’t,” you replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice.

Eddie sighed, “Look, I know this is weird. I found it in the yearbook, okay? I just... I couldn’t sleep either. And I remembered seeing you at the music room sometimes, playing the cello. It’s beautiful, by the way. And I just... I don’t know, I guess I wanted to talk to someone who understood. Who’s not going to judge me for being a little messed up at the moment.”

“Right. The D&D guy with the curls, leather jacket and denim vest with that D&D on the back.” You commented. “Same guy that’s been over my place twice and only just managed to get my number.”

“Well, I figured you’d be easier to talk to than the other girls in school. They don’t seem to get the whole...” he trailed off, searching for the right words, “the whole weirdness of the world we’re in.”

“Did you want to come over? You sound pretty out of it.” You went on a limb and asked him.

There was a moment of silence before Eddie spoke again, “Yeah, actually. That would be great. Do you mind if I come over?”

“If I minded, I wouldn't have asked or offered it. Also, I bought more soda on Friday.” You told him.

Eddie took a deep breath, “Alright, cool. I’ll be over in five. Just, uh, don’t let anyone know, okay?”

“Munson. It’s three in the morning. I doubt people are going to be awake at this hour. Also, who am I going to tell outside my black cat Mr. Midnight?” You asked him confused.

“Just don’t tell anyone. Okay?” He sounded desperate.

“You have my word. I will not tell another human soul.” You promised.

“Thanks, I really need this.” He said, the relief evident in his voice.

“I’ll see you when you get here.” You hung up the phone and tucked your journal under your pillow, swiping at the tears that had escaped during your cathartic writing session. You didn’t bother to change out of your pyjamas or even put on shoes. Who was going to see you at this hour? You tiptoed upstairs, avoiding the creaky third step from the top, and unlocked the front door. The chilly autumn air woke you up a bit, sending a shiver down your spine. You stepped aside as Eddie appeared, looking even more dishevelled than usual.

“You look….you look awful this morning. What the hell happened to you? Did you try to win a fight in your sleep or something?” You opened the door, stepping aside to let him inside. “You managed to look worse than I feel. The shower is upstairs if you need it.”

Eddie gave a small, sad smile, stepping into the warmth of your house. His eyes searched yours for a moment before he nodded, “Thanks, I might just do that. It’s been a rough night.”

“I’ll get something for you to change into.” You walked down to your bedroom to get an oversized shirt and a pair of sweatpants from your drawer. You also handed him a monotone-coloured beach towel. Better to be safe than sorry when it comes to covering up after a shower.

When Eddie came down, his hair was wet, and he had your clothes on. They swamped him a bit, but he had a certain charm to him, even when he looked like he’d just got out of a dumpster. He sat down on the couch, looking around nervously. The silence was awkward, so you turned on the TV, playing something random in the background to fill the void.

You handed him a can of soda and sat down beside him, your eyes on the flickering screen but your mind racing. What could have possibly brought him here at this hour? Was he in trouble? Did he need help? The curiosity was eating away at you, but you knew better than to pry. So, you decided to leave him to his own devices while you tied up your bedroom a bit more.

The emerald-green velvet couch on the other side of the television. You grabbed the remote and turned the volume down so that it was a gentle murmur in the background. You sat next to Eddie, the scent of mint and rain from his shampoo filling the surrounding space. He took a sip of the soda, his eyes focused on the TV, but you knew he wasn’t watching.

You gave him a pair of thick black winter socks to keep his feet warm. “The basement stays pretty cold. Even in summer. Better off putting them on, otherwise you’ll get sick from the cold seeping through the concrete floor.”

Eddie nodded, slipping the socks over his feet with a grateful look. He hadn’t said much since he arrived, which was unlike him. Normally, he was a ball of energy, spouting off jokes and stories about his latest D&D campaign. But tonight, he was subdued, his eyes darker than usual. You didn't mind.

The concrete floor covered in faux fur rugs in dark colours kept most of the cold from seeping in. But not all of it. You dragged out your heater in case he needed to use it.

“So, what’s been going on with you?” You finally asked, breaking the silence.

Eddie took a deep breath, his eyes still on the TV, “You remember the party?”

"Which one? It's been a while since I went to one." You answered.

"The one at the beginning of the semester. Where the music room got trashed." He replied, his voice low and tight.

“I remembered seeing the aftermath of it.” you commented as you cleared out most of the garbage from your room. Sorting it in three categories. Recycling, general waste and glass containers. “I never wanted to bleach my eyes more than I did that day. I draw horrific stuff on a daily basis. Also, I doubt it was your fault, it was more likely the fault of someone who didn’t know better or should have known better.”

Eddie nodded, his eyes never leaving the TV, “Yeah, I know. But it’s like...everyone’s looking at me differently now. Like I’m the school’s villain all of a sudden. It’s hard to deal with, you know?”

“Well, one, you’re dating Chrissy Cunningham, Jason’s ex-girlfriend. So, he’s more than likely spreading rumours or something. Secondly, I doubt they’re looking at you that way. If they are, let me know and I’ll fight them.” You replied as you looked around seeing how much you have done already.

Eddie looked at you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, “You’d do that for me?”

“Is the moon round? Is the sun white? Is the grass really greener on the other side?” You answered in a way that said. ‘No shit sherlock. Of course I would.’

Eddie looked at you cleaning your room up for him to longue around comfortably. It was a sight he wasn’t used to seeing. Normally, people avoided him, or at least didn’t go out of their way to make him feel comfortable. “Why are you doing all this?” He asked, his voice small and tired.

“I am treating you how I would want to be treated in return.” You answered. “I am depressed. I have a lot of shitty things, parents included, and do you know what? I’m still going to pamper you. So, sit there and let it happen.”

Eddie’s eyes searched yours, looking for any signs of deceit, but all he found was sincerity. He leaned back into the couch, watching as you worked tirelessly to organise the surrounding space. It was a strange feeling, to be cared for so deeply by someone who was practically a stranger. The small noises you made cleaning up, the way your eyes squinted in concentration as you sorted through the mess, it was all so...comforting.

Then your cat wandered in from his cat perch and fell asleep in the cat bed above the television. It was one of those nights where the silence was the only companion you had outside of the TV static. Eddie leaned back, the socks you gave him had helped. He could feel the warmth seeping into his bones. “You don't have to do all this for me, you know.”

“What does that have anything to do with wanting to pamper you?” You asked confused. “Don’t mind Mr. Midnight. He’ll watch you from his cat bed. He’s a people watcher.”

Eddie chuckled slightly, watching the cat sleep. “It’s just...no one’s ever done this for me before. And you don’t even know why I’m here.”

“True. You could stab me to death and hide my body in my mattress.” You shrugged. “Though, I don’t think its nice to demand things from people who are clearly distressed about something. Learned that lesson the hard way.”

Eddie looked up at you, his eyes searching your face for any hint of malice. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

You frowned at his question, “Did you expect me to let you in and just be mean to you? What kind of person did you think I am?”

Eddie’s gaze dropped to his hands, which were picking at the label of the soda can. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just not used to people being...just nice without expecting anything in return. My life isn’t exactly full of rainbows and unicorns, you know?”

“I didn’t think you like unicorns or rainbows. I didn’t think you’d be the type to wear bright colours.” You said. “Though. I hate to say this. Neither is mine. My parents left to get my mother’s inheritance a few hours ago. They said they would be gone for a week or two. But I have feeling it’s going to be two or three. They’re never in a rush to get back from wherever they are.”

“Wow. That sucks. But you seem to handle it pretty well.” Eddie said, his eyes still on his hands.

“I keep myself busy. If I don’t, I usually take it out on myself. Which, according to my therapist, is not healthy.” You said, tossing a pillow into the pile of clean laundry you had made.

Eddie nodded slowly, his eyes following your movements. You could see the gears turning in his head, trying to process your words. “So, what do you do to keep busy?”

“You know, I play the cello, I do realistic cosmic, contemporary body horror pictures. I do pottery to sell." You said from the top your head.

Eddie's eyes snapped to yours, "Body horror?" He said with a raised eyebrow.

You pointed to your walls, which were covered body horror that looked like it moved if you stared at it too long. You painted your roof to look like the stars at night, placing glow in the dark stars on a few of the painted stars to make them stand out.

Eddie’s eyes widened as he took in the artwork. “You did all of these?”

“Yeah. I painted the walls before I was moved down here to have more space than my parents could give me upstairs. Though I have a feeling it was more to do with the fact that it was to lock me down here sometimes.” You answered.

“Your parents lock you down here?” Eddie’s eyebrows shot up, surprise etched on his face.

“Sometimes.” You answered.

Eddie looked around the room with new eyes, taking in the artwork that adorned the walls. The cobwebs of paint stretching out from the edges of the canvas looked like they were reaching out to him, the figures within twisted and contorted in a way that was eerily beautiful. He knew the feeling of trying to escape something, the way the subjects of your art seemed to be trying to break free of their two-dimensional prisons.

A month later the demon in the back of your skull whispered, ‘They don’t want you. They would be better off had you died in your sleep.’

Sometimes you want to give in to those thoughts and end it all. Sometimes you feel like you believe the demon inside your head. You would if you were alone all the time, wouldn’t you?

You can’t say anything to your mother because all she ever did was “Don’t do that. Do something else.”

She never told you what that something else should be. Like she expected you to just know what you were supposed to do or read her mind somehow. When they returned it was like things got worse than had already. The house cleaner than it was without them, than it was whenever they were there in person. They didn’t even acknowledge your existence unless you were playing your cello. It was like the only time you weren’t invisible to them was when you were playing that damn instrument.

One afternoon you were about to head out to practice to avoid another physical altercation with your father. The cello case in your hand was a shield from his criticism and a ticket to the sanctuary of the music room. You were about to leave when your father pulled you by the hair and slammed you against the wall, his hand over your mouth to muffle your screams. The force was so strong that you felt your teeth rattle in your skull.

Hot tears went down your cheeks, as he whispered harshly into your ear, “You are fucking useless unless you are playing that stupid thing.” You felt the rage build up inside of you, but you had to keep it down. If you didn't, it would only make things worse. You nodded, your eyes squeezed shut tightly, trying to hold in the pain and fear.

You hoped it would stop, yet it continued, his grip on your hair tightened more than it had in months. Your father decided that wasn't enough, it wasn't enough for him to 'satisfy' his need to control you. So, he grabbed the cello case from your hands and smashed it onto the ground, the sound echoing through the hallway like a gunshot. The strings snapped and the wood splintered, your heart shattering along with it.

The tears fell freely now, and you couldn't hold in the whimpers that escaped your lips. Your father looked at the wreckage of your cello, his eyes filled with a twisted satisfaction. He released his grip, and you slumped to the floor, the pieces of your shattered world scattered around you. The cello was more than just an instrument; it was your voice, your escape, your reason to keep going. Now it lays in ruins, and you trudged off to see if was worth fixing or if you had to save up for a replacement again.

Eddie found you at Lover's Lake, the broken cello still with you, your eyes glazed over with a mix of anger and sadness. You had called him, your voice shaking as you spoke through the sobs, “My cello… it's gone. He….he broke it. He said I'm useless. He took it from me. He took it.” You pointed to the ruin that was your black cello, the strings snapped, and the wood cracked in half from where your father threw it onto the ground.

Eddie's eyes filled with a rage that was new to him, a rage he hadn’t felt before, a fiery determination burning inside his chest. He couldn’t do much for you now. What he wanted to do for you is both illegal and cold-blooded murder. Your father was a monster, and you were the one paying the price for his twisted sense of reality. He knew that wasn’t what you needed from him right now.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as you wept into his shirt. “It's okay,” he murmured, “It's okay. I'm here.”

A week after that, while you waited for your new black cello, your hands were idle too idle for your own liking, and you felt like you were losing your mind. You paid for the replacement out of your emergency cash funds. The money you had been saving for college. You didn't tell anyone at school about it, not even Eddie. You didn’t want to burden him with your personal hell.

You stayed in the library during lunch from now on, studying medical journals to improve your body horror to add more grotesque details like veins bulging, flesh tearing apart, and the look of bones cracking, because that’s what you thought would make you happy. It didn’t, but it kept the demon at bay for a while. Feasting on the knowledge of the most grotesque parts of your imagination, a banquet fit for a legion of demons flooding in like a river of blood.

You continued to improve your art the more medical journals you read, but the emptiness grew within you. The music that had once filled your soul was now a silent echo, a painful reminder of what you had lost. Each night you stared at the wall, your thoughts racing faster than your heart could beat. You could almost hear the symphony of your cello playing in your mind, but it was muffled by the sobs that you tried so hard to hide from the world.

“I’m going to go into Forensics Pathology.” You said in a tone devoid of emotion to Eddie and Chrissy. Answering the question of what you were going to do after high school. “My dad does it. My grandfather did it too. Generational thing. Yeah. Munson, I told you weren’t a freak. You don’t have a family like mine. You’re far more normal.”

Chrissy looked at you with wide eyes, her grip on Eddie’s arm tightening. “That’s intense. But it sounds like it’s in your blood, you know?” She tried to sound positive, but the horror was clear in her voice.

“You’re scared of me. I understand.” You noticed. You always noticed. You attempted to head to the library when the bell rang, but your books felt too heavy to hold with trembling hands. You didn’t bother to explain why you weren’t going to the cafeteria anymore. You didn’t bother to explain why you stopped playing the cello. They wouldn’t get it anyway. They wouldn’t care in the ways that you cared.

'Oggi in figura, domani in sepoltura.' embroidered with gold and purple thread into your dark blue denim jacket, each letter painstakingly done in cursive and with a skull at the bottom of it. Though you added an embroidered skull every week as a tally to count the weeks you were still alive. It was a morbid way to count the days, but it kept you going. It was a reminder that you had survived another week, another day, another hour.

You stitched that into your jacket, feeling the thread poke your skin every time you pushed the needle through. It was a comforting pain, something that grounded you when everything else felt like it was falling apart. Eddie found you in the library stitching in another skull into the back of your jacket.

Just as you were listening to a cassette tape of your second cousin, Joseph, singing Ave Maria, the same cousin that had taken his own life at the age of 27. The irony wasn’t lost on you, but the melody was hauntingly beautiful. It was the second funeral you went to, the first being your grandmother's.

The bell in the distance rang, indicating the end of lunch. The hallways would soon be flooded with students rushing to their next class. You hadn’t eaten anything, but you weren’t hungry. Not really. You hadn’t been hungry for a while.

Eddie sat beside you, his eyes following your trembling hands as they worked the needle through the fabric. He didn’t say anything at first, just took in the sight of you, the pain in your eyes, and the stark reality of the phrase etched into your jacket. Finally, he spoke up, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“What’s that mean?” He pointed at the Italian words.

"Today in person, tomorrow in a grave." You answered finishing off the skull on your jacket.

Eddie looked at you with a mix of shock and concern. "That's... intense."

"It's about death. It's not supposed to be intense." you remarked putting your jacket back on.

Eddie nodded, looking at the new skull you had just finished sewing. "Why do you do that?"

"It's a week tally for along I've been alive." you answered dryly.

Eddie's eyes searched yours, looking for any signs of a joke, but all he found was a sad truth. "Why do you need to keep track like that?"

"My cello is broken, my hands are idle and if I don't do something I just might kill myself. So please save your honeyed words of encouragement for your cheer squad captain and girlfriend." you snapped. "Just do me a favour and continue to pretend that I don't exist."

You were tempted to ask someone out just to spite him. Just to prove that you weren’t as broken as he thought you were. But the truth was, you weren’t sure if you were or weren’t. The whispers grew louder every day, and it was getting harder to ignore them.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. You threw yourself into your music, the cello becoming your voice when words failed you. You had gotten a job at the local music store, teaching kids and repairing instruments. The cobwebs of the garage had long been swept away, replaced by the sweet smell of fresh paint and the sound of your cello echoing through the night.

You finally got a date with someone. Eddie found out you were going to go out with someone. The quote painted on your truck, 'Chi vive sperando -- muore cantando.' meaning 'He who lives with hope dies singing.'

Eddie found out through the town's grapevine, a network of whispers that seemed to stretch from the arcade to the very edges of Hawkins. His eyes narrowed when he saw the fresh coat of paint on your truck, the Italian script standing out starkly against the fresh blue. With the English translation underneath it. It was a clear declaration of your newfound resilience, a silent rejection of his own dark musings. He felt a pang of something akin to jealousy, though it was quickly doused by the cold realisation that you were moving on without him.

Eddie thought, 'I'm dating Chrissy, why do I feel jealous? She's just a girl from school, someone I've talked to a few times, but nothing more.' He shrugged it off, trying to convince himself that his feelings were trivial. But as the days grew closer to your date, he couldn't help but feel a sense of loss, like watching a favorite show come to an end without the satisfaction of a proper finale.

You had no idea of Eddie's turmoil. You were too busy preparing for your night out, choosing an outfit that didn't scream 'desperate' and practicing your smile in the mirror. The cello had become your sanctuary, a place where the outside world couldn't touch you, but now you were ready to step out of it, if only for a few hours. The date went well, filled with laughter and easy conversation. You felt alive in a way you hadn't in a long time, the kind of alive that didn't need the cello's strings to resonate with your soul.

As you returned home, the truck's headlights cutting through the night, you saw Eddie leaning against a lamppost, his silhouette cast in a pool of amber light. He looked up as you approached, his eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror. For a moment, you felt a twinge of something, a whisper of regret maybe, but you pushed it aside. You had made your choice, and you weren't going to let his shadow fall over your newfound happiness.

"Hey," he called out as you parked the truck. You took a deep breath and stepped out, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the warmth of the date. "How was it?" His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it that you couldn't quite place.

"It went better than I thought." you commented unlocking the front door.

Eddie took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "Really? That's great." His tone was forced, his smile tight. "Who's the lucky guy?"

You felt a rush of annoyance at his sudden interest. "It's none of your business, Eddie," you said firmly, your hand on the door handle to head inside for the night.

[ryuzakemo128]

Demons in my head, Angels in my eyes

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cello Player/ Visual Artist! You, Female Reader x Chrissy Cunningham

Content Warning: Mental Illness mentioned and embedded into it. Like Depression, Synaesthesia, and PTSD. Suicide Ideation also heavily referenced.

Words: 2525

Note: This is going to be pretty depressing. I even cried a few times in writing this. So be careful when you read it. You might need a box of tissues with you. Part 2 Coming soon.

Masterlist

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

You were more likely to die young according to Chrissy and Eddie through a conversation you accidentally overheard once. It felt like they wanted you to die before you reached the age of twenty-one. You wore a crimson red turtleneck with a cardigan draped over your shoulders. The one which you bought from a thrift store last weekend.

The scarf you put on matched your cardigan, both in colour and in style. You embroidered ‘Life’s a bitch, and then you die.’  Into the back of your cardigan in cursive. You bought it with the intent on adding small embellishments to it. You added three things to it, you haven’t found any buttons you liked to replace the old ones. Which you’re still mentally kicking yourself over.

You walked to your recital, which would happen during the lunch break. You were not looking forward to it either. The quicker this was done, the sooner you wanted to go home early for the day. Eddie and Chrissy spotted you getting ready for it, the bandages on your arms indicating a path of self-destructive tendencies.

Chrissy leaned in closer to Eddie, whispering something into his ear that made him chuckle darkly. You felt your heart sink, knowing that your secret was out. They had seen your battle with mental illness, a silent war you had been fighting since you were six. The whispers grew louder as you took the stage, the cello between your legs.

Your knees trembled as you placed the bow to the strings, the whispers transforming into a cacophony of doubt in your mind. You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and let the music take over. The cello sang out a melody that spoke of your soul's deepest turmoil, the notes resonating with the pain you held inside.

The song piece you decided to play was called 'Melancholy Nocturne'. It was one of your favourite pieces. You closed your eyes while you played it, hoping to block them out from your sight and your mind's eye. The music was your only solace, when you were finished, you felt drained but oddly at peace. The sound of applause washed over you, bringing you back to reality. You walked backstage to pack and leave when someone stopped you.

It was Eddie. His face was a mix of concern and curiosity. He looked at your arms, the bandages peeking out from under your sleeves. "Hey, are you okay?" His voice was softer than you had ever heard it. It almost made you believe he genuinely cared. You shrugged it off, "Just a little accident."

He didn't press further, which was surprising. Instead, he leaned against the wall, watching you pack up your cello. "That was intense," he said, referring to your performance. "Where does that come from?" You looked up at him, unsure of how to answer. The music was your escape, a place where your thoughts and feelings could run free without judgement.

"My parents forced me to learn it. I just refuse to unlearn it." You state simply picking up your cello case to leave.

Eddie nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Look, I know we haven't exactly been... friendly. But I've noticed you've been pretty down lately. More than usual." His voice is gentle, a stark contrast to the sarcastic tone he usually has.

"I'm depressed. I will never be happy." You bluntly stated. "I have experienced brief moments of bliss and nothing else."

Eddie's expression grew more serious. "You know, talking about it can help. I've seen it with my uncle."

"Munson, your uncle helps because he gives a shit about you. He cares about you, he wants you to do better, that is what he should be doing, family they are supposed to care about you." You corrected him. "My family has a long tract record of addiction, suicide and cancer. My family sucks. My family are all over the place because they're as selfish as they come."

Eddie nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of your words. "But that doesn't mean you can't find happiness elsewhere. Or that you shouldn't try to get better." He offered a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know it's tough, but sometimes you gotta fight through the bad stuff to get to the good."

"I'm broke, my truck is about to die, and I have a shit job I do on the weekend." You countered. "Classmates aren't friends, they're just people you have the same class with. I'm just here because I'm too much of a coward to kill myself." You walked to your truck to put your things into it. You tried starting your truck, which failed three times before it finally roared to life. Your parents left you home alone for the rest of the week. As your father took your mother on 'business trip' or something.

Eddie found out you were alone for the rest of the week by overhearing a conversation between teachers. He heard, "Her parents left for the week, she's all by herself again. Poor girl."

Eddie saw you push your truck to the mechanic to sell it for scap if they said it wasn't worth fixing. Eddie overheard the mechanics tell you that it would cost more than the car was worth to fix. He felt bad for you, so he offered to give you a ride home. You declined. Saying you weren't worth the effort.

The walk home was long and lonely. The grey clouds above mirrored your mood. You felt like a burden to everyone around you, a black hole that sucked the happiness out of any room you entered. You trudged along the sidewalk, your mind racing with dark thoughts.

As you approached your house, you saw Eddie's car parked outside. Your heart sank. He had insisted on giving you a ride, and you had foolishly hoped he'd forgotten about it. You quickened your pace, trying to slip inside before he noticed you. But as you reached the door, he stepped out of the car, blocking your path.

You attempted to go inside your house through the basement which is your bedroom and main living space. It was cluttered with art supplies and band posters. You had painted the walls a deep shade of purple to match the mood of your music. The only source of light was a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a dim glow over everything.

You walked to your fridge to have your pot brownie and have a nap afterwards. You didn't expect Eddie to follow you inside. You turned around to face him, a mix of annoyance and confusion in your eyes. "What do you want?" You snapped.

Eddie took a step back, holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay." His eyes swept over the cluttered room, taking in the sight of your personal sanctuary. "This is… intense."

"Just like my internal need to off myself." you muttered mostly to yourself than him as you ate your pot brownie.

Eddie noticed the pot brownie that was almost gone. He frowned, his concern growing. "You know, that's not a healthy way to cope," he said, his voice gentle.

"Who say I was coping?" You snorted as you stored the rest in your fridge and went to brush your teeth before a nap.

Eddie followed you into the bathroom, his eyes widening at the sight of your arms. The bandages were off, revealing a tapestry of scars, some fresh and others faded with time. "You need help," he said firmly. "This isn't just sadness. This is a cry for help."

"This is me coping." You corrected.

Eddie looked at you with a mix of sadness and anger. "No, this is you punishing yourself." He reached out to grab your arm gently, turning it so he could see the full extent of the damage. Which was far more than he assumed. Your wrists sliced up to hell and back, they looked raw and painful. "This isn't living." Some of the more fresher ones were still red and swollen, it looked like you had done it the night before.

You cleaned your arms, when you attempted to bandage them yourself when Eddie decided to take over. He was surprisingly gentle. "You can't keep doing this to yourself." He murmured, his eyes focused on his task. "You're worth so much more than what you give yourself credit for."

You didn't answer, you didn't say anything in response to it, you were tired of hearing it over and over again. You felt like screaming, but you knew it was futile. You knew that Eddie meant well, but his words felt hollow. They always did. You sat down on your bed, the springs creaking under your weight. The mattress had seen better days, much like everything else in the house.

After he was done, you attempted to nap, thought Eddie had other plans. He didn't let you nap. He sat on the edge of your bed, his eyes never leaving your face. "Why don't you come to the party tonight?" He asked, his voice hopeful. "It'll be a good distraction."

"I don't go to parties. I suck the fun out of everything." you told him.

"Well, maybe it's time to change that," Eddie said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You can't just sit here and wallow in your own misery forever."

"I've been getting paid well for it so far." You pointed out that your father gives you an allowance of a hundred dollars every week in addition to your job's wage. You attempted to get ready to eat at the diner for dinner alone as 'treat' for yourself. You got changed into a long sleeved dress to go eat at the diner. She thought it would have looked weird enough for him to leave without her.

You walked out of the bathroom, your arms now bandaged again. Eddie's eyes searched yours for any sign of hope or agreement, but all he found was a deep sadness. You shrugged, "I don't know how to do anything else."

He stood up, his hands resting on his hips. "Look, I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but you've gotta try. For yourself." He paused, then added, "And maybe for the people who care about you."

"The zero out of zero people." You got your wallet to walk to the diner alone.

Eddie sighed, understanding the weight of your words. "Okay, dinner at the diner it is." He followed you out of the house, his boots echoing on the pavement as you walked side by side. The air was cool, a hint of rain in the air. The diner's neon sign flickered in the growing twilight, casting an eerie glow on the empty street.

You paid for his food as well. You didn't take no for an answer. But to Eddie it was more than just food. It was a silent cry for help, a gesture of friendship in a sea of apathy. You sat across from each other in a booth, the smell of greasy food and burnt coffee filling the air. The jukebox played a sad tune that seemed to resonate with the mood.

"Why do you care?" You finally asked, breaking the silence. "You've never talked to me before, except for that one time when you guys talked about how likely it was for me to die young."

Eddie looked down at his plate, pushing his fries around with his fork. "I don't know. Maybe I saw a bit of myself in you." He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've had my own battles, you know."

"Take your girlfriend Chrissy to that party. I'll walk home." You quickly finished your food to go home.

Eddie reached out and placed his hand over yours, stopping you from moving. "Hey, don't rush off. I'm not taking you home just yet." His grip was firm but not overpowering.

"I'm certain you don't have to 'take me' anywhere." You replied.

Eddie looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a surprising intensity. "I know it's not my place, but I do care. And I want to help. Maybe the party isn't your scene, but just give it a shot. What do you have to lose?"

"Dignity, sense of self and the fact that people might stab me." You were blunt. "The stabbing part has happened before though."

Eddie looked surprised, "What do you mean?"

"Yeah. I got embarressed at an attempt to go to a party. A chick got upset and stabbed me with a butterknife." you explained.

Eddie's eyes widened in shock. "Jesus, that's messed up."

"It was then. Not so much now. I can safely say that I got stabbed by a butterknife." you snorted eating your pumpkin pie.

You attempted to shoo him off to go with Chrissy to the party while you went to practice your cello.

Eddie nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, no party. But promise me you won't be alone all night. If you need anything, I'll be there." He slid a piece of paper with his number across the table. "Call me, no matter what." Eddie then remembered she would be alone in the house.

You took the paper without looking at it, stuffing it into your pocket. "Fine." You stood up, ready to leave. Heading home alone to an empty house on the hill.

Eddie watched you go, a look of concern etched on his face. He knew you weren't okay, but he also knew pushing too hard wouldn't help. He followed you from a distance, making sure you got home safe. Once he saw you go inside, he drove away, feeling a little helpless.

The house was eerily quiet when you entered. You felt the weight of the silence pressing down on you as you made your way to the basement. You pulled out your cello and began to play, letting the music fill the empty space. As the notes danced in the air, you couldn't help but feel a little less alone.

You were woken up at 4am by your door being thrown open. Your father stumbling into your room with your mother in tow. "Get dressed, we're leaving." He slurred. You looked at the clock, it was 4 AM, you had work at 6 AM. "Where are we going?"

"Back to your mother's hometown. We need to sort some shit out with her inheritance. It's going to be a week or two. Make sure to tell your boss."

"I got things to do here still. Like school." You reminded him.

"You can miss a week of school. You're already a failure anyway." Your mother spat, her voice slurred from too much alcohol.

"Then you can do it yourself. I'll stay here and take care of the house." you stated.

Your father's eyes narrowed. "You can't stay here alone. What if something happens?"

"I've been home alone before." You reminded him.

He sighed heavily, the smell of alcohol filling the room. "Fine. But don't you dare do anything stupid while we're gone."