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myosotisa · 1 year

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Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 2/2 - What did you bury?

ǁ summary: After your altercation with Eddie, you find yourself facing a lot of questions and uncertainty. Attempting to look closer at why you're in rehab, how you feel about him, and what the future holds for you feels like more than you're willing to take on until you realize it's only hurting you more not to.

ǁ tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers. happy ending!

ǁ content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ word count: 12k

ǁ Part 1 ǁ Read on AO3 ǁ

It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

You’re sitting on an examination table in the hospital wing in a paper gown with Dr. Lincoln fluttering around you like a nervous mother. Penelope had taken you right here after you had gotten all of the dirt off of your hands and pants, explaining Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln insisted on seeing you. Despite your assurances that you were completely fine, just shaken up, they had gotten you into a gown and prepared for a full exam.

“Are you able to lift your arms above your head?”

You do as asked, face stoic despite the pain in your shoulders from the movement.

“How about twisting? Carefully! How does that feel on your lower back?”

Performing the action, you also easily hide the discomfort the throbbing in your tailbone causes when you shift in your seat. “It feels fine.”

“And your head? You didn’t hit it? Does it hurt? Blurry vision, nausea, confusion?”

“No,” you sigh out, quickly losing patience with Dr. Lincoln’s anxious questioning. You can’t remember now if he was like this when you were first admitted or if he’s going overboard now because he’s worried about some kind of lawsuit. “I told you, I’m fine.”

He plucks your chart off the edge of the table, pen clicking as he begins to write furious lines along the bottom of the page. “I can give you some ibuprofen for the pain. Nothing stronger than that, of course. Given the circumstances.”

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. “I don’t want anything. It doesn’t hurt.”

Liar.

Penelope steps up from where she was having a hushed discussion with Mr. Ford off to the side. “Are you sure? It looked like quite the fall.”

“I’m sure. I don’t want any painkillers.”

This pain is good. I need it. I deserve it.

Mr. Richard Ford steps up then – a severe looking man in his late 50s, always dressed in a freshly pressed suit and tie, with his hair combed just so and his mustache neatly trimmed across his upper lip. You’re still not sure if he’s related to the Ford’s that founded the facility or if it’s just a coincidence that he shares the surname.

His dress shoes click across the tiles as he approaches you, throat clearing uncomfortably when he enters the circle that has formed around the table. “Miss…” He looks down at your file and repeats your last name like he’s never read it before, earning him a cold glare from Penelope. “I am deeply sorry for what occurred. I assure you we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here.” He adjusts his tie along with his posture, looking proud as he explains, “We’re already in the process of having Mr. Munson transferred to another facility.”

A lick of panic rockets up your spine. “No.” 3 sets of eyes lock on you, emotions ranging from curious to concerned. “You don’t have to do that.” Your fingers curl into fists where they sit on your thighs before relaxing, taking some of the tension in your body with it. “I don’t want you to transfer him.”

He seems to hesitate then, bushy eyebrows drawing together on his wrinkled forehead. “Are you positive? It’s important to us that you feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe here,” you press, looking back and forth between the three of them before settling on Penelope. “It was an accident. Eddie’s barely into his detox – barely started therapy – and I should’ve known better than to get into an argument with him.” Her face remains passive, unreadable. No insight into how she feels about what you’re saying. “It’s my fault as much as his. It wouldn’t be fair to move him, not when he’s struggling this much, this early into his treatment. I don’t want him moved.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you should be more concerned about yourself.” Dr. Lincoln takes a small step forward, adjusting the collar of your gown to take another look at the quickly forming bruises near your collarbone. “You’re not worried about something like this happening again with him, maybe even worse?”

You think back to the moment you hit the ground. Looking up at him, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun, leaving almost all of him cast in shadow. The way he looked utterly terrified at what he’d done. How quickly he had tried to apologize when he came back to himself.

Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

“No, it’s fi–” Hazel eyes narrow into a squint, stopping your sentence in its tracks. Another deep breath, in and out, and you try again. “I’m not worried. He won’t do something like this again. I want him to stay.”

A few moments of silence follows your declaration, Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln glancing at each other before looking to Penelope. Her calculating gaze remains on you, entirely unwavering even as the other two stare holes into the sides of her face. For the first time, you make a conscious effort to keep eye contact, to remain firm despite your desire to shy away.

The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in response.

“Then that settles it.” She clasps her hands together in front of her stomach, looking back and forth between the men beside her with a placating smile. “Mr. Munson will stay, pending further transgressions.”

Your shoulders sag in a relief you hadn’t anticipated feeling, but you’re quick to straighten when she addresses you again. “Any other incidents, with you or any other resident, and he will be moved to another facility. Understood?”

It feels like a lifeline. Like a chance. Like an opportunity.

If you want him here, then help him stay.

“Understood.”

The next morning when you walk out for breakfast at 8:30 sharp, there’s something sitting on your table. It strikes you as odd immediately given you’re one of the first people out of your room today and there doesn’t seem to be anyone milling around. You withhold your curiosity – follow the same pattern of line, meds, line, breakfast. Stamp down the nervous feeling in your gut as you cautiously approach.

Completely dusted free of dirt and with your bookmark perfectly in place, is Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. It had completely slipped your mind that you’d even dropped it. You place down your tray with shaky hands and pick it up, flipping through the pages like you’re checking it for wounds. There’s no note, no sign, nothing that could indicate who brought it back for you.

But you know who. It scares you half to death that you know just who, that you know it with certainty.

When is the last time anything felt certain?

The question lingers, festers, and grows as you push around your food and wait for him to plop down in front of you. Imagining what stupid thing he might say, how you would brush it off with a groan and a snarky comment, how he would take that reaction with a smile and never press for more.

He never shows.

It’s with great annoyance that you find yourself looking for him all day. Sitting in your chair by the window, you glance up every half a page to see if you can catch a glimpse of his shaggy hair around the hall. You actually take a walk during your outside time instead of hiding, and you tell yourself it’s because you want the exercise and it’s finally cool enough outside to not sweat your balls off, but that doesn’t exactly account for the way your eyes search the grounds for any sign of tattooed forearms and lanky legs.

When you walk into Therapy House with the others that afternoon, Eddie is already inside. He’s in the chair beside Penelope, slumped down so far most of his ass is hanging off the edge, legs out long, and looking every bit a kicked puppy. You silently beg him to make eye contact with you as you sit, willing your stare into a physical sensation that might force him to just look at you.

He doesn’t look away from his own hands once, silent as a mouse the entire session.

The moment group is over and the counselors come around to collect their first resident of the day, you’re walking across the sunbathed birch wood floors and stopping short just behind him before you can even think about it.

“Eddie,” it comes out as a sigh, eyes pinned to the way his shoulder blades tense before your very eyes, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve, uh… Been in here, for the most part,” he explains over his shoulder, still not turning to face you. His voice is hoarse around the edges, ragged and torn from overuse.

“Oh, okay.” Your face pinches in concern, hand raising like you want to reach out to him but hesitating there. “About… about yesterday–”

“Sorry,” he cuts you off sharply, turning halfway toward you with red-rimmed eyes still trained on the floor, “I’ve gotta go.”

He’s halfway across the room and climbing up the stairs to the lofts two at a time before you can say another word.

The image of the swollen redness around his teary eyes, half covered by his hair as he refuses to look at you for even a moment, haunts you for the rest of the week.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

Penelope is dressed in a teal silk blouse. It washes out her skin tone and the boat neckline makes her shoulders look too small. Not to mention the strange height of the cinch just below her bust, giving it the appearance of a child’s nightgown. Plainly, it looks really bad on her. All of her clothes are carefully curated and fashion forward – meant to make a statement about who she is and the authority she holds. This is absolutely not making that statement. And you were staring at it for all of group, trying to wrap your head around what it meant.

“Who gave you that shirt?”

This might be the first time she’s ever looked even half surprised at something you’ve said, her lips parting slightly as she glances down at her chest like she had forgotten what she was wearing. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she looks back at you, passive expression back in place.

“You would’ve never bought it, I’m surprised you’re allowing yourself to be seen in it,” you continue, eyes narrowing into a squint as you continue to search it and her for clues. “The fact that you’re wearing it makes me think someone gave it to you and you’re going to see them today, so you felt obligated to wear it to please them. Maybe one of your parents or a sibling or a friend… A partner?”

She uncrosses her legs just to recross in the other direction, attempting to appear amused as you explain. Gotcha.

“A partner, then. One who obviously doesn’t know you very well, or doesn’t understand fashion at all, because the color is god awful and the shape even worse. But you want to impress them enough that you’re willing to wear it anyway.”

If it was an after work date, she would’ve changed after. So it’s someone she would mostly see during her normal day. Plus, she lives and breathes her job, when would she have had time to meet someone?

“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to what I wear… Or that you were so into fashion,” she offers casually. Too casually to play off.

A bit too sharp, a bit too pointed, you snap back. “I’m not into fashion and you’re deflecting.”

She blinks at you for a few moments before she settles back into her chair, draping her arms over her stomach. “And you’re projecting.”

“No, I’m not,” and it comes out defensive. Too defensive to play off.

So then the quiet kicks in. Queen Penelope Windsor’s beloved uncomfortable silence. Part of you is convinced one of her professors taught her that awkward silence is an invaluable tool in psychiatry. You want to know who that professor is, so you can inform them how utterly wrong they are.

Penelope is, however, utterly right.

“I’m projecting,” you concede, gaze casting down to your lap to settle into the discomfort.

Her pen clicks and it feels like salt in your wound. “Okay then. Would you like to talk about what you’re avoiding?”

And maybe you’re not quite done being snarky when you reply, “Isn’t the whole point of deflecting because you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It can be. But I still would like to give you the opportunity to. You never know, it might help you feel better.”

Your eyes roll hard enough to just see white for a moment, looking off to the stupid little white noise machine in the corner. It’s the size of a radio clock and sits directly on the floor by the door – you’ve almost tripped on it 10 times.

Probably an accessibility hazard. Someone should really complain about that. If someone less coordinated, or even Thomas with his cane, tried to walk in they could really get hurt.

“Fuck!” The exclamation comes from nowhere, probably just barely loud enough to draw attention from outside the room. Penelope remains incredibly passive despite the sudden change in your attitude, not making a move or a sound as you bury your face in your hands with your elbows propped on your thighs.

Probably just interrupted other therapy sessions. Made them lose track of what they are talking about. Maybe even triggered someone unintentionally with your sudden yell. Great job, idiot.

Digging your nails into the skin along your hairline, you take in a hissing breath through your teeth and attempt to exhale some of the tension. It’s been weaving through your muscles all week, infecting all of your time, distracting you at all hours of the day. A part of you hoped it was just another phase in recovery but it just keeps getting worse and worse.

Penelope’s voice is softer when she speaks next, more cautious. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking about right now that’s distressing you?”

“It’s the fact that I’m fucking thinking that’s distressing me.”

Realizing that probably doesn’t help at all, and most likely makes you sound insane, you release your hands to clasp tightly in your lap as you raise your head to look at her again. “I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop noticing everything. I can’t stop.”

“Okay,” she gives a small nod of encouragement, sliding her notebook further into her lap to focus more attention on you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything. Your shirt and the noise machine and how someone could trip on it and hurt themselves. And how we are required to have 1 hour outside a day but half of us sit in the shade the entire time because it’s too hot or we don’t want to get sunburnt, and they aren’t exactly going to start stocking sunscreen and ointment just to facilitate 60 minutes in the sun. I’m thinking about how I finally figured out that there’s a different cook on the weekends and that’s why the stupid scrambled eggs they make us every day are oversalted Friday through Sunday and undersalted all the other days. I’m thinking about how all of the books in the library used to have an organization system but no one takes care of it – so all the books are all in the wrong places and now I feel like I have to take some of my free time to fix it because I know nobody else will, even though I can’t figure out why I fucking care so much. I’m thinking about how you asked me to help Eddie so he could stay here in recovery and I want to do that because he latched on to me when he first got here and now I suddenly feel responsible for him, even though I didn’t even like the guy at first, and now he won’t even fucking talk to me so I can’t do that.”

You inhale sharply, talking way too fast but unable to stop. “I’m thinking about how this facility is built to house 50 people or more but only gets one new resident a month, maybe two. So why is it so big? Why not bring in more people? Probably because they’re only accepting the people willing to turn out their wallets in order to get help or because they know someone who will so then all the people who really need help are left to fucking die under highways and in abandoned buildings because if they don’t have money, they don’t fucking mean anything to anyone. But for some reason I still care about that and feel bad about it and feel responsible for it even though there is literally nothing I could possibly do to change any of it.”

Another heaving breath that makes your chest feel too tight and you’re squeezing your eyes shut against the brunt of the pressure. “I can’t stop thinking about everything and I feel like it’s fucking crushing me and I just want something to turn my brain off – but that’s the entire fucking reason I’m here in the first place. I started using because I just wanted something to numb it all.”

The admission feels like a slap across the face. Like being dunked head first in ice water. The reality of where you started.

The sprawling, trembling fault line that led you here – to where the tectonic plates move and shift. Where the earthquakes, that used to feel like subtle vibration in the dirt beneath your feet, now knock you to the ground with ease. Standing on the edge of the chasm between that you’re still not ready to cross.

Because what’s on the other side?

And what if I fall through?

The next week of your life passes in a sort-of overwhelmed daze. The realization of that pit before you– what it means, what it could do. It hangs around like a spirit haunting your home. It’s always been there, you just couldn’t see it, too focused on your own feet and keeping them moving to see anything beyond the inches of ground in front of you.

Now, the inches of ground before you are darkness. Unfathomably deep and impenetrably dark. And on the other side, there’s sun. Grass. Trees.

Shouldn’t I want to get there? Shouldn’t I be excited to jump?

The questions follow you through your days on autopilot as you keep to your schedule.

On the two week anniversary of your argument with Eddie, Penelope announces that, instead of talking in a circle for group today, she’ll be pairing you off into partners to play games. Trust exercises, she assures you when you all look at each other like she’s lost her mind. It wasn’t the first time she had used her slot of time to do some kind of activity – but it hadn’t been something like this.

And really you should have seen it coming.

Because Queen Penelope, in her oh so infinite wisdom, points you and Eddie to a pair of chairs facing each other below the skylight. While Eddie shows little to no reaction as he shuffles over, you cast a pleading look at her. Hoping to get across some of the betrayal you’re feeling in your eyes.

She just smiles. Meets you with silence before shuffling around the other pairs of residents throughout the room.

When you sit down on the metal folding chair across from him, you get your first good look since the day after you’d argued. The last few times you’d seen him, he looked no better than a zombie – half awake and half asleep as he went through his days. He’d kept quiet for the most part in group, only adding in a sentence or two at times, and left his 1 on 1 session in the lofts with red rimmed eyes and looking about ready to pass out. But he’d also gotten into the habit of playing cards most days with his roommate, Howard. And while you couldn’t imagine the gruff old man of few words was very good company to keep, sometimes you could have sworn you’d look over and see them smiling.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

The both of you wordlessly adjust on the seats, warmed by the sunshine filtering through the circular window overhead. Penelope had placed the chairs close enough together that, with his long legs, you both accidentally kept knocking knees. The third time, you muttered, “Sorry,” which brought a small smile to his face.

He ends up with his knees splayed wide, hands resting on his thighs, while you bring your knees in tight together, propping your feet up on the bar beneath your chair as you settle into soft tapping of your fingertips near your knees. Beyond your apology, neither of you say a word or make any eye contact as you watch Penelope and wait for instruction.

“So, the aim of the exercise is simple,” she explains, projecting her voice slightly as her heels click along the wood, “it’s a question and answer. Going back and forth to learn more about each other, being as honest as you’re comfortable being. This is not supposed to be something that causes you intense distress. But don’t be afraid to lean into some discomfort if you feel it. You might end up discovering something valuable about yourself.”

When you glance back at Eddie, his big brown eyes are already looking at you.

A warm feeling creeps up your spine, your fingers twitching in your lap as you adjust to the unexpected attention. His expression is pensive, gentle… Soft. He doesn’t look mad, or hurt, or upset. He’s looking at you like he’s happy you’re here – sitting across from him in the subtle heat of the sun. And while you’re glad he doesn’t seem upset to be forced to speak with you, you’re more confused than anything.

In a move that surprises even yourself, you break the silence first. “Hey.”

His chest rises in a deep inhale, shoulders and arms relaxing on the long exhale before he responds. “Hey.” You offer a small, slightly awkward smile, and he mirrors it as you adjust to tuck your hands under your thighs, bringing your shoulders slightly forward. “I wanted to apologize.”

Blinking at him a few times, you manage an unsure, “Oh?”

“You were right,” he sighs, hands coming together over his abdomen to fiddle with his own fingers. “I… I needed a wakeup call. Some sense knocked into me.” The corners of his eyes pinch up in pain before he returns your eye contact again. “I’m just really, really sorry it came from hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you rush to try to assure him, pushing away the ache of the bruises that have faded from your tailbone, “I was more just shocked than anything.”

He winces, forefinger and thumb pinching some skin between his nails. “I appreciate you saying so, but you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.” His eyes cast down to your knees before he continues, “I know what a push like that can do.”

Unsure exactly how to take that statement, mind absolutely swirling with possible solutions, you swallow dryly and offer an, “Okay.”

Tense silence falls back over you both, the murmured conversations of other residents echoing throughout the open space into a white noise of unintelligible words. You sit and you wait as Eddie rubs the pads of his thumbs together, lower lip drawing up between his teeth as he continues to stare at your knees. He looks deep in thought – eyebrows twitching together a few times before he seems to remember himself again. Adjusting to sit up straighter in his chair, one of his knees knocks against the outside of yours before he clears his throat. “What are we, uh, supposed to be doing again?”

“Asking each other questions.”

A small scoff leaves his lips in a puff of air, the corner tilting up in amusement. “Like asking what’s your favorite color and shit?”

A soft smile and a smaller shake of your head, you flex your feet to point your toes toward the floor before relaxing again. “I think it’s supposed to be more drug and rehab and therapy related shit but… She really didn’t specify.”

“Ah… A tempting loophole,” he agrees, nodding his head as if he’s really thinking about it. “But I guess we should try to do what the good therapist thinks will help us, huh?”

A wistful sigh leaves you as you roll your shoulders back to sit up straighter. “I guess so. You can start.”

“Oh, shit.” You laugh softly at the awkward face he pulls when you put him on the spot, and the sound seems to put him at ease. “Okay… Oh! I asked you a couple weeks ago what you were in for. Like what you are, were, addicted to?”

A simple enough question, you answer quickly. “Oxycodone. And Alcohol. Normally together, I guess.”

If he’s surprised by your answer, he doesn’t show it, just lets out a low whistle through the side of his mouth. “Downers and downers, huh?”

“Yup,” you confirm, pressing your lips together and offering an awkward shrug. “What about you? You’ve mentioned coke and meth before…?”

“Mostly coke, meth, and alcohol,” his head rocks slowly back and forth in a nod. “But I’ve probably done a bit of everything – ecstasy, xanax, opioids, ketamine, the works.”

“Truly a man of culture,” you attempt as a joke, and his half smile tells you that you were successful.

“You could say that. So how’d you start? Using, I mean.”

“Like, where did I get it?” He shrugs and waves for you to continue with that thought. “A friend of mine, she was already involved in… All of it. And offered to connect me.”

“A stellar friend,” is his attempt at another joke.

The statement twists in your chest painfully, the cold feeling seeping out like a wrung washcloth. A sad smile and a deep breath to try to move past it. “And you? How’d you start?”

“Are you just gonna repeat all of my questions? Feels kinda unfair.”

“I’ll come up with a new one after this. Scout’s honor.”

He snorts, cracking a smile as he shakes his head again. “I don’t think you’re allowed to use that if you’re not a boy scout, but okay.” You’re about ready to retort back that he doesn’t know that you weren’t really a boy scout, but he answers your question before you can. “I was a dealer, back in high school. After my buddy Rick got arrested, I took over the mantle. Mostly just weed to suburban kids. I had other shit but didn’t sell it often. Back then, I needed the money more than I needed to sample the merchandise so… I would only smoke weed once in a blue moon when I had the extra stock.”

“As for when I really started…” He looks back down at his hands in his lap. “Our first tour. It was hectic – fucking nuts. More than we ever thought it would be. But we were living out our dream, y’know? It was like being in a fuckin’ movie sometimes.” A small, wistful smile tilts his mouth as he recalls the memories. “We were going 24/7 between the travel and the concerts and the afterparties. At one of ‘em, someone, understandably, brought the white shit.” The knuckles in his hands momentarily turn white as he grips them together, a subtle show of tension before they relax again. “You can, uh… You probably know where it goes from there.”

“I can assume, yeah,” it comes out softer than you thought it would, affected by his vulnerability. The Eddie you met on his first day would’ve never done anything like this. Would’ve never even spoken like this. How had so much changed so quickly? How had he surpassed you?

“Okay, how about…” Like he’s trying to bring some life back into himself and you, he begins a drumming tap on his thighs, shoulders rolling forward as he applies himself to the motion. You don’t bother to try to withhold your laugh, feeling your nose crinkle with the force of it. His chin tips up towards the sun, a cheeky grin splitting to show the whites of his teeth as he starts to hum a single note out into the open space, an over dramatic representation of his thinking.

“Eddie!”

The sharp call has both of you freezing, faces dropping as you slowly turn toward where Penelope stands with her hands on her hips and a deep scowl. “A little quieter, please?”

Your lips press together tight to withhold your laugh as he offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

When he turns back to you, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly scolded, you can stop the laugh from escaping you in a snort through your nose. “It’s not funny,” he mutters, lower lip jutting out in a pout as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You got in trouble with mom,” you whisper yell, leaning toward him with a teasing smile. “It’s kinda funny.”

His expression breaks – smile stretching against his will as you make fun of him. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you’ve never even gotten in trouble before. Ever. At all.”

Taking it as a challenge, a single eyebrow raises as you lean back into your chair. “Is that your question?”

Intrigue showing clearly, he nods, hair shifting from behind him over his shoulders as he does so. “Sure, that feels close enough to the topic. Have you ever gotten in trouble before?”

Tapping the tip of your finger against your chin, you make a small show of trying to think about it even though you already know what you’re going to say. “Three times come to mind.”

“Three?!” He gasps, hand flying to his chest in mock drama. “Say it ain’t so.”

“First, I convinced my grandfather to buy this huge box of ice creams for dogs. He thought it was for us so, when he walked into the kitchen, and I was holding it down for my dog to lick, he immediately started to yell at me. When I told him that’s what it was meant for, I swear to god – I thought he was going to pop a fucking blood vessel he was so mad.”

Eddie snorts as he shakes his head back and forth slowly. “That would be the kind of thing you’d consider getting in trouble.”

“Hey!” You point an accusing finger at him, falling into this comfortable dynamic between the two of you. “I’m not done yet!” Putting his hands up in surrender, he mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth as he settles down to look at you again. “The second… Well, I got called to the principal's office in high school. Because,” you take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable reaction you’ll get, “because some kids were spreading a rumor that I was sleeping with a teacher.”

This finally seems to entertain him, jaw dropping slightly as his eyes widen. “Well, did you?!”

“No!” You’re quick to deny, voice rising slightly in pitch as you do. His chin dips down, looking up through his eyelashes at you, extremely unconvinced. “I mean, I probably could have, but I didn’t want to!”

His head rocks back as another low whistle presses out of the corner of his mouth. “Wow, sunshine… Now that’s some juicy gossip. Have you mentioned that one to Melissa?”

Your foot kicks out, knocking into his shin hard enough for him to sit up straighter in surprise. “Shut it, Munson.”

“Okay, okay! Sorr-ee, geeze.” And yet he’s nothing but smiles as he returns to making eye contact with you. “And third?”

“Third was definitely drug related.” You’re quick to amend, tucking your hands back under your thighs. “I was picking up some oxy after completely running out. Desperate enough that I went to his apartment while the sun was up – which I always tried not to do.” His head dips in acknowledgment, showing he’s actively listening as you continue. “It must have been my lucky day because the bag was barely in my hand before the door slams open, police screaming his name and boots stomping inside.” Adrenaline kicking up slightly at the memory, you can vividly picture the way your skinhead dealer went deathly pale in mere seconds at the noise. “It was a good thing that I wasn’t on anything that day because before I knew it, I was out the window, down the fire escape, across the alley, and over a fence. I didn’t stop running until I ducked into a Walmart – hiding in the crowd.”

“Damn.” He sighs, looking impressed but attempting to sound disappointed. “There’s a bit of a rebel in you after all.”

And while you’re not exactly sure if it’s something to be proud of, you’re at least happy to earn his approval as you raise your chin slightly. “See? More to me than meets the eye.”

The moment between you stretches out a bit too long as he seems to appraise you, a soft smile made warmer by sparkling eyes. It takes some conscious effort not to react to his study – heart thumping hard in your chest a few times before he agrees. “Pretty metal, I’ll give you that.”

Exhaling some of the tension in your shoulders, relaxing more into your chair, you’re quick to try to move on from talking about you. “You said you were dealing because you needed the money. Were you saving up to move out or something?”

His expression shifts, smile turning awkward as he brings a hand up to hook behind his neck, bent arm laying beside his chest. “Not exactly.” Giving him your full attention and what you hope is an encouraging smile, he takes a deep breath before he begins. “I moved in with my uncle when I was a kid. My dad’s brother Wayne. My parents weren’t…” His mouth presses into a thin line as he tries to think of how to phrase it. “My dad ended up in jail and my mom didn’t have it in her to be a single mom. Hadn’t worked in a long time, didn’t have the money, all that. So she dropped me off with my uncle with a promise to try to get her life together and come back.”

The implication there is heavy enough, sorrow settling into your gut like a brick, but he still adds, “That, uh… That never happened. So it was just me and Wayne and his one bedroom trailer in a small town in Indiana.” His arm drops from his neck, hands coming together in his lap so he can fidget with his own fingers again. “He did the best he could for a guy who never expected to have a kid – more than I could ever ask for. Gave me his room, worked night shifts at the power plant to bring in cash, made sure the pantry was never empty. But it was more than that, y’know? He is… He taught me how to change the oil of my car, how to fix the little AC unit in my window, how to tie a tie.”

His lips part in a smile, his eyes far off as he tells you, “we used to play cards a lot. I swear, no one has a better poker face than Wayne. You wouldn’t guess it from the looks of him, but he used to make a killing in Texas Hold ‘em back before I came into the picture.” His face drops slightly at that, eyebrows tipping up in an emotion that he’s quick to shake off. “But he has a tell – I learned when I was 13. When he’s bluffing, he’ll do a little sniff as he’s leaning back from raising. It’s really hard to tell but it’s there.” His excitement grows again, fidgeting in his hands ceasing. “He had this crazy collection of hats and mugs, and the one time I accidentally knocked one off the shelf and it broke – man,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna cry. Never that he was gonna scream or yell or try to hit me or send me away. He would just get so sad, like he was about to start tearing up, and I’d always fold – scrambling to apologize and asking what I could do to make it better.”

Brown eyes flick back up to yours, quickly followed by a dusting of pink across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. As if realizing he was getting off track, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway. It was always a struggle for him to get by, having to feed a boy with the appetite of a fucking rhino and everything else on top of that. So, when I got old enough, I started looking for anything I could do to bring some cash in. To try to… I mean, I could never repay him but like, to at least try to help, y’know?” You nod, not sure if he was actually looking for confirmation but he seems to appreciate the gesture regardless. “So I was doing odd jobs and started getting involved with stuff and eventually became an errand boy to Reefer Rick. Who I took over for when he got put away.”

Sensing a pause in his story, or at least what you perceive as one, you can’t withhold your curiosity as you press for more answers. “Is Wayne still alive? Like are you two still close?”

His face falls, that heavy feeling in your gut following closely after. “He’s alive, at least, as far as I know.” His attention is off in nowhere again as he visibly shrinks back as far as he can into the metal chair. “I went back to see him a year or so ago. I wasn’t doing so hot – couldn’t seem to even get out of bed without a line. He caught on pretty quick what was going on. Got more mad than I’d ever seen him.” He swallows harshly, attempting to get rid of the lump he feels growing there. “We both said some nasty shit – how he wasn’t really my dad and didn’t know what he was talking about. And he said I was turning into my dad, that I’d never looked more like him than I did that day. I stormed out. And we haven’t talked since.”

Your heart bleeds for the defeat you can see in his expression, the pain in the way he explains. How heavy it must be for him to carry that. While your first instinct is to offer apologies and words of comfort that really won’t matter much in the end, you settle for looking to the future. “Are you gonna reach out to him again? When you get clean?”

“I…” He looks confused then, hand coming up to rub at his forehead roughly before he settles. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Taking a deep breath of your own, you muster up some courage. “It’s not my place, at all, so feel free to tell me to fuck right off but… I feel like you should. I think he’d be happy for you.”

The sentiment rocks him – face twisting in a mix of emotions before he brings up both hands like he’s going to rub them off of his face. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

Silence falls, heavier like it was before. The momentary comradery falling away to reality again – two strangers trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. The tension in the air is palpable, at least to you, as he continues to stare off for another minute or two because coming back into himself.

“So…” He clears his throat, anxiously adjusting in his seat and knocking against your knee again. “What made you decide to get help?”

The million dollar question.

Another thing you feel like you should’ve seen coming, should’ve prepared for in advance. But here you are: sitting across from a stranger you feel inexplicably tied to and faced with a question you still don’t know the answer to. The question that has hung over your head for the past week and half.

Why are you trying to get better?

“Well, ending up here – like, in rehab – was easier than the alternative. So that part wasn’t hard.” The skin between his eyebrows folds as he looks at you, a bit confused but not interrupting to ask for clarification as you continue. “As for why I’m getting help…”

The rest hangs there, suspended by hesitation. Uncertainty blooms in your chest like a burst of frozen air – like blue tipped fingers gripping your heart in their fist. A threat and a warning.

Eddie hits the toe of his shoe against yours, bringing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to answer. Not if… You don’t have to.”

And the sun is shining down on him from the skylight above, casting him in a glow. A soft auburn hue shines in his wiry hair, the red undertones coming forward in the sun. He’s still pale but you can see them now – freckles across his face and the skin just beyond the collar of his shirt like a dusting of cinnamon. Brown eyes that have a bit more life in them than they did before.

There’s still a sense of frost beneath his skin, half alive and freezing like it used to be, but it’s thawing. Warming. Before your eyes and beneath the light of day, Eddie Munson was coming out of his cold shadows, one small step at a time.

“But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing forward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things." "Like what?"

“I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.” Out comes the honest truth. Truth he wasn’t expecting based on the way his eyebrows raise, skin wrinkling beneath his bangs. “It feels like there should be this big reason – some grand goal or something that would be a good answer in a biography. And I don’t really have one of those. Not right now.”

There’s a long pause then, like he wants to make sure you’re not going to say anything else before he replies. “I don’t think it has to be something fantastical or anything like that. Maybe it would be a better story if it was but… I dunno, I think any reason is as good as any other.”

A self-deprecating smile and joking change of tone, you ask him, “Even if my reason is just because I want to make more bad jokes that people can’t decide if they want to laugh or groan at?”

His answering smile is filled with genuine determination when he tells you, “I think that’s a fucking stellar reason, sunshine.”

Your 60th day of rehab comes with a party.

Not for you, of course. It would be a lot of resources for the center to celebrate arbitrary anniversaries like that for every resident. No, this is a graduation party. A going away party. A ‘see you never’ kind of party.

When you walk back into the main hall after group, there’s a hastily made banner hung between the nurse’s station and the kitchen that says ‘Happy Graduation Tony!’ in shades of blue and yellow, with some splashes of green mixed in. There’s a weird animal drawn on the right side that you can’t identify – but you guess it’s supposed to be a wolverine based on the ‘Go Michigan Wolverines!’ underneath in blocky text.

There are various basketball-themed party decorations scattered throughout the tables, all looking like they came from a big wholesale package of party favors. It looks alarmingly like an 8 year old’s birthday party, but Tony’s smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it as he laughs at the attempt Kathy, Melissa, and Thomas made at decorating for him.

The University of Michigan Wolverines is his favorite college basketball team, he explains to the rest of you as you look on confused. He gives Thomas a joyful ribbing at having remembered a comment like that in passing, and Thomas’ bashful smile makes even Howard soften with fondness as you all filter in among the tables. There’s music playing – a Best of 80’s CD spinning in a shitty old speaker system in the corner of the main hall that is barely used. Down Under by Men at Work plays softly as you settle down at one of the tables covered in plastic-y yellow, feeling lighter than you have in weeks watching Tony cross the room to where there’s a small selection of snacks and a sheet cake with his name written on it.

Eddie sits down beside you at the same time Howard sits down across from him, the older man immediately brandishing his deck of cards and arcing them into a professional shuffle. Lola, the newest resident, an older woman who kept taking morphine long after her hip surgery healed, sits down uneasily next to Howard, content to quietly watch him deal out the cards between himself and Eddie.

Switching back and forth between watching Eddie and Howard playing a game you can’t seem to identify and watching Melissa and Kathy grill Tony about what he’s going to do first when he gets out, you feel a sort of contentment. An emotion you’re so unused to, you’re not really sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting in front of you.

Two games in, Eddie drops his cards with a groan before pointing an accusing finger at Howard, who smirks in pride. “This isn’t over, Finbar.” And while your eyebrows draw together in confusion, lips parting in preparation to ask, Eddie keeps going before you can. “I’m going to go grab a water and some cookies, anyone want me to get anything while I’m up?”

Howard waves him off without a word, huffing as he has to lift up slightly off his chair to pull in the cards Eddie left on the other side of the table so he can shuffle the deck together again. Lola, in her syrupy, southern drawl, asks for a cup of water, if he doesn’t mind. A short nod and then he looks down from where he stands beside your seat, a gentle smile on his face as his eyebrows raise in expectancy. The words get caught in your throat for a moment before you are able to force them out. “A cup of water and some chocolate chip cookies would be great. Thank you.”

Another cheeky smile and a dip of his head and he’s walking off, lanky legs knocking against a chair or two like he’s a newborn calf who hasn’t learned how to walk steady yet. The sight makes you laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you turn back to the table.

Lola is watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, when you turn back, making you jolt backwards in surprise. “Y’all make a cute couple,” she says sweetly, with a smile just a kind as always.

“Couple?” You question in a slightly higher pitch, feeling the blood rushing north to warm your face and make your brain spin. “We’re – we’re not a couple. Just friends. We just met here, only a few weeks ago.”

“No?” Her head tilts in curiosity, but her expression reads like she knows something you don’t. Can see something you can’t. “That’s a shame. Looks like a match made in Heaven to me.”

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing uselessly, as you try to think of something you could possibly say to that when Eddie walks back up, shakily balancing three plastic cups of water between his hands and a packet of napkin wrapped something tucked under his chin. The waters are safely set on the table, one passed to Lola, who replies “thank you, sugar,” before he lifts his head, the packet falling directly into his now-free hands. Dropping into his chair, he sets the packet on the table before unfolding the white napkins to reveal several slightly smushed cookies.

“Oh,” he blinks a few times at them before offering you a sheepish smile. “Guess they didn’t quite survive the journey. Hope you don’t mind picking at crumbs?”

You shake your head, mischief infusing your smile as you tell him, “I don’t mind, I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to be a pigeon.”

He snorts in amusement at the same time Howard rolls his eyes and Lola uses her hand to cover her smile. The mix of reactions is perfect – exactly what you were hoping for – as you pinch a big chunk of cookie between your fingers and pop it into your mouth while Howard deals out another hand of cards.

Your contentment continues through the next hour or two, watching as Eddie and Howard go back and forth between winning hands while songs play on – Come On, Eileen, followed by Pretty in Pink, and Africa.

When Melissa shrilly announces it’s time to cut the cake, everyone turns toward the front of the room while Billie Jean by Michael Jackson weaves its way into the open air. Tony laughs at himself and how his hands shake in nervousness, making jokes about how he feels like he’s at a wedding, as he cuts into the sheet cake directly through his name. Using the plastic serving utensil, he deposits a huge square on his paper plate, the ‘o’ from his name completely removed as everyone cheers and claps.

Looking incredibly embarrassed, he turns and gives a little bow to the crowd, missing Kathy as she reaches over the table to grab the huge slice. A sing-song call of his name, and you all watch as he turns and is met with the slice of cake to the face, white frosting smearing across his skin before the entire plate hits the floor with a dull slap. No one moves for a few moments, quiet enough you could hear a pin drop, until he starts to laugh. Almost the entire room joins in, cackling as he scoops frosting away from his eyes and shakes it out onto the floor.

Everyone who wants a slice of cake moves through to grab one before settling back down at the tables. And when you look over at Tony, glowing as he has an animated conversation with Melissa, you can see a small smearing of frosting across his cheek that no one seems willing to tell him is still there.

You all say goodbye to him that evening before the sun sets, watching as he departs out of the double doors with a bag slung over his shoulder and is immediately met by a young boy – a Michigan Wolverines jersey on his back as he tackles Tony around the waist in a tight hug. The doors click closed just as Tony’s hand meets the boy’s head in a rub, both sporting the exact same bright smile.

Despite being back on good terms, Eddie continues to sit across the room from you during group therapy sessions. You kind of like it better than way, not that you’d ever admit it to him. Sometimes you find yourself looking over for reactions to things people say and it makes it easier to give him your full attention when he adds to the conversation. Being able to sneak glances without it being too obvious makes you feel a bit more comfortable than before.

And although you feel like you’ve been making progress, you still rarely join in the conversation in these group circle sessions, and you never talk about yourself in them. Penelope has never tried to push you – she is satisfied as long as you continue to make progress in 1 on 1 sessions. Talking in a group setting isn’t for everyone, she explained, but it can sometimes be more beneficial than you think it might be.

It just never struck you as something you wanted to do. It never spoke to you, as some people said. Besides, other people always had plenty they wanted to say after Penelope did a bit of prodding.

“I talked to my husband on the phone the other day,” Kathy admits following a small silence. She’s playing with the drawstrings on her sweatpants as she speaks. “We haven’t talked in a couple weeks – the kids have been staying with my mom while I’m here.”

Penelope shifts in her chair to face her more directly. “How did that go?”

“Bad,” she answers with a sigh, eyes falling closed for a second before she forces them back open. “I guess I was just hoping he misses me… Misses the kids, misses our life. But he actually seems like he’s happier now.”

“That must’ve hurt to think about.”

“It did. It does.” She takes a deep breath, eyebrows turning up in what looks like an attempt not to cry. “It’s hard to think that picturing going back home to be with him and Sarah and Ben is what really gets me through all this but he… It doesn’t seem like that’s what he pictures anymore.”

“No offense, Kathy, but he sounds like a dickhead.”

Her and Penelope both turn on Eddie, looking surprised and annoyed in that order. “Eddie, that’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s not,” he concedes, hands coming into play as he tucks his elbows into either side of his waist, “but neither is the way he treats you. I mean, the whole reason you ended up here is because he refused to help you – with anything! Ever! And left you to take care of him and the kids and the house and everything.”

Kathy’s face twists, looking conflicted. “Well, yes, but–”

“But he works to put food in the fridge. That’s what you’re gonna say, right?” Her mouth presses into a tight line before giving him a sharp nod. “And yeah, that’s important. Having money to survive is essential and all that. But so is taking care of yourself. And your kids. Taking care of your house. Those are all things people should try to do the best they can. Sure, a lot of people fall short sometimes. It can really suck trying to get everything done by yourself. But that’s what your partner is supposed to be for. To help you.”

Everyone watches on silently as Eddie continues, looking entirely impassioned in his defense of her. “Yeah, he works a job. But you work three jobs just trying to take care of yourself, him, and both your kids. It’s not fair. And it’s fucked up that he not only doesn’t do shit to help but also doesn’t appreciate how much fucking work it is for you and the fact that it was killing you.”

“I mean, that’s just how marriage works,” she tries to argue. “Men go to work and women take care of the house and the kids. I’m sure that’s how your parents did it.”

“No,” he answers with a humorless chuckle, “not even close.”

“Then what did they do?”

“My dad beat my mom.”

The room falls into a tense hush, all eyes on him. While a part of him still looks worked up from his debate with Kathy, and another looks angry at even admitting the fact, the rest of him looks like an exposed nerve. His shoulders shake slightly as he takes in a breath and lets it out just as slow. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t a good guy, my dad. Kind of a piece of shit actually. In and out of prison on assault, drug charges, petty theft, the works. And whenever he was out, he was coked out of his mind and making my mom’s life a living hell.”

Brown eyes descend to the floor as his voice wavers, clearing his throat to try to fix it. “I remember one time, I was 6? Maybe 7? My mom was trying to convince me to do my homework at the kitchen table. And in storms dear old dad, fresh snow on his nose, and already screaming.” His eyes close, hands clenching with white knuckles. “Mom always made sure to get in between us. She didn’t want him to hurt me. But I guess he was mad at me for something, and her getting in the way was even worse, because before I knew it she was on the floor.”

Teary eyes open, glancing up and meeting your gaze. Eyes entirely focused on you as a few tears escape with his blinks. “I can see it so clearly, y’know? My mom was on the floor, bruises around her eyes, begging him to stop. And my dad was standing over her with his fists clenched like he was ready to go another round.”

I know what a push like that can do.

Your mouth opens wordlessly when you realize – chest twisting in agony as he offers you a sad and knowing smile.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t wanna end up like my dad.”

A feeling in the base of your stomach catches hot and burns. Ashes smolder and leak smoke up your esophagus until it brings tears to your eyes. Beneath the dull roar of your blood in your ears and the murmured ‘Thank you for sharing’ from Penelope, you can hear the tremble of the earth beneath your feet. A vibration that rumbles up through your bones in a cold shiver that breaks out across your back. Stones fall into the chasm before you as the world shakes and bends with the force of the quake.

You stare into the cold darkness of the space between the tectonic plates and the cold darkness stares back.

“I have something I want to talk about.”

All eyes turn to you, a pair of wide brown iris the most important of all. Penelope is nothing but encouraging as she says, “By all means, what would you like to say?”

A deep breath in, an attempt to clear the smoke in your lungs, you force the words out into the open. “I… I want to talk about how I got here.” You pause, eyes leaving Eddie to glance over at Penelope to register her shock. “Why I’m here. Because I’ve never told anyone.”

“Okay,” is her simple reply, an attempt to be encouraging. But you’re already faltering, the cold creeping in and dampening the ashes until you return to making eye contact with Eddie. And while his expression shows very little, attention wholly focused on you, he does dip his head in a slight nod.

Go ahead, the movement says. You can do this.

“Two days before I got here, I was with my friend Luna.” The name feels like ice water down your throat, swallowing hard to try to push past it and keep going. “Luna was the one who got me into taking oxy in the first place. I’d told her I was too wound up all the time and couldn’t relax, too caught up in my head. She told me it would help. We’d been friends for a long time by that point. She… She’s my best friend. She saw me at my worst and didn’t blink an eye. And maybe it was a fucked up way of helping, but she was really just trying to help. Suggesting what she thought would help.”

“That day, she called me all excited. Saying she got some pills from a new guy and she couldn’t wait to try them. So I went over to her place like we always did. She was all excited about the new stuff, but in my head, it was just the same shit, so I told her I was going to take from the old stash of pills. I guess I didn’t want to waste them or something. She just kinda said whatever, your loss, didn’t fight me on it.”

The visuals start to press in now, like a slideshow playing behind your eyes. “I remember waking up in her bed. It was dark. I don’t know how long I was out for. I got up,” your feet hit pink shag carpet, “I called her name,” you look around the girly bedroom, barely lit by the lamp on the bedside table. “I was still pretty out of it. I walked out from around the bed and…”

Your eyes squeeze shut, head shaking to try to clear the images like an etch-a-sketch. It doesn’t work.

“She was on the floor. I thought maybe she was just in it but her – her lips a–and her fingers were blue and she wasn’t breathing. I called 911 but… She was already cold when they told me to check for a pulse.”

“Those new pills she was so excited to take were laced. Fentanyl. She overdosed. And… And maybe if I had been awake, y’know?” When you blink back into the room, there are tears pouring from your eyes, your breath coming in hiccuping gasps. Cutting yourself off from any more what if’s, you rub your forearm under your nose as you sniffle. “Anyway, I got picked up when the ambulance came. I don’t really know why they gave me the option but it was basically rehab or jail so it felt kind of like a no brainer.”

You huff a wet laugh, crossing your arms over your stomach as you try to fight back the sobs, breathing through the freezing cold feeling in your chest. “It’s easier to be here. Then to think about leaving,” you admit softly, eyes trained on Eddie’s shoes. “In here, I don’t have to see her stuff around my place. I don’t have to think about who I’m going to spend my Saturday’s with. I don’t… In here, I don’t have to face the fact that she’s gone.”

When your eyes meet his, they’re watery again. Red rimmed, swollen. His hands open and close on his thighs like he’s holding himself back. Pale, pink-toned fingers, cast in warm, gentle light from the sun above, that look like they want nothing more than to reach out to you.

Blue tipped fingers reach out from the cold below, a threat and a warning of what lies before you if you fail. But on the other side – the sun shines. There’s grass and cherry blossom trees and birds singing and music playing and life.

“She’s dead. And I can’t get her back. But I’m still here, and I still have a future. I… I want there to be a future.”

You jump the gap.

Bright green grass folds beneath your sneakers as you cross the field, hand raised along your brow to search for a familiar face. It’s the first Saturday of July and there are people everywhere – blankets and lawn chairs and folding tables set up across the wide open greenery ringed with trees.

A familiar whistle echoes toward you, giving you a vague direction to continue your trek. Sweat collects at the base of your neck and trickles down your spine as you go, the heat of the summer sun bearing down despite your careful choice in clothing. You’re just about desperate for a drink when a familiar flop of brown hair catches your eye.

“Steve?” You call, hoping to confirm before you walk all the way over. His head swivels in a full circle before his eyes catch you, a grin stretching across his face as he waves you over.

Steve is a relatively new friend, you’ve only hung out with him a handful of times since you were introduced. He’s shirtless, cotton discarded after sweating through it, and a pair of shorts that show off an alarming large amount of his tan skin. He’s tucked under a large umbrella with Robin, another new friend. She’s draped over a beach chair with her head rolled back, an unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulders over a bikini top and a pair of oversized shorts. The closer you get to their blanket in the grass, the more clearly her complaining becomes.

“It’s so fucking hot,” she moans, arms flopped down beyond the sides of the chair. “Why did I agree to this?”

“The music is going to start soon, so shut it, Buckley.” He turns toward you, head tilting back as he braces his arms on his knees. “Hey, good to see you.”

“You too,” you set your things on one edge of the picnic blanket, dropping to your knees at the boundary of where the umbrella covers. “And good to see you too Rob, even though it looks like you’re actually melting.” She groans loudly, sliding further down in her chair as you laugh. “Speaking of melting, cooler?”

Steve heaves it over his lap toward you and opens the lid, twisting back toward another bag as you dig through the melting ice and drinks. Drink in hand and an ice cube in the other, you use your elbow to close the lid again before pressing the ice cube to the nape of your neck in an attempt to get some relief from the heat.

Just as your mouth opens to ask, you hear an, “Incoming!” ring out right before a heavy object makes impact with your side, knocking you into the cooler with a yelp. The furry projectile pants wildly as it rights itself from its sprawl across the blanket, paws immediately climbing up onto your thighs in a happy greeting.

“Hey Oz,” you laugh, chin receding into your neck as you try to dodge his eager licks toward your mouth. “Are you having a good day, buddy?”

“He better be after the fucking pain in my ass he’s been all morning.”

Both hands scratching at the dog’s ears, both to calm him and keep him away from your face, you tilt your head back to catch sight of warm brown eyes. Eddie’s hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the back of his head, the wisps by his ears and parts of his bangs slicked down with sweat. He’s in a tank top that looks like a modified graphic tee, arm holes cut absurdly low to show off almost the entirety of his tattooed ribs. As he settles onto the blanket beside you, the light wash ripped cut off shorts he’s wearing stretch further to show more of his thighs.

His arm loops around your back, hand pressing into your ear as he directs your head lower so he can press a happy kiss to your temple. “Hey sunshine. Have any trouble finding us?”

The heat suddenly feels more like it’s diffusing from the inside out as your smile grows. You shake your head as you sit up straight again, Eddie’s arm still propped behind your back. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I could hear your stupid dog whistle from space.”

“Hey!” He cries in mock offense, leaning away from you as he yanks on the purple plastic whistle around his neck. “The training is going really well with it, actually! So shove it.” And he ducks down toward the pup sitting in front of you, coming to eye level as he says, “Isn’t that right, Ozzy?” The dog lunges forward in an attempt to lick his face but Eddie’s expecting it, blocking the attack and using a gentle force to push the dog down onto his side. “Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy!” He chants as he rapidly rubs the pup’s stomach, both of them shaking with excitement.

“Munson, you’re gonna work him up again and the fuckin’ music is about to start!”

Eddie sighs in disappointment, slowing his scratches and rubs considerably, running his hands along fur in an attempt to calm the dog. “I know, buddy. Your mom is so lame and doesn’t know how to have fun.”

Steve levels another glare at him, leaning back on one arm as he complains, “I’m not his mom. We’re both dads, dude.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ozzy. That man is your mom and you know it.”

The dog doesn’t care either way but does settle, laying out long with his belly in the sun just as some speaker feedback echoes out into the space around you.

“Finally!” Robin sighs in relief, pulling her sunglasses down her nose as she lifts her head. “I was starting to think we were roasting out here for nothing. Might as well be in Hell for how hot it is outside.”

Steve snorts, cracking open a gatorade as he explains, “Pretty sure Hell would be way hotter than this.”

“How do you know, dingus? Have you been?”

And the two start to bicker, something you’ve come to learn is a pretty common occurrence. Tuning out of their platonic marital dispute, you look back toward your boyfriend only to find him already looking at you.

“If Hell is this hot, I never wanna go,” you joke, vaguely aware of the sweat that continues to collect on your skin and how much you dislike the feeling.

“I dunno babe,” Eddie sighs long and loud, head tilting your direction as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, smile tilting in mischief. “It is said that the Devil has all the best tunes.”

The cherry blossoms in your chest unfurl in the heat of the sun, petals stretching out at the same rate as the smile parting to show the whites of your teeth. A soft laugh of disbelief, a grin that matches your own, and you’re quoting Good Omens back at him by saying, “It’s true. But Heaven has the best choreographers.”

And he laughs. Head thrown back, the sun’s rays grace the planes of his face as he barks out laughter into the blue sky above. Robin and Steve look at each other confused before shrugging slightly and then you’re laughing too. Falling backwards onto the blanket beneath you, you roll with it, shoulder knocking against Eddie’s when he falls backwards too.

Warm with the heat of the day, the music pouring out across the field, and the hope of a day just as bright tomorrow – you and Eddie laugh like it’s the best joke you’ve ever heard. Like there would never be a better joke than this.

If you want to imagine the future: imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

thank you so much for reading. the response to this story was more than i thought it would be and i hope you're satisfied with the ending. i'm grateful you chose to come on this journey with me. i hope you find your way to greener grass and gentle sun whenever you're ready to find it <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myos ideas #myo4munson

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cvrnelians · 1 year

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unfollowed - chapter two

Kendall has been building up the courage to talk to you for a while now. When he finds your Twitter account, he sees this as the perfect opportunity to get to know you anonymously, without any preconceived notions.

He didn’t mean for it to go this far. He’s planning on telling you the truth eventually, he really is! One day. When it’s the right time.

Ideally, before you figure out he’s not Greg.

chapter one

chapter two

He was going to give it back.

Honest.

He was just…taking his time.

Isn’t that what everyone in rehab kept telling him to do—slow down, regroup, take his time? Or was it to take time for himself? Maybe both? He wasn’t sure, he hadn’t been paying too much attention. He was too depressed to meaningfully engage in the 30-day inpatient program he most recently checked himself into.

It was more of a spa, really. So although his lack of engagement in the program didn’t go unnoticed, it didn’t exactly make waves, either. Facilities such as this—those that catered towards the upper echelon of society—could be as lenient as they were luxurious. Nobody got on his case for his meager recovery efforts, which was unheard of in past facilities he’d been to. Again, this place was really more of a spa. The bar was set low for those that paid big. He didn’t learn a whole lot, he didn’t make any real connections, he didn’t acquire any useful coping skills, all of which he had ample opportunity to do. During that month, he basically just went on the elliptical and swam a lot. But he got through it. And most importantly, he got sober.

He was fully intending to stay that way.

He had been sitting underneath a tree at the park, coffee in hand. He reluctantly chose to take the week off of work, having just gotten out of treatment. He was trying to do what he had been told to do: slow down, relax, do some "self-care." He wasn’t exactly sure what “self-care” was supposed to entail. The concept seemed kind of nebulous. If engaging in self-care practices involved the things he enjoyed, Kendall’s main joys in life were really pretty simple:

Personal achievement, and being able to share it with someone.

Limited edition sneakers.

Earning his father’s approval, even in just the form of a nod or the occasional pat on the back (...which was probably a little sad, now that he thought about it).

Music.

Hanging out with Stewy, but only sometimes.

Turtlenecks.

These days, though, he didn’t get much joy out of anything, so the idea of self-care seemed even more perplexing. Kendall had been doing…not so amazing for quite some time now.

Clinically depressed was probably a better way to put it.

Yeah.

He had arrived at a confusing place as far as grieving the loss of his relationship was concerned. At least he wasn’t completely miserable anymore. He accepted the situation to a certain extent, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. He fully understood that being with Rava and their children as a family unit was no longer an option. And because he understood it, he respected her decision. He could concede that he hadn’t been a very reliable husband or father, which was actually kind of an understatement.

But selfishly, he missed them. A lot. He missed having his family there when he got home.

Rava loved him once, but now she didn’t. He couldn’t help but wonder who the hell was going to now. Certainly not his siblings, or his parents, or—considering how downright inconsistent he could be—his own children.

Most certainly not himself.

He was going to at least try and rebuild, though. He figured he would go out, get some breakfast, and run a few errands (with a body guard not far behind), things he rarely did for himself. Maybe it would feel good to be more independent.

His black sweatsuit, baseball cap and face mask had proven surprisingly effective in disguising him from the general public, to the point where he was able to take a stroll through the park without being recognized for the most part. Only a small handful of people stopped and squinted at him. This, he liked. Unfortunately, his amateur disguise (what he referred to as his “rehab uniform,” complete with Gucci slides and a depression beard, so far removed from what he typically wore) had also proven effective in making him feel more self-conscious.

This, he did not like.

But he liked you.

He liked you as much as he could like someone he’d never actually spoken to before.

In spite of having observed you for a solid five minutes now, as far as Kendall could tell, you hadn’t noticed him at all. He felt like a bit of a creep, but he was grateful you didn’t notice him. For one thing, he looked like shit. Even if he never talked to you, he wasn’t too keen on the idea of someone he found attractive seeing him like this. Not to mention, you were on the phone, and he didn’t want you to think he was eavesdropping on your conversation.

He totally was, though.

He heard you before he saw you. You had come and sat down beneath another tree a few feet in front of him. You were clearly exasperated. Someone had chiseled your patience down to nothing. This was made evident by your tone. Not exactly pleased.

“I give up.”

Those were the first words he heard come out of your mouth. You actually kind of startled him. Here comes this interesting looking person, saying the exact words he was thinking just as you walked by. He couldn’t help but wonder if he imagined it. He was curious. Who are you and why do you want to give up? And what do you want to give up, exactly?

You were quiet as you laid out the plethora of things you were carrying along the grass: a towel, a bag, a small book. The person you were on the phone with must’ve been speaking. He couldn’t hear them, but based on your response, he was almost 100% certain they were attempting to reassure you.

You spoke again.

“I gave up a while ago. I had to. It wasn't worth it. He may love you, and believe me, I’m glad you have that relationship with him. I really am.”

There was another pause.

It was a nice statement you made there, but Kendall wasn’t buying it one bit. He heard himself say those exact words to Roman and Shiv several times over, and um…

Well.

They were bullshit. He was bullshitting. He was bold-faced lying to them. He didn’t have to know you—or even who or what you were talking about—to know that you were bullshitting, too. For a split second, he wondered if you were a figment of his imagination; a dream, some form of wish fulfillment or something. He had only heard a few short snippets of your conversation, and already it felt like he was listening to himself talk.

“Ari, I’m never gonna earn his approval.”

Another pause.

“Dad hates me.”

Another pause, this time much longer than the other ones. Kendall sat there listening, willing you to say something. Go on… he wanted to say. He almost wanted to tell the person on the other end of the line to shut up. Go on…

The next sound he heard startled the both of you.

The opening notes of Sabotage by the Beastie Boys.

“Oh my god,” you lamented. You let out a loud "UGHHHHHHH." It took effort for him not to laugh.

“Oh, no. It's fine. I'm just gonna be late for that...thing. Really late. I accidentally set my alarm at the time I’m supposed to be there. I can't believe I did that. I feel bad, I don't want to waste any more of his time."

It was your alarm on your phone. You had set your alarm on your phone to fucking Sabotage by the Beastie Boys.

Was it possible to develop a crush on someone in under five minutes?

“Aria, I’m really sorry. I gotta go. I'll talk to you soon. Love you.”

You scrambled to pick up your belongings and sprinted away, accidentally dropping something behind you as you ran. You didn’t look back once in your haste to get wherever it was you needed to be so urgently.

“HEY!” Kendall yelled. He set his coffee down and ran after you, picking up what you left behind. You were running so fast you didn’t even hear him yelling, and he lost sight of you just as quickly as you took off. He ran for a good thirty seconds trying to find you, but you had disappeared into a crowd. Kendall sighed as he came to a stop. His bodyguard wasn't exactly happy with him. You left him standing in the middle of the park winded and embarrassed, clutching onto a book.

And here he thought all that time on the rehab elliptical would make him a better runner.

Hopefully you would realize you were missing something and turn around at some point. As he sat back down, he noticed that his coffee had fallen over and spilled onto the grass. Of course. He rolled his eyes and leaned back against the tree trunk. He would wait for you to come back, at least for a little while. And in the interim, why not do a little reading?

📚☕️

It was a book, but it wasn’t a book book.

He was amused to discover just how messy, almost comically chaotic the planner was. You had written and scribbled on any and every open space available to you in different colored pens. It was like an assault to his eyes. And yet, he could still make out every plan, event, or important date you had marked down. Organized chaos.

He could relate.

Kendall hadn’t owned a planner in years, not since he hired Jess. And even then, naturally she kept track of everything electronically. But there was something about holding a hard copy planner that felt satisfying to him. He noticed that you often checked off and crossed out your past writings. He wondered what it would feel like to look back on a list of all the things he had accomplished in a week. Maybe he would feel a little bit better about himself if he started physically checking off things on whatever his to do list was for that day. He would have something concrete to look back on and be proud of. Maybe you were onto something, archaic as it was.

He was perusing his way through the planner for while, even though he knew he shouldn’t. It was for a noble purpose, he justified to himself. He was trying to find your name and phone number so he could return it to you.

Not that your name and phone number were both on the first page or anything. Not that he had already found them when he first opened the book or anything. Of course not.

He looked for today’s date. There it was: Coffee date, 11am. At first he was a little disappointed, but he couldn't help but laugh. First off, you were in fact very late. Second, you had drawn a sad face next to it. “Why go on a date if you don’t even wanna go?” he mumbled to himself.

Seems like something I would do.

🌳🙃

“Dude, you already found her instagram. Just reverse image search if you’re that curious to find more,” Stewy said over a mouthful of pizza, grabbing Kendall’s phone out of his hands. “Do you seriously not know how to do that?”

Kendall grabbed his phone defensively. “Obviously I do. God."

He did not.

“Her instagram is like, ninety percent photos of her cat, anyway. What am I gonna find if I reverse image search that?”

“You never know,” Stewy shrugged. “Kinda not cool of you to look through this stranger’s planner, though. Those things are like lowkey diaries to some people. Sometimes even more personal. And then to just not even try and return it, and to look her up on social media...”

Kendall sighed. “I told you. I’m gonna give it back.”

“I mean, I guess I would be curious, too.”

“You would.”

“I mean, I guess as long as you give the book back, it's fine?”

“I will. And it is.”

“But, and I'm just playing devil's advocate here, Ken; you know I love you. You shouldn’t have looked through it to begin with.”

“Stewy, you know you would’ve done the same thing. You know you would’ve. I’m telling you this is nothing malicious or weird. I’m just curious is all.”

“Curious. And desperate. And bored.”

Kendall got up to grab his coat. He liked hanging out with Stewy, he really did.

But only sometimes.

“Alright. I’m going home.”

“Love you, too, Kenny!” Stewy yelled over his shoulder.

He smiled to himself. “Ah. A lovely cheese pizza. Just for me.”

🍕

lol well now we know how ken found her secret twitter. thank you so much for reading/liking/replying/reblogging the first chapter. hope you enjoy ♥️

#kendall roy x reader #kendall roy #succession #i lowkey have the funniest playlist for this story lol

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trashmouth-richie · 2 years

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TWIN FLAMES: 12 🔥

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 || 13 |, 14, 15

*Surprise! Earlier than expected 🥰

Eddie x Female!Reader

Summary: Dinner at your house 🍽️

W.C 3.8k

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Blowjobs, throat fucking, titty fucking, mean!Eddie.

A/N: can’t believe we have made it to part 12! Thank you for everyone so invested into this story, thank you to @munson-blurbs for helping me finish this!!

The next few days fly by like a blur. Billy was stable and was released from the hospital. His father and step mother came back home and sent him off to a boarding ranch for naughty teens in Montana. After a tearful goodbye with Nancy, Steve was sent to a 60 day inpatient rehab facility in Indianapolis. His parents finally dropped the veil of “our perfect son can do no wrong.”

They both spent Thursday night at your house crying with your parents. Mary apologized to you for her behavior and begged for your forgiveness, her designer mascara trudging down her cheeks traitorously. You weren’t one for grudges and honestly you were just happy that Steve was getting help.

“You’ve always been like a daughter to us, Y/N I should have known better than to think ill of you.” Never having to wonder where Steve gets his dramatic vibes from, you patted her hand gently and gave it a squeeze of reassurance, a silent acceptance.

Things were starting to settle down and feel normal again. The one thing that stayed constant through all the turmoil and sudden changes— was Eddie. Eddie stood by your side through it all, a valiant, heavy medaled, warrior—bracing his armored clad arms around you, keeping you safe.

Friday presented itself as a beautiful day. The sun is leaking through the sheer curtains in your room spreading a warm growth against the plush carpet of your bedroom. Slipping your arms out from beneath your sheets, stretching and letting out a yawn, you turn to face the clock, 7:01AM. The phone rings. Leaning over to answer it and stifling a groan, “h-hello?”

“Oh how I love your little morning voice, princess,” Eddie sing songs through the other end.

Your stomach flutters at the sound of his voice, soothing and sexy, “Mmm, good morning handsome,” you murmur, twirling the cord between your fingers.

“Morning sweetheart,” Eddie says, “how’d you sleep?” He’s in the kitchen packing some pretzels into a plastic baggie.

Slipping your free hand beneath the cotton of your sleep shorts you answer, “I only sleep well when you’re with me.” Twirling slow circles into your sensitive bud. You couldn’t help it, even Eddie’s voice made you long for him, “I wish you were here.”

“Aww princess, you’re making me blush, I wish I was there with you too.”

A small, delicate moan escapes your lips as you pleasure yourself to the sultry mix that is Eddie’s voice. “You still coming over tonight for dinner and to meet my mom?”

Fingers entering your velvet walls as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world baby girl” Eddie says, “by the time I get home from work and shower it should be about 6:30 by the time i make it to your house is that alright?”

“Y-yeah it’s uhh, yeah that’ll be perfect,” your fingers are moving frantically against your clit. “I just can’t wait to see you, and touch you.”

Eddie chuckles, “Ooh baby, are you feeling naughty this morning?”

“I’m just trying to make myself feel the way that you do.. but I’m having some trouble.”

Spitting out bitter coffee all over the kitchen Eddie balks, “y—you-you’re doing what?!”

“I told you I missed you, I haven’t seen you since Wednesday… and your voice is just so sexy and I’m imagining you here with me, so would you wanna help me out… I’m almost there just not quite nailing it home.”

“And the vixen returns…” Eddie purrs, “baby you are going to be the death of me, but who would I be to deny you something so deliciously sexy this early in the morning, if I were there with you… I would be placing my lips on your neck, kissing you sweetly, running my hands up and down your thighs, ghosting over the place you need me so badly.”

Your fingers are moving feverishly against your clit, absorbing the warm wetness that consumes your pussy whenever you’re aroused. “Mm… what else Eddie, tell me what else.”

“I’d slowly take my cock and run it through the folds of your wet dripping cunt, I would inch it further and further into you. Raising my head up to watch your sweet little face pull together as you moan my name.”

“Eddie”

“Mmm yeah, you like that? You like me telling you how I would fuck you?” Eddie unzips his mechanic uniform and spits into his hand, rubbing the drippy precum over his purpling head, giving it hard pumps to catch up to you.

“S’close Eddie,” your fingers are slick with your own juices as you pump into yourself tediously and use your other hand to rub circles around your clit. You moan out as the coil in your lower belly begins to snap. “I’m coming Eddie, oh my god.” You throw a pillow over your face as you moan loudly letting your release coat your fingers.

Eddie’s pumping his cock in record speed, “fuck baby me too, oh shit,” hes standing over the sink and cums hard, releasing himself all over a faded, bleached kitchen towel.

You’re gasping for air beneath the soft silk of your pillowcase when you float back down from the clouds of your high and hear Eddie’s ragged breathing on the other end of the phone. “.. you.. oh fuck, I have to leave in like 3 minutes. Or I’m going to be late… but we will revisit this later.” You can hear Eddie’s smile break against his lips as he tells you he loves you and hangs up the phone.

Driving to Hawkins you try to dissect what your dad said to you this morning before leaving for the office. “I have something important to talk to you and Eddie about tonight.” Originally you assumed he wanted to ask you if you were being safe, using protection, but maybe he was going to tell you Eddie wasn’t good for you. You couldn’t bear the thought of your dad doing that, not after how much he seemed to enjoy Eddie’s gig. You shake the thought from your head as you continue driving to surprise your favorite metalhead with lunch. You had called Benny’s Diner earlier to place your order to be ready when you rolled into Hawkins. Picking up the savory burgers and fries, you speed to the shop, letting the smell of the food waft out the windows of your car into the humid, sticky air.

Balancing the bags of food in one hand and the bigger than life Dr. Pepper in another, you walk gingerly to the front door of the shop to the reception desk. The middle aged woman with twinkling green eyes and wrinkles adorning them smiles widely at you. “Oh my goodness gracious, what have we here?” she says standing leaning towards you.

“Hi, I’m bringing some lunch for Eddie.” You say matching her smile.

“Well my word,” she says grasping her chest as her graying blond girls bounce, “you’re the one, the one that boy hasn't stopped talking about.” You smile even wider at her words. You didn’t know Eddie had been beaming about you to his coworkers. Before you can say anything she grabs the phone, hits a few buttons and waits for someone to answer, “Rich? Send Eddie up here, his pretty girlfriend is here with some lun—-yes she’s real Jesus, just send him quick!” She hangs up and blushes a quick pink, “sorry bout that, they all thought Eddie would be single forever since the whole town, outside of these 4 walls, is afraid of him… but we are all so glad that he has you.”

Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much this town hates him, the only thing you ever thought of him was how wonderful and caring he is. Eddie comes running out of the back door leading to one of the bays, “y/n? What are you doing here?” He’s grinning from ear to ear, his overalls are hung low on his hips and tied at the waist leaving him in a white tank, smeared with motor oil and grease. He’s got a baseball cap on backwards with his hair pulled loosely into a bun at the nape of his neck.

“I wanted to surpri—” Eddie grabs you up in his arms and places a chaste kiss to your mouth, “Eddie..”

Loud whistling is heard from the bays as Eddie’s coworkers are hooting and hollering. “Oh would you all shut up and leave ‘em alone!” the receptionist shushes them all, as they turn, begrudgingly heading back to work. “Take 45 minutes today Munson, I’ll let Jimmy know.” She gives you both a wink as Eddie sets you down to go and punch out.

Sitting in the back of Eddie’s van finishing up the burgers and fries and slurping up the last bit of Dr. Pepper, Eddie turns to you and lays a greasy lipped kiss on your neck. “You’re incredible.” Kiss. “I can’t believe you’re mine.” Kiss. “I'm so lucky.”

You still blush and get goosebumps whenever he says sweet things to you. After everything that has happened you can’t believe Eddie has stood beside you through it all. “I’m the lucky one,” you say smiling as you kiss his full lips, “you’re so ridiculously sexy, I mean look at you, fuck I could just gobble you up… in fact.” You unzip Eddie’s overalls and push him back slightly as you wiggle your way down him. Shutting the doors to Eddie’s van you turn back to him, locking your eyes with him as you take your top off letting your heaving chest bounce freely.

“Christ baby,” Eddie groans as you slither down and yank his cock out of his pants, you dribble spit slowly out of your lips onto his girthy length. You slide him in your mouth slowly until your lips meet his ballsack, kitten licking them as you breathe through your nose. Eddie’s head is thrown back in ecstasy as his hips snap forward. Spit is flowing out of your mouth as the onslaught of his dick extending gloriously in your throat deepens. You clasp your hardened nipples between your fingers as you pull back, catching your breath.

Spitting forcefully on your own chest you lean forward and push your tits around Eddie’s dick. “Oh fuck sweetheart, oh my God.” Eddie sits up on one of the amps strewn across the back of the van. You wedge between his legs as you continue your position of squeezing your luscious pillowy tits around Eddie’s thick cock. “Fuck baby, look at you, look at those tits, Jesus Christ, I’m about to cum where do you want me?”

“Mmm, my chest so I can lick it up.” You say seductively as Eddie lifts his ass off the amp to pound violently into your cleavage. Hot ropes of his cum paint your chest as his moans echo throughout the van. The fringe of his bands stick to his forehead with sweat. His eyebrows knit together, and release as he comes down from his high. He tucks himself back into the cotton waistband of his underwear as he looks at you. Eyes filled with lust and desire, his eyelids hanging low as if he could take a nap. He leans forward and places a deep kiss into our lips. He runs a thick finger through his cum spreading it across your chest. You moan with delight at the feeling of his hands on you.

His dark hostile eyes never leave yours as one of his hands snakes around your neck like a veiny necklace. Wrapping his thick fingers around it and squeezing gently, the bite of his cold rings sending shivers down your spine. Scooping up his cum with two fingers watching it drop between them as he places them into your mouth, shoving them further and further down your throat until you gag slightly. You wrap your lips around his fingers, enveloping them in the hot saliva and cum filled adobe that is your mouth. Sucking his fingers clean, Eddie whispers, “good girl.”

Finding a napkin tucked inside the takeout bags, Eddie begins to clean his cum off of your chest. “Wait,” you say as you lean into the bag. You pull out a single fry, swiping the salty fried crunchiness down your lips, and landing home across your chest, swiping up his cum with the fry and popping it back into your mouth. Eddie’s eyes are blown wide with amazement as you lick the salt both from the fries and the saltiness of his cum off your fingers, “mm, delicious.”

Eddie’s mouth falls into a sly grin as he kisses you deeply, thrashing his tongue against yours and entangling his fingers in your hair. Breaking away and trying like hell to leave a purpling hickey on his neck, marking him as yours, Eddie breathes,“Baby I have to get back to work, and you’re —fuck, not making it easy.”

He lets out a throaty moan that vibrates against your lips, tingling through your body. “Seriously sweetheart, I have to go.” Eddie pulls back from you and finds your shirt on the floor of the van, he pulls it over your head as he ties up his coveralls.

You jut your bottom lip out in a fake, pouty, defiance as you open the back of the van and jump out. “But tonight is so far away.”

“T minus 5ish hours my little love,” Eddie wraps you into a hug and kisses you softly, “I love you baby, drive safe, I’ll see you tonight!” He’s jogging to the door, his dark messy bun bobbing behind him, he turns slightly, looking over his left shoulder and winks before disappearing in the open bay door.

You swear your panties are wet from that interaction alone.

Later that night at your house you are busy prepping the salad as your mother is deciding which wine to serve with the pasta. She settles on a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio as she makes her way back into the kitchen. “Are you nervous to have Eddie over tonight?” Your mother asks as she throws the wine bottle atop of some ice.

Cutting the cucumbers you look up, “No not really, he already met dad and dad really seemed to like him so that’s good, although dad did say he was something important to talk to us about tonight but I’m not sure what that entails.”

Your mother gets a look of concern on her face, “That's news to me y/n, I have no idea what he would say.”

“Yeah me neither.”

The doorbell rings and of course it is Eddie. Your dad hollers from the den that he’ll get it. “Eddie!” Your dad yells excitedly as he opens the door. Gathering him into a bear hug and squeezing him tightly.

“Hey Dan, how are ya?” Eddie says as he claps your dad’s shoulder.

“Come in, come in! Y/n’s in the kitchen with her mother, getting everything ready— and if you go in there you’ll be summoned so let’s go hide in the de—.”

“Dan! It’s time to eat!” Your mother interrupts foiling your dad plan.

“Shit, another day!” Your dad says laughing as he makes his way into the dining room. The oval oak table is set for four. Two candelabras are balancing the ambiance of the room as the candles dance to their own silent melody. You come into the room arranging the chilled wine onto the table as your eyes meet Eddie’s. He’s dressed in a black button up shirt rolled up to the elbows, a black pair of jeans with, surprisingly, no holes in them, and black lace up boots. His hair was freshly washed and he was wearing a new cologne. Fuck, he looked good. your mother stands at the doorway with a smile on her face looking at your dad.

You walk over to Eddie, the knee length black dress you’re wearing flowing with your body as you walk. Eddie mouths “wow”, his throat bobbing with every sway of your hips. Walking to him you peck him innocently on the cheek. “You look so nice,” you beam at him.

“You look gorgeous,” he whispers. Turning to your mom you hold your hand out gesturing to her, “Eddie, this is my mother, Rose, mom, this is my boyfriend, Eddie.”

Your mom walks towards him and wraps him in a hug. “It’s so nice to meet you!” She says as she pulls away from him.

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Y/L/N.” Eddie said.

The four of you join together at the table passing around the salad, bread, and pasta. The conversation is light talking about the weather, Eddie’s job, and the upcoming senior year. “So Eddie, do you have plans for college?”

Eddie finished swallowing his mouth full of food as he responds, “Actually yeah, I’m thinking of staying local and studying as a diesel mechanic.” You had no idea Eddie had even planned on going to college, you figured he was going to try and make it big with his band.

“Diesel Mechanics are needed almost everywhere!” Your dad chimes in. “That’s a great career choice, Eddie.”

Eddie blushes slightly as he thanks your dad. “I just want to make something of myself.” Your mother beams at him as she takes a sip of her wine.

The meal couldn’t have been better and it seemed as though your parents thoroughly enjoyed Eddie’s company. Laughing at his small jokes and listening intently to his stories.

After supper is cleaned up your dad calls you and Eddie into his study. The den is decorated with deep polished woods and emerald green carpet. A book shelf adorns one of the walls and is covered floor to ceiling with various sizes of books, Eddie is certain he has never been anywhere this nice his entire life.

Dan pulls out a small polished wooden box from the oversized desk in front of the window, thumbing the edges as he pushes it open. Laying inside on plush crimson velvet lies six Cuban cigars. He plucks one out as he motions for you both to have a seat on the leather sofa as he cuts and lights the cigar, puffing slightly and rolling o’s out of his mouth like a cartoon bad guy as he leans back into his chair.

“Thank you both for joining me. Eddie, as you probably aren’t aware, I never have Y/N in this study unless I’m delivering serious news. I’m going to keep this as light as possible but it is serious.” You and Eddie share a nervous glance as he laces his fingers with yours, squeezing lightly. “When I was growing up I had three very close friends. Two of them were brothers. We had a band, and did everything together. One of them was Steve’s dad, and the other two were Ray & Wayne Munson.”

The sound of Eddie’s own family being mentioned in this room by your dad is enough to send a small bead of sweat down his neck. “What?” You shout to your dad as you look at Eddie’s vacant expression.

“Just let me finish y/n,” your dad says holding a hand up, “I could go into details about how Ray and I fell apart but I’ll save you that. When y/n mentioned she had a new boyfriend she only gave us your first name, Eddie, I had no idea you were Ray’s son… I uh— I want you to know that the reason you were released from juvy and the reason your dad is behind bars— is because of me and Steve’s dad. I would never in my life tell you to stop seeing my daughter because of who your dad is. Apples don’t fall far from the tree but it’s as if you were never even on the same limb as he was. You are welcome here anytime, thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

Eddie’s face is indifferent as he stares a hole into the carpet. His knees are bouncing as he leans forward, “So you know Wayne?”

“Yes, we were very close and he came to me when I was still working in Hawkins, asking for my help. It was right after that clerk was killed and you were sent to juvy.”

“So— okay,” Eddie says, standing up and pacing around the study, “W-Wayne came to you about my dad?”

“Yes.” Your dad says with a puzzled expression.

Eddie’s hands are on his hips as he shakes his head up and down. “Ok ok ok ok okay, ummm y/n, I have to head home. Thank you for having me Mr. Y/L/N.” He opens the door of the study and walks out.

You look from your dad to the door and run after Eddie.

“Wait! Eddie, wait where are you going?” He’s halfway to his van when he hears you and stops, turning quick on his heel.

“12 years, y/n, I’ve grown up without a dad for almost 12 goddamn years! And why is that?! Because of your dad!” He is throwing his hands wildly as rage fills his face.

Trying to diffuse the situation you ask, “Eddie. Don’t you think you were better off without him?”

“Guess I’ll never know because he’s rotting in jail and I’m here, being raised by his brother!” A single tear streams down his face, “I just— I can’t fucking believe it! The other shoe has finally dropped and boy is she a doozie.”

“What is that supposed to mean Eddie? Wayne loves you like you’re his own son!” You say shifting your weight as you cross your arms.

“But I’m not! You don’t get it Y/N! All the father-son things at school and everything else I missed out on because I was raised by Wayne. The entire town hates my fucking guts because my dad is locked up. It means that this,” he says, motioning between the two of you, “was too good to be true. I’ll always be a charity case to your family and I don’t need that.”

Tears are falling heavily down your face as you prepare for what comes next. “Eddie, that's not fair! He was just doing what he felt was right at the time!”

“And what was that exactly?! Crying myself to sleep for years because even though he was a shitty person he was still my dad?!!” Eddie runs his hands down his face in defeat, “ya know what?… I can’t do this—don’t call me, don’t fucking stop by my work, I’m done.”

You can’t believe what he is saying. He wants to end this because of something that happened way before you even knew each other? Something that took place between your dad’s and had nothing to do with you?

“Ed-die please,” you beg through your tear stained face. “Please just t-talk to me.” He gets into his van and slams the door, turning his neck around as he backs down the driveway. Spinning his tires and blaring loud music as he leaves you, crying at the end of the driveway as rain starts to pour down around you.

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