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Eddie sold the van before they moved to California.
“Breaks my heart to let her go,” he said, “but there’s not a chance in hell she’ll make it all the way to Cali.”
$800 in cash and a loan—though Wayne insisted it was a graduation present—from his uncle later, they left town in an old El Camino, blasting Metallica as they put Indiana in the rearview mirror.
She doesn’t miss Hawkins, even if she did tag along with Eddie to surprise Dustin at his graduation. Doesn’t miss the van, either, and not just because it had terrible shag carpeting and always smelled vaguely of sour beer.
The van never would have made it up the road Eddie’s got them on, a steep gravel track out near the quarry. She’s not really sure where they’re going, but she can’t make herself care. The further away from Hawkins the better. They’ve only been in town for a day and a half, and she can already feel herself getting smaller, shrinking back into the scared, hungry girl she was in high school.
Her mother’s voice keeps echoing in her head: Oh, Chrissy. You’ve put on so much weight.
Eddie’s got a mixtape playing, but it’s just noise. She can’t focus on it. Can’t even really hear it. She can’t think past the sound of those awful words. She wants to scream, maybe, or cry. Of course she’s put on weight: she’s not starving herself anymore. Eating is still a thorny issue, but she’s been trying, and things are better. She isn’t cold and exhausted all the time. Doesn’t obsess over calories or how many times she’s swallowed. Doesn’t have to carry a little thing of mouthwash everywhere, just in case.
It’s good. She knows that it’s good, that trying to be that small was killing her, but she can’t stop hearing the disappointment. It plays on loop in her head as they drive, drowning out the engine and the music and every bit of resolve she’s worked so hard on.
Her stomach clenches, and she has to fight down the urge to fling the door open and purge right there in the dust. She manages, but only barely.
Chrissy presses her forehead to the window. It’s a warm evening so the glass isn’t cool, exactly, but it feels good. Grounding. She stays like that until the road dead ends. Eddie kills the engine and turns to dig around in the little compartment behind the seats.
“Where are we?” she asks, voice small. She cringes, but she can’t bring herself to try again.
“An old access road,” he tells her. “I used to come up here with Rick every once in a while, smoke up when he felt like sharing the good shit.” He rustles around until he comes up with the blanket they keep in the car for emergencies—and the beach—and grins. “Alright, alright, alright, we are in business!”
“Is that what we’re here for? To smoke?” The foggy, floaty high she gets from Eddie’s weed sounds so tempting, but it always makes her hungry. She couldn’t eat right now even if she wanted to. Just the thought of it makes her stomach clench. “Eddie—”
“Nah,” he says, gentle. “Got something else in mind, actually.”
The El Camino is old enough that it doesn’t have a tape deck, just a shitty AM/FM radio. Eddie keeps meaning to put one in, but money’s tight and he’s never gotten around to it. Instead, he’s got a boombox crammed in on the dash, the smallest one they could find. It’s still blaring, louder now that it’s not competing with the rumble of the engine. She recognizes the song. It’s Dio, wailing and crooning his way through “Holy Diver.” Eddie must have started the tape over while she was caught up in her own head.
Her mother’s comment is still rattling around inside her skull like a grenade, but Eddie’s got her curious. “Yeah?”
“Yep,” he says with a pop, smacking his lips around the sound. He’s always a little more theatrical when she’s sad, trying to coax a smile from her. He hates it when she shrinks inside herself. She hates it too.
“Okay then,” she shoots back, aiming for normal and landing somewhere close. “Impress me.”
He shoots her a devilish grin and hops out of the car, circling around to the passenger side to open the door for her. The air is warm and sticky, and the stars are just starting to come out. She stares up at them, glittering faintly against the fading purple of the sunset. Crickets sing in the distance, chirping barely audible over the boombox as Eddie drops the tailgate and fusses with the blanket.
Gravel crunches behind her, and then Eddie is picking her up, twirling her around as she shrieks and giggles.
“Behold!” he says as they stagger to a stop, the world gone dizzy and tilting. “Your throne!”
She swats at him, but he just hoists her into the bed of the El Camino, laying her out on the blanket like she’s something precious. Even when he’s silly, he’s so careful with her. It makes her feel safe. Cherished.
He crawls up into the bed after her, easing himself down onto her like a living blanket, warm and rangy and familiar. The stress she’s been carrying all day starts to unravel. He presses kisses all over her face, scattering them across her cheeks and her eyelids until she’s laughing again, arms around his neck, trying to catch his lips with her own.
“Eddie!” she whines. “Stop teasing! Come here.”
Her words have the opposite effect. He pulls away and stares down at her, all the fondness in his expression overshadowed by how wild it is. His mouth is wolfish, wicked. Her heart kicks at the sight, because he only looks like that when he’s about to wreck her.
“Don’t wanna tease you,” he says, even though that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s sliding down the length of her body now, settling in between her thighs like he was made to fit there. Like he never wants to leave. “You’ve been so tense all day. Want to make you feel good.”
She’s wearing a breezy summer dress, a light floaty thing with little strawberries patterned all over it. He slips his fingers beneath the hem, pushes the fabric up her thighs, still smiling that wolf-hungry smile. She shivers, trying not to squirm beneath his touch as he strokes her through the cotton of her panties.
“Wanna eat you out until you cry,” he says, low and hungry. Heat sizzles through her veins, electric and immediate, and then her brain short circuits as he pushes everything aside and licks a warm stripe across her cunt.
“Oh god,” she gasps out, “Eddie—”
She loves his mouth. Always has, ever since that first day in the woods when he bit his lip and hid behind his hair, said mean and scary? like he didn’t hold it against her, and she was struck with the urge to stand up and kiss him. She didn’t, of course—that happened later—but she remembers the impulse, the way it sent warmth shooting through her, cheeks stained red as her gaze kept slipping down to his mouth.
A thousand kisses later, she loves it even more. His lips are soft and clever, and if she was a goner from the start then she’s got no chance at all now. He’s had three years to figure out how to take her apart, turn her into a mess of shimmering pleasure, strung tight and begging for release.
Still—
“Eddie,” she tries again, sliding a hand into his hair and tugging gently. “We’re in— we’re out in the open—”
He pulls away from her, and she can’t help but moan at the loss.
“There’s no one up here,” he says, voice gone low and gravelly. “I promise.”
“But it’s graduation weekend,” she huffs out. “There’s always a party.”
“If anyone manages to get away from their parents, they’ll be down by the quarry and way too blitzed to stumble all the way up this hill.” He presses a kiss to the top of her thigh, chaste and sweet. Kisses the other, all wet heat and heady promise. “I’ll stop if you want me to,” he says, breath fanning out across her clit, making her whine. “But I don’t think you do.”
The song’s changed. It’s something bass-heavy, loud enough that she can feel it thrumming through the flatbed. It feels good. Eddie feels good, and god, she doesn’t want to spend another second feeling small and terrible the way she has since they drove into town. Not when the best thing in her life is grinning up at her, ready to make her feel so good she can’t stand it.
She slides her fingers deeper into his hair, scratching across his scalp in the way that always drives him crazy. It’s his turn to moan, a long low sound that vibrates against her in the best way.
“C’mon then,” she says, breathless, giddy. “Don’t stop.”
He takes her at her word. Big hands spread her thighs, rings pressing into her skin and making her gasp. His mouth is hot and wet as he laps at her, broad sloppy strokes, the kind that get her so wet it’s almost embarrassing. He keeps going until she’s messy, absolutely dripping, squirming and rocking her hips against the fleeting pressure of his tongue. She’s slick and aching, hands fisted tight in his hair and starting to get a little desperate when he finally relents and goes still so she can ride his face. She grinds herself against him, chasing the edge, hungry and shameless until she tips herself over into free fall.
She’s panting when she comes down from the high of it, hands still wound in his hair. He hasn’t moved an inch.
“Shit,” she says, laughing a little when she feels him smile against her. It’s always a victory for him when she swears. “That was s—”
So good, she was trying to say, but he sucks at her clit without warning and the soft hot pressure almost has her screaming.
She’s always a little oversensitive after her first orgasm, but Eddie usually lets her come down for a bit before he tries to get her going again. Not this time. He just adjusts his grip on her thighs, hands callused and sure. His rings are warm from her skin as he works a finger into her, slick and easy, his other hand already pressing her down as she tries to buck into the pressure. He always wants to go slow when he’s got the rings on; that apparently hasn’t changed. She’d complain if he weren’t still laving at her clit, pulling wave after wave of hot, drugging pleasure through her until she feels like she’s drowning.
All she can do is whine and gasp his name, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, the only word she can find.
The sound of it just spurs him on. He presses closer, eating at her like he’s trying to catch every last drop, and god, it feels so good she can’t take it. Chrissy yanks at his hair, desperate for him to ease up even as she tries to work her hips against his hand. She’s so close it hurts. He groans but doesn’t stop. Instead, he crooks his finger and sucks at her clit again, and that’s all it takes. She drowns and soars and falls, gasping and shaking and still trying to buck against him. Eddie makes her greedy, leaves her wanting more even when she’s sure she can’t handle it.
The blanket is thin and a little scratchy beneath her cheek. It doesn’t do much to cushion her from the corrugated bed, but she couldn’t care less. Her whole body is buzzing, sparking, like she’s got a current running through her, and Eddie still hasn’t moved.
She can feel him shifting against her a little bit, like he’s hard and needs some friction, but it doesn’t seem like he’s paying much attention to himself. He’s certainly not paying attention to the way her fingers are tangled in his hair, curls clutched tight as she tries to tug him away. It's useless. She gives up, trying instead to lever herself up onto her elbows to get a better look at him. The pulse of heat that spikes through her when she meets his gaze makes her breath catch in her throat.
His eyes are huge and dark, all pupil, almost wild. She’s the one who’s come twice, but he looks as wrecked as she feels. Still, he finds the patience to give her a teasing little kitten lick before he pulls away with an obscene noise. His mouth and chin are shiny and wet, and it makes her flush. Makes her squirm. Eddie lets her writhe for a minute while he licks his lips, tongue swiping out like he’s savoring the taste.
“You got another one in you, baby?”
She should say no. The sky’s gone full dark, and there’s a new song shaking the speakers. They’ve been out here for a while, and it’s stupid to keep pushing their luck. And she opens her mouth to say that, really, but what comes out instead is a hungry little moan.
“I don’t know,” she says, petulant and greedy.
Greed shouldn’t feel like a luxury, not after three years of Eddie giving her everything she wants and then some, but this is Hawkins. Her whole life here, she took what she was given and never let herself ask for more. Never let herself ask for anything, really, just starved and hid and hated herself for it. A couple days was all it took to start falling back into old habits, and she doesn’t want to be that girl again. She deserves better. She looks down at Eddie, waiting patiently even as he ruts his hips into the flatbed, and makes her choice.
“I wanna try,” she says, voice small. Frowns. Tries again. The words are still wobbly, still a little breathless, but they’re sure.
Eddie bends forward and presses a gentle kiss into her belly. It’s a little softer now than it was in high school. Not quite as flat. He loves it; he loves her. Her heart clenches in her chest, and she has to close her eyes against the tears that well up.
“Hey, hey,” he says. “None of that. Good tears only, okay?” He crawls back up her body and catches her mouth in a tender kiss. He tastes like her, salty and musky and a little sweet, but she doesn’t care. She winds her arms around him and holds him close, shaky and overwhelmed and still so wound up.
“I love you,” she says, breathing the words into his skin. “Love you so much, Eddie, I’m sorry I’m such a mess—”
She can feel him frown at that, like he’s about to stop and chide her, so she just kisses him again, licks into his mouth, nips at his bottom lip, all heat and shivery-sharp need. “But I wanna try.”
“There she is.” His voice is warm, as gentle as his touch as he smooths away a stray tear. “Bravest girl I know.”
Chrissy doesn’t feel brave, not really, but for all that Eddie likes to be silly, he’s serious about the things that matter. If he says she’s brave, then he means it.
She has to kiss him again. She could get lost kissing him, could spend the rest of her life doing nothing but kissing him, but eventually he drags himself away. His eyes are wild again, and her hips hitch of their own accord. Still, he teases her as he moves back down her body, trailing little open-mouthed kisses in his wake. He settles himself back between her legs and she shivers as his hair brushes against her inner thighs. He catches the shiver and shakes his head a little bit, laughing as she squeals. It’s as teasing as his kisses, staticky pulses of sensation that don’t last long enough to do anything but make her squirm and whine.
“Eddie,” she manages to wheeze out, “Eddie, you gotta— gotta stop teasing me.” This time, he complies.
“If you insist,” he says, and reaches up to pluck her scrunchie from her wrist. Eddie twists his hair up into a messy bun, and her throat goes dry at the way it transforms his face. He looks lean and hungry. Ravenous, even. Like she’s flipped a coin and all the gentleness she loves so much has been subsumed by how much he wants her. She swallows, overcome by how wild they make each other. How lucky she is.
Eddie grins. “Okay, brave girl,” he says, pressing another little kiss to her belly. “Here we go.”
He dives back in, licks her sloppy and wet, and she doesn’t try to stop herself from moaning. Couldn’t even if she wanted to, because it’s good, it’s so good; she was so spooled up before she got all tangled in old insecurities that he has her back skating the edge of another orgasm in no time flat. It burns bright and hot in her belly, and she never wants him to stop. She can’t put her hands in his hair this time so she scrabbles at the blanket instead, fingers slipping against the wheel well when the thin fabric isn’t enough to anchor her.
“I’m close,” she babbles at him, rocking frantically against his face. “Eddie, please, fuck—”
She must sound as desperate as she feels because he doesn’t tease her, just slides two fingers into her, no resistance at all even with the rings, and seals his lips around her clit. The heat in her stomach goes molten and furious, and her third orgasm burns through her until she feels like she’s going up in smoke.
Eddie eases her through it, strokes his free hand over her hip, rests his forehead against her thigh as he waits until she stops clenching around his fingers. When the aftershocks finally fade away and she opens her eyes, the stars are all blurry. Her cheeks are wet. Good tears, she thinks, dizzy and sated. Still, it feels like a loss when he pulls his hand away.
She lets herself just lie there for a minute, staring up at the sky and listening to the heavy thrum of the music. It’s Mötley Crüe, which means the tape is just about done. Her brain’s gone all fuzzy so it takes her a few tries, but eventually the math clicks; he’s been working her over for the better part of an hour.
“Hey,” she says, voice scratchy. “C’mere.”
The car’s rocking a little bit, twenty year old suspension creaking as he moves his hips in little aborted thrusts, stuttering against the flatbed like he can’t help himself. He whines when she reaches down to tug blindly at his vest. Vince Neil’s voice is crackling through the speakers, Ooh, baby, you make me feel so good, and she doesn’t care how greedy it makes her or whether or not she’ll be able to handle it: she wants to make him feel good.
“Eddie, come on,” she says again, a little more insistently this time. “Come on, baby.” It’s the name he always calls her when she gets frantic, when she’s so keyed up and desperate to come that she can’t think straight.
It must hit him the way it hits her, because he surges up and smears a kiss into her skin, messy and wet, like he can’t quite manage the coordination to kiss her properly.
“That’s it,” she says, urging him on, reaching down to fumble with his fly. He whines again when she gets her hands on him, his dick so hard it must hurt. He’s leaking precome, shivering with every stroke. She could finish him like this—knows just how to touch him to make him see stars—but she wants to feel him. Wants to be greedy.
“Chrissy,” he says, strangled and a little shocked as she guides him into her body. She’s so wet that the stretch doesn’t even really register. “Shit—” he bites out, hips working in shallow thrusts. “Shit, Chrissy, you’re amazing—”
She didn’t think she had another orgasm in her, but Eddie keeps talking, praise spilling from his lips as his hips piston into hers, fast and hard, and every word is like a little spark of fire, lighting a blaze in her that catches and burns and sends her flying one last time, pleasure blooming through her like fireworks. He follows her over the edge, her name sticking in his throat.
“So good, Chrissy, so fucking perfect,” and maybe it’s just the endorphins getting to her, but she doesn’t have to work all that hard to believe it.
Eddie collapses against her, breathing hard. She can feel his heart pounding like they’ve just run up the hill from the quarry at a dead sprint. She laughs a little, drunk on pleasure, giddy with how lucky she is, how good he makes her feel.
“That had better be impressed laughter I hear,” he says, muffled in the fabric of her sundress. That pulls another giggle from her. His bun is mostly gone, her scrunchie hanging on for dear life. She’s going to have bruises on her back tomorrow. The blanket beneath them is absolutely soaked.
She’s never felt better.
“Very impressed,” she confirms, and he musters enough strength to raise his head and grin at her.
“Good.” He presses a kiss to her sternum, just over her heart. “You deserve nothing less.” He sobers a little bit. “I’m sorry being back here is so hard.”
She cups the back of his head, curling her fingers into his hair. It is hard, but Eddie’s worth it. “That’s okay,” she says, smiling when he starts to shake his head. “I know you’ve got me.”
The tape has finally stopped, all hissing static, but even if it were still playing, she knows she’d hear Eddie’s reply for what it is.
“Always,” he says, and it’s a vow. “Always, baby.”
Hawkins isn’t any less terrible than it was when they drove out to the quarry, but she feels a little more present in her own skin. A little more like the girl she’s worked so hard to be, California tan and not afraid to take what she wants. They’re gonna be in town for a few more days, and it’ll be hard—will probably always be hard—but she knows she’ll manage.
She nudges his shoulder as he guides the El Camino back down the access road, gravel crunching under the tires. The headlights sweep over a few kids at the quarry when they pass. No one she recognizes, and they scatter, stumbling drunkenly away like they think she and Eddie are the cops.
“Hey, do you think we can stop at McDonald’s?”
He nudges her back, takes one hand off the wheel to tangle his fingers with hers. The mixtape is playing again, volume low. Def Leppard, singing about sugar, sticky sweet.
He squeezes her hand. “Like I said: bravest girl I know.”
She holds on to his hand as they drive back into town, thinking about what she’s going to order when they get there. Her dress is a wreck and Eddie isn’t much better. They’ll have to go through the drive-through and hope the cashier isn’t anyone they know. She bites her lip, imagining the shock, then decides she doesn’t care. She’s hungry, and if an old classmate sees the two of them looking fucked out and silly, well, that’s that.
Chrissy Cunningham can handle anything Hawkins, Indiana throws at her.
After all, Eddie’s got her.