Chapter Text
“Do you have…maybe…something stronger?”
Eddie tilts his head, looking at Chrissy curiously. “Sure. But, uh, have you ever even smoked pot before?”
“Well…no…but—”
“Let’s not run before we’ve walked, yeah?” Eddie says it like a joke, trying to ease the sudden awkwardness, but it only seems to make her more upset.
Her face furrows with frustration, “you don’t understand,” she hisses. “This is not—it’s not like I’m just pent up or something, I feel—it’s like—”
“You’re right.” Eddie gently places both hands over hers as she rubs them, agitatedly, over the rotted wood of the picnic table, hoping to help her avoid splinters. There’s no need to turn her mental hurt into a physical one. She looks up at him with woeful eyes, and he sighs, squeezing her hands. “I don’t know what you’re going through, Chrissy, but I want to help you. If it’s what you really want, I have stronger shit at home. I’m not trying to be caught with it at school. You know?” She nods slowly. “You wanna head that way now?”
“Like…skip school?” Her voice is quiet with scandalized disbelief.
Eddie reluctantly pulls his hands away, not wanting to creep her out by holding her there. The tepid connection between them is lost, physically, if nothing else. It still feels disappointing to let her go.
“You’re already buying from me, sweetheart. On a list of wrongness, I think that ranks higher than skipping a few class periods.”
“The championship games is tonight and—and—if I’m not there—”
“Is some stupid laundry basket game more important than your sanity?” Chrissy looks away, her unease gone, and genuine consideration in its place. “Look, if it means that much to you, we still have a few hours until then. I can take you to my place, get you your shit, and we’ll be back before the game starts. I have my own obligations tonight as well.”
“It’s not about the game. My mom—” she sucks in a breath, looking around as if startled. Eddie frowns, staring at her intently. She’s spooked again, like when he first bumped into her before they sat at the table.
“Hey, Chrissy—”
She looks back at him, and her eyes are frightened. “Could I—do I have time to do the drugs at your house?”
“Sure, if you want a lingering high during the game. It might make being stuck in a stuffy gym saturated with body odor and the cacophonous celebration of mediocrity more bearable.”
It’s enough to break whatever spell she’s under, and she rolls her eyes, “why does that feel like you’re insulting me as a cheerleader?”
“It’s more the crowd of sheep who blindly follow along. You’re just the one in charge of revving them up.”
“And yet, I still feel insulted.”
“Apologies, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you with a freebie. A bump of the stronger shit to see how you handle it, and then if you like that kind of persuasion, I’ll set you up with more to take home.”
“Okay,” she breathes, only a trace of uncertainly in her voice, “I’ll—I’ll go with you now.”
Eddie offers her a hand up, and Chrissy doesn’t hesitate, slipping her dainty one in his. It’s warm, slightly damp, or maybe it’s his own hand that has started to sweat. Regardless, Chrissy squeezes around his fingers as she stands up, and the butterflies in his stomach flutter wildly. Eddie gives her an impish grin, leading her out of the woods, towards his van.
***
“My Uncle Wayne will still be asleep, so we gotta be quiet. He works the night shift, going in by seven, so he’ll be getting up and ready by about five. He’s a heavy sleeper, so if we do this right, he won’t even realize we skipped school by the time he wakes up. He’ll just think we got here after we were let out for spring break.”
“Will you get into trouble if he does figure it out?”
“Nah, it’s more the silent disappointment that makes me feel like shit. He’s a pro at that.”
Chrissy hides her smile, “what about your parents? Have you always lived with your uncle?”
“No. My dad’s been in and out of prison most of my life; he’s in for a few more years, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be longer. Honestly, Wayne is the only real father I’ve ever had. He took me and my mom in soon after she got sick, about eleven years ago. She died a year later, when I was ten.”
“I’m so sorry, Eddie.” He shrugs, not wanting to talk about it anymore. Chrissy must pick up on it because she changes the subject. “Your uncle sounds like a great man.”
“He is. Hence, his ability to guilt trip me every time I fuck up. He’s the only one whose opinion really matters to me.”
“Wow. Just your uncle? I’ve always let everyone’s opinion matter to me.”
“No wonder you feel like you’re losing your mind.” Chrissy flinches, and Eddie reaches over and squeezes her hand because apparently he can do that, and she isn’t freaked out by it. They step out of the van together, and Eddie warns her not to slam the passenger door shut. The two of them tiptoe up to the trailer, entering silently, only the small squeal of the door hinges can be heard as they let themselves inside. Chrissy looks around curiously, and Eddie swallows his mild embarrassment, “sorry, the maid took the week off.”
She looks at him with a gentle smile, “I love it. I’m guessing you’re not the one who collects the mugs and hats though?”
“All Wayne,” Eddie gestures towards his bedroom, “this way, but maybe kick off your shoes, the hallway floorboards creak.”
Chrissy toes out of her pristine sneakers, lining them up neatly by the front door. Eddie more carelessly kicks off his Reeboks, letting them thump quietly beside hers. She follows him, both of them tiptoeing again, avoiding the floor where he points. It isn’t far from the front door, past Wayne’s broom closet of a bedroom, to Eddie’s own minuscule one. He thanks satan that his uncle forced him to straighten up enough to see his shag carpet and change his sheets this past weekend, so he isn’t that bothered to have her in there with him. He gently shuts his door, hearing Wayne’s smoker snore through the thin walls of their trailer, relieved that the older man is practically dead to the world. Eddie looks back, watching Chrissy circling his space, gauging his littered walls, and the drawers stuffed on and in with his shit. He shuffles around her, kissing his fingertips, and caressing his other sweetheart, cradled in its display hook against the mirror.
“That’s a cool guitar.”
“She’s everything,” he says reverently. When he turns back, Chrissy has a look of bemusement on her face. He shrugs, unembarrassed about his affection for the object. “Your ketamine is somewhere in here.”
Her eyes widen, “and ketamine is the stronger stuff?”
“Yup, as requested.” He kneels, searching through his orderly chaos, knowing what all his piles of shit are, but not remembering exactly where he shoved the baggy of ketamine Reefer Rick once gave him, just in case. It’s not like the kids he sells to request harder shit, and Eddie doesn’t offer it. It’s adult shit that Rick sold to hard up housewives and Chief Hopper, before the man kicked the bucket in the mall fire. Which also meant Rick got locked up because the chief wasn’t around to stop him from being arrested by more upstanding officers. Poor bastards. “It’s quicker crushed and snorted, but you can also just swallow it.”
“Oh. It’s a pill?”
“Sure is, no smoking required.”
“Will you be doing it with me?”
Eddie turns toward her from his place on his knees. “Uh…no. Ket has never been a good trip, makes me kinda paranoid. But I’ll at least be sober…to watch over you.”
“That’s very nice of you, Eddie.” Her smile is wobbly. “You don’t think it’ll make things worse for me, will it?”
“To be honest,” Eddie stands, the ketamine in hand. He waves the baggy halfheartedly, moving over to his bed and staring at her with concern, “I don’t know what worse means for you. I’m not exactly sure what you’re going through, though I can tell you’re really freaked by it.”
Chrissy looks down at her hands, her eyes squeezing shut, before her body shudders.
“Nightmares,” she confesses, “really bad ones. And they—they feel so real, Eddie.” She looks up, and her eyes are shiny with unshed tears. Eddie tosses the bag on his nightstand, instinctively reaching out for her. She doesn’t shy away, instead, letting him pull her to sit beside him. “It’s been happening for the past week, and I’ve been having these terrible headaches, and now I’m scared to sleep…”
“Shit, Chrissy. Ketamine is probably the last thing you need, then.”
“But—” she sniffles, and he realizes the tears are finally falling down her face, “what else am I supposed to do?”
He hesitates briefly, before putting an arm around her shoulders, “we can talk about them?” Eddie’s heart clenches, seeing her misery.
“I don’t—uhm—the thing is—” her misery shifts to discomfort, and Eddie’s arm slowly falls away, trying to give her space…
“Hey, I get it. I don’t mean to pry. If you don’t want to talk about it with me, you can just tell me to fuck off.”
“The thing is,” she repeats forcefully, “you said your uncle has been the only dad in your life, but your real dad is still alive, not like…”
“Like my dead mom?”
Chrissy cringes, “right. I guess I’m trying to ask, do you hate your real dad? I know he’s in prison, but he’s still alive. You don’t consider him a father, why not?”
“Because he’s a selfish asshole.” Eddie ignores his own discomfort and speaks honestly, knowing that she must be going somewhere with her own shit by asking him these questions, “I don’t hate him, but I don’t like him very much either.”
“I hate my mother.” Chrissy says breathlessly. “Gosh, I’ve never said that out loud. But I hate her so much, Eddie.” He watches as she tugs and twists her fingers together in her lap. “And I guess, by extension, my father too. He’s not a monster like her, but he’s never saved me from her either. I’m not—I’m not exaggerating. It isn’t like this is just teenage angst, or whatever. My mom, she’s just—she’s just the worst kind of monster—”
“What does she do to you, Chrissy?”
The words tumble out of Chrissy’s mouth in an impassioned rush, “ever since I was a little girl, it’s like she’s been playing this awful mind game with me. Except, I never learned how to play it, so I’ve always lost. I don’t know how to please her. She starves me, but still calls me a fat pig. She’ll take my clothes and let out the seams or she’ll stitch them tighter, over and over again, as a way to torture me. I’m too fat, so she’ll let them out. I’m too fat, so she’ll cinch them tight. I’m too fat, so she doesn’t want to feed me. I’m too fat, so she’ll watch me eat what she does feed me and then force me to purge it in the toilet. Nothing pleases her. And none of my clothes ever fit right. She makes me feel so small mentally, and yet so fat physically. I can’t keep playing this game with her anymore. Now these nightmares have come, and maybe I’ve made her into this monster in my head, but it’s still her underneath this creature, and I’m sure they’re gonna kill me…” Chrissy sucks in a startled breath, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her cries. Eddie has been watching her with wide eyes as the words fell from her lips. His arm comes back up around her shoulder, and he pulls her in close. Chrissy buries her face in his shirt, her breath coming fast, and her hands reaching out to grip the cotton material as her whole body vibrates, like she’s about to levitate towards the ceiling. His other hand comes up quick, squeezing around her as if it’s the only thing that’ll stop her from flying upwards…
“Jesus Christ, Chrissy. I would’ve never thought something like this was happening to you. You always seem so—”
“H-Happy?” She hiccups.
“Well, yeah.”
“Never.” Her face gnashes into his shirt, “I’ve just learned to pretend. I had to, otherwise—”
“She’d make it worse for you.”
“I’ve never told anyone so explicitly.” She cries quietly, “I can’t believe I’m even telling you.”
“Why—why are you telling me? You coulda just told me to fuck off.”
“You’ve been trying to help me this whole time. I guess I feel that I can trust you. Is that weird?”
“Fuck no, it’s not weird; I’m flattered. Chrissy, I swear you can always trust me, okay?”
“Okay.”
His thoughts are racing about her shitty mother, and feelings of hatred, revolt, and insult almost overwhelm him. Poor Chrissy, she doesn’t deserve any of it, and if he ever meets her bitch of mother, he won’t hesitate to give her a piece of his mind. Chrissy might not appreciate it…or maybe she would.
His hand starts rubbing her back in a soothing motion, and he speaks evenly. “I can’t give you the ketamine, Chrissy. If it makes me paranoid, I don’t want to imagine what it might do to you. I don’t even think weed is the right thing for you right now.”
“Saying it out loud, it’s kinda helping. I just—I’ve never talked about it with anyone else. I couldn’t share all of it with Ms. Kelley, even though I’ve been seeing her every day this past week. I was so scared she’d call my mom and bring her in to talk about it with both of us.”
“What about your boyfriend?” Eddie asks mostly out of curiosity, but also because what the fuck, why hadn’t Jason tried to help?
“Jason—he loves my parents. My mom likes to be sweet in front of company. When I was little I prayed that it was who she really was and when we were home, behind closed doors, there was someone else inhabiting her body. Then I realized she just didn’t want to look bad in front of others, and it was never genuine. Who she is at home, is who she truly is, and will always be.” She whimpers, “I tried telling him once—he—he laughed. He said I was exaggerating. I was overreacting. That my mom was probably just trying to help me. Even after I cried, he laughed. I won’t try and tell him about it ever again. I won’t. I just—I hate being laughed at.”
“Chrissy,” Eddie might hate Jason, and he definitely pegged him for a fucking jockstrap, meathead, mouth breather, but his reaction to Chrissy’s suffering is stupider and more cruel than Eddie could have ever thought him to be. Eddie could admit he assumed Jason worshipped the ground Chrissy walked on. If she were Eddie’s girlfriend, that would certainly be the case. The weasel is a bonafide prick, without a single brain cell in his thick ass skull, “your boyfriend is a shit stain, and I could kick his ass for you, if you ever wanted me to.”
“I wish he wasn’t my boyfriend. It’s just another thing I’ve had to pretend at. All of it, my entire life, it’s a lie. I lie about everything. I hate it. Add these nightmares, and that’s probably why I’m losing my mind.”
“Well, now I’m certain. The drugs won’t work, Chrissy. But I think I know exactly what you need.”
She pushes away slightly, and Eddie lets her, meeting her tear-streaked face and confused expression with a big grin. “What do I need, Eddie?”
“You need to get the fuck out of Hawkins.”
“What?”
“You need to get away from your mom, from Jason…from Hawkins.”
“How am I supposed to do that? We’ve got school—”
“It’s spring break, Chrissy. An entire week of no school, no responsibilities, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Aren’t you eighteen?”
“Y-yeah, but—”
“You should disappear for a week, get your head on straight, come back to town, tell your mom, your dad, and your stupid ass boyfriend, to fuck off. Then start the rest of your real life, how you want it to be. It’s only a couple of months until graduation. Afterwards, you can leave this fucking place far behind.”
“Eddie—it’s—I can’t—I—”
“I don’t have nightmares, Chrissy. I have dreams, huge ones. I’ve decided that I’m gonna be a goddamn rockstar someday. I’ve been planning to leave this hellscape for as long as I can remember. I’m gonna get my goddamn diploma, give Principal Higgins the bird, and then I’m getting the fuck out of here. If I can do it, so can you. You just need to make one small step in that direction.”
“That’s a great dream, Eddie. But I still don’t know how—”
“Disappear with me for a week, Chrissy.”
“You?”
“Me.”
She looks away, that look of consideration on her face the same one as when he was trying to convince her to skip school about thirty minutes ago. Eddie hopes she’ll say okay again.
“Where would we even go?”
“That’s easy, my uncle has vacation days saved up, and he’s been trying to convince me to go fishing with him for spring break. I’ve come up with all of my normal excuses, Hellfire Club, band practice and our gig on Tuesday, the house parties where I’m sure to rack up some extra cash…but if I can help you leave this place, I won’t complain about living in his old war buddy’s cabin on the Tippecanoe River up north, and indulging him with a few days of fishing.”
“When…would we leave?” She sounds both incredulous and curious, like the thought isn’t that ridiculous, but kinda, a little.
“It’s just a few hours away and the cabin is empty, apparently. We could head out this afternoon, so long as Wayne calls into his job at the plant when he wakes up.”
“But the championship! And your…obligation?”
“Pfft,” he waves a hand, “are you seriously still stuck on that laundry basket game?”
“Eddie,” she warns, though he can see a hint of her crooked smile.
“Okay. I have Hellfire tonight, but the fishies already asked me to reschedule because they wanted to support Lucas Sinclair at said laundry basket game. If I cancel, they’ll be happy. The older guys I’ll have to make it up to, especially after I cancel Tuesday’s gig too, but they already know me to be an asshole, so I’ll be fulfilling my responsibility as their dickish friend for another day.”
“This is crazy, Eddie! We can’t!”
“Hey, if you feel like you’re losing your mind, we’ll be fighting crazy with crazy! We can’t lose! Let’s ditch this fucking town, spend some calm ass days doing fuck all, getting sunburnt on a goddamn river, maybe go rafting or do some other reckless shit, I don’t know! And we’ll gorge on fish and eat other food your bitch of a mother would hate! Meanwhile, we’ll be planning a more permanent escape from this hellhole!”
The cogs are turning. Eddie can see it in her expression, and it seems they’re moving in the right direction. She smiles at him shyly, her tears drying on her face, and her eyes growing brighter.
“Okay.”
She’s agreed to quite a few things since their meeting in the woods. Eddie knows he’s a persuasive motherfucker, but he’s actually proud to have convinced her to run away with him for a whole week.
He can’t fucking wait.