Chapter Text
They are sitting around the dining table in the shell-shocked silence following her father’s announcement.
I ’m leaving .
The words had interrupted her mother in one of her tirades. Her mouth had been opening in the next scathing remark and her jaw continues to descend into gaping incredulity as Chrissy watches. It’s such a foreign expression on her mother’s face that Chrissy almost hiccups a nervous giggle. Laura Cunningham is composed; elegant, cruel , but never surprised. After all, when you keep a dictatorial grip on every aspect of your family and their lives, there is little room for ambush.
“Did you hear me, Laura?”
Chrissy’s heart begins to hammer as she watches her mother’s eyelashes flutter in a series of small blinks. The shock on her face is slowly morphing into her own particular brand of clench-jawed rage, hardening and chilling to a familiar coldness, her lips a thin, dangerous line.
She’d heard. Yes, she’d definitely heard.
Glancing between her parents she feels, not for the first time or even the hundredth, the frustration and the fear of being an unwilling witness to their fights. This one is sure to be a doozy. The kind of battle royale she hasn’t seen since her brother Benjamin had been shipped off to reform school.
“No.”
Her father gives a humorless laugh. “No, what Laura?”
“Absolutely not, Phillip. Leave your family? Humiliate me? No.”
Chrissy sinks down in her hard wooden chair, hoping not to be noticed. She pulls the cuffs of her sweater over her hands, rubbing the sides nervously against her thighs. Her mother’s tone is icy, biting. It doesn’t really matter that Chrissy isn’t the object of her focus right now, the sick feeling in her stomach has started all the same.
Her father outright scoffs. “ Family? You sent our son away, Laura! Chrissy is eighteen and will be leaving for college in the fall and you…”
“Me what?”
He shakes his head, refusing to be drawn, and turns instead to Chrissy. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I meant to do this differently.”
He gazes at her softly, his expression sincere. Chrissy can’t remember the last time he’s addressed her so earnestly. He usually operates in a vague haze of distracted listlessness, any questions he asks shallow and rote. Sometimes, it’s like he isn’t even there, drifting around their home with a sad, hangdog expression and increasingly graying hair.
Chrissy clears her throat. “I’m…I’m not eighteen though, Daddy.”
He smiles at her. It’s been so long since he’s smiled and it lights Chrissy up like sunshine.
“I know, pumpkin. I hadn’t forgotten, tomorrow. You’ll be all grown up and out in the world soon. I just couldn’t…”
His voice chokes off, and Chrissy is shocked to see his eyes growing wet with tears. Watching her distant, disconnected father begin to cry seems to tilt the axis of the world. It is wrong in some fundamental way, a shift in gravity.
Her mother makes a familiar sound of disgust, which has the effect of immediately snapping Chrissy’s attention back to her in a well worn instinct of self-preservation. She is relieved and then ashamed at her relief, to see that her father is still the object of her mother’s ire.
“Tears, Phillip? Really?” her mother spits, face twisted with disdain. “I always knew I’d settled, but then you go and demonstrate so clearly why I should’ve left you twenty years ago. You’re utterly pathetic. If you leave me, I’ll make your life a living Hell.”
She obviously considers that this will be the final word and sits back in her chair, a small vicious smile on her face.
“I’m already in Hell, Laura,” her father replies with a tired, worn sigh. “What can you possibly do at this point to make my life worse? No, I’m leaving.”
Her mother narrows her eyes. “You’ll never see your children again.”
“He’ll see me again,” Chrissy says, quiet but resolute.
“ What did you say, young lady?”
Her heart had never really slowed since this unexpected confrontation had begun, but now, with her mother’s furious gaze turned on her, it is truly racing. Chrissy wonders if seventeen years and three-hundred-sixty-four days old is too young for a heart attack. But watching her father make a stand — even a late and inelegant one — has sparked something in her. His smile, like sunshine, has made something unfurl.
"Chrissy —” her father begins gently.
“No, it’s okay Dad,” Chrissy replies, pulling herself up straight in her chair, “I said he’ll still see me, Mother…and Benji. And if you try to stop him I’ll…I’ll…”
Her mother sneers. “You’ll what?”
“ I’ll leave,” she says. “Maybe you can explain your husband walking out, paint yourself as the victim. Tell whatever lies you want, but I think people might find it more than a little strange if your daughter walks out too.” She's proud of the way her voice only wavers a little through this speech.
Furious isn't an adequate descriptor for the look on her mother’s face. Chrissy is used to furious. Laura Cunningham, her public facade proud and composed is frequently enraged at home. This look however…this look is incandescently violent. Chrissy is terrified. Maybe her voice only wavered slightly before, but now her whole body wants to shake. She’s only seen her mother like this once before and can still almost feel the sting of the belt which came after.
“You ungrateful little pig .”
Chrissy flinches, her rebellious strength crumbling. Her mother’s preferred weapon has always been her words, they could — and did — flay her more effectively than any belt ever could.
“Enough!” shouts her father, standing so rapidly that his chair tips back and falls against the floor with clatter. He comes around the table to place a warm, slightly unsteady hand on Chrissy’s shoulder. “Enough, Laura. We need to talk, just the two of us. Chrissy, sweetheart, go on up to your room. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
Chrissy nods jerkily, adrenaline slowly ebbing, but she feels like she’s run a mile around the school track.
Pushing gently back from the table (so as not to scrape the chair legs on the floor the way her mother hates) she rises, keeping her eyes downcast until she has escaped the dining room. She hears the double doors click shut behind her, muffling her father’s voice until she loses the low sound of it on the stairs.
Up in her bedroom, Chrissy gets ready for bed. Tomorrow is her eighteenth birthday and the last Friday before spring break starts next week. She needs to be at school early for the pep rally so she can run the girls through a short practice and the events of the evening haven’t exactly been restful.
Throwing herself into her bed with a weary sigh, she thrashes about, agitated and exhausted while her father’s words keep replaying in her head.
I ’m leaving.
Chrissy is eighteen.
I’m already in Hell
They have both been suffering, alone in their own private Hells with Chrissy’s mother the snarling architect of their misery.
All this time they could’ve been allies.
All this time she'd been so alone.
Chrissy doesn’t realize she’s started crying until she turns her head to find her pillow wet, but now she’s helpless to stop, continuing in great, gasping sobs. She cries in regret; and in anger, and in hope all through the night.
***
The hard wood of the gym floor presses against her knees as she watches her boyfriend — Jason Carver, basketball team captain — run out into center court, throwing his hands up to the wild adulation of the student body. He basks in the glow, pumping his fist and smiling in that vaguely smirking, entitled way Chrissy has always found embarrassing.
With their matched blond hair and compatible social statuses as cheer and basketball captain, it had come as no surprise to the gossip mill of Hawkins High when Jason had asked Chrissy out midway through their sophomore year. It made sense at the time. Everyone expected them to get together, and so, they did. Her mother approved, which was a startling reprieve in at least one aspect of Chrissy’s life, and Jason himself wasn’t really so bad. He blustered a bit, but no worse than any of the other jock boys and if he was sometimes a little patronizing in the way he cared for her, it was still more than she received from anyone else. However, the most important aspect of their relationship was that it was easy. When everything else felt so difficult, this one thing just ran smoothly. No real highs, but more importantly, no real lows.
After last night though, Chrissy was starting to think maybe easy wasn’t what she wanted from her life. Easy was marrying Jason after graduation the way he’d hinted at a hundred times. Easy was settling for the bland safety of that projected future just to escape her tumultuous home. Easy was her father, drifting through the rooms of his own house, pretending not to see, not to hear, as his wife ground their children down into shadows of people.
She was so caught up in these vaguely revolutionary thoughts that she had lost track of Jason’s speech.
Donna’s sharp elbow in her side causes her to jerk her attention back to where he stands, golden and strong jawed and easy, proclaiming his love for her to the entire student populace.
Chrissy only barely contains her cringing wince. Outside of cheering, she hates being the center of attention, and even then she is part of a team . She blows him an awkward kiss to cover for her discomfort, feeling like a coward.
Speech over, the squad bursts to their feet, amping the crowd one last time as everyone is dismissed to class. Chrissy throws her leg up in a high kick, ruffling her pom-poms and smiling a wide, fake grin. She is focused on the team, watching the now not-so-new sophomore girls for any opportunities for feedback when an arm clinches about her waist unexpectedly. She gives an inelegant squawk of surprise as Jason pulls her into himself.
“Hey, baby,” he says, arm still locked about her middle.
Chrissy hates people touching her waist, and Jason is well aware of that.
She scowls up at him. “Quit it, Jason.”
“Aw, that’s no way to speak to the guy who just romanced you in front of the whole school.”
He’s trying to sound glib, but Chrissy can hear the edge of annoyance in his tone. She’s being ungrateful.
You ungrateful little pig!
“Get off, Jason!”
She wrenches herself away breathing heavily, her mother’s words still ringing in her ears.
“Shit, Chrissy. What the hell?”
The lingering members of both the cheer squad and basketball team cast them curious looks as they file out, leaving Jason and Chrissy standing alone in the gym.
Chrissy crosses her arms, she feels vulnerable — impulsive. She feels like she’s had enough of easy.
“I think we should break up,” she says. It's almost a whisper, as though her mouth can't believe her brain is making it form these words.
Jason’s brow furrows, he’s nonplussed and maybe slightly amused. “Because I scared you just now?”
“No.”
“No? Then…what is this Chrissy? Is this some girl thing? You want me to buy you something or — ”
“Buy me something?”
“You know,” Jason smiles indulgently. “Like you want a bit more attention or something, baby?”
This the kind of girl Jason thinks she is? Her heart sinks. She hadn't really expected anything different but maybe, well maybe she'd hoped…
After all this time though, he still doesn’t even know her.
Chrissy shifts uncomfortably on her feet, her cheer skirt swaying. She’s never played those kind of games, she wouldn’t know how . Besides, that all flies in the face of easy, the only thing she’s realizing she ever wanted from Jason.
Annoyed, she scowls again and Jason throws his hands up in mock surrender.
“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “I won’t grab you again, scouts honor!”
“That’s not…Jason, I really do want to break up.” Chrissy runs her hands against her skirt, uncomfortable and anxious, and prays for the polished gym floor to open up under her. She needs to do this though, she knows.
His laughter cuts off suddenly. “But why Chrissy? I don’t understand. We were fine yesterday, what the fuck is this?”
Chrissy jumps a little, the curse startling and raw. Jason has never sworn at her before.
“I mean seriously, Chrissy,” he continues. “Are you fucking kidding? We’ve been together since sophomore year! We’re going to be Prom King and Queen . You said we would get married!”
The last word — married — is thrown at her in a furious shout and echoes dully around the empty gym. They stand in silence as it slowly fades, both breathing heavily. Jason’s hands are balled into tight fists, and Chrissy can see the knuckles are stark white. She's apprehensive. Jason has never hurt her before, but the only anger she knows like this is an anger that bruises.
“I’m sorry — ”
“You’re…you’re sorry? I don’t want you to be sorry Chrissy. I want you to tell me why! I want you to take it back! ”
“I never said we would get married,” says Chrissy, her voice small. “That was you . You said — ”
“You never said no ,” Jason yells, his mundanely handsome face growing red. “You just…you strung me along. Made me love you. You…you little bitch .”
She feels the word like a slap and takes a step back, then another, until finally she turns and runs, her feet flying in her white cheer sneakers and Jason’s growling curses lost behind her.
***
Chrissy goes where she knows she won’t be disturbed.
Behind the athletics track in the small band of woods behind the school, there’s a picnic table where rumor has it drug deals and underage drinking go down. Chrissy wouldn’t know. She doesn’t party because the risk of being caught out by her mother has always outweighed any high she could possibly feel. She goes there sometimes at lunch so she doesn’t need to go to the cafeteria, and so far, it's always been deserted.
The place could be considered a bit creepy, frankly. The woods crowd close on every side, apart from the small space where the track breaks into the clearing. It’s overcast today and the branches throw wavering shadows across the battered, weather worn seating.
Chrissy pulls herself up onto the table and crosses her legs beneath her. Then, she gives in to the rasping sobs clawing their way up from her chest.
She thought she’d cried herself out last night, but it turns out she was wrong. She knows she isn’t upset at the idea of ending things with Jason, just the way in which they ended. She feels so guilty. She should’ve planned better, been more sensitive to his feelings. Then maybe…maybe he wouldn’t have yelled. Called her a bitch. Hated her.
The crack of a branch in the woods brings her head up like a startled deer. Did Jason…would he have followed her? Chrissy glances around, panicked. There really is only one way out from the clearing and that’s the track, the direction in which the sound of someone approaching is most definitely now audible. She could make a break for the woods, but Hawkins has a reputation for strange things happening. Better the devil you know, she thinks.
Chrissy’s focus narrows down to the point where the path meets the clearing, her muscles tensed to flee at the first sign of anything weird, but it’s just Eddie Munson emerging from the trees. He’s such a distinct figure, she can’t really mistake him for anyone else.
Eddie pauses between the last of the trees, obviously having spotted Chrissy and he seems hesitant to come further. Or maybe he’s just surprised. She is cutting after all. Chrissy can’t actually recall ever skipping class before.
Chrissy hastily scrubs a hand over her face and scoots forward until she is perched at the edge of the table. She smooths the folds of her skirt before raising a hand in a tentative wave. She’s sure she’s a mess, her mother has told her she’s an ugly crier. She’s probably smudged all her make-up and the bright blue shadow she applied this morning is not terribly forgiving. Self-consciously, she begins to kick her feet.
Eddie raises his own hand, the one that’s free anyway. Chrissy can see he’s carrying what looks like an old fashioned lunch pail. It’s a little early for lunch…maybe breakfast? Why would Eddie Munson be having breakfast in the woods?
He continues his approach cautiously, like she’s a wild animal he might spook and his long curly hair is flying around his head in the breeze. Around six feet from her, Eddie stops and Chrissy watches the surprise, the confusion, sweep across his very expressive face.
“Well, hola Chrissy Cunningham, Oh Queen of Hawkins High.” Eddie throws himself into a sweeping, melodramatic bow. “How may I serve your Royal Cheerness?”
This ridiculous greeting causes her lips to twitch up into a smile.
“Hello Eddie Munson,” she replies evenly. The grin he has surprised out of her feels unnatural on her face, like waking up a dead limb.
“The Cheer Queen knows my name?” Eddie claps his free hand to his chest, shaking his long hair back and smiling with genuine, unconscious charm. “I am honored!”
He stalks around the table, his long legs carrying his rangy body with an innate sort of grace before he flings himself onto the bench, propping his lunch box on the table top. Chrissy adjusts her own position, swinging around until her feet are resting on the same bench Eddie now occupies.
“Of course I know your name,” Chrissy admonishes, still unable to dismiss the small smile he has magically conjured for her on what is perhaps, the worst birthday ever.
“Ah, yes a good queen will undoubtedly be familiar with her subjects!”
Avoiding her eyes, he tucks his hair back behind his ears.
Chrissy wishes he’d stop calling her ‘Queen’ and ‘Highness’. It makes her feel silly and somewhat…guilty. She just happens to be a good cheerleader, and while there’s skill in that, she really doesn’t lord her status over everyone the way some of the people in her clique do.
“We’ve…uh…actually met before you know,” Eddie continues.
“We have? I’m sorry I — ”
“No, no!” Eddie flaps a large hand at her in dismissal and Chrissy basks for a moment in his vibrancy, his theatricality. He’s so different from anyone Chrissy knows. “I looked a bit different back then, my hair was buzzed and I didn’t have these sick tatties.”
He pulls down the neck of his tee, which Chrissy sees has some kind of devil on it, to reveal what looks like spider’s legs inked onto his chest.
Chrissy leans forward to get a better look, which puts her much closer to Eddie’s face. The breeze of his exhale puffs gently against her cheek as she peers further down the open neck of his shirt. She can just make out something below the spider and has the sudden, insane urge to pull his shirt wider, see how far down they go. What other stories are hidden on his torso?
The moment drags on, and when she finally pulls away Eddie looks slightly stunned, his warm brown eyes blinking up at her. Chrissy feels her cheeks heat in a blush. She didn’t really consider how inappropriate she was being. Before she has a chance to apologize however, Eddie has thrown himself backwards from the bench, rolling into a pile of leaves which catch in his hair. She is startled into laughter as he brushes at himself, posturing.
“Any in my hair?” he asks.
Chrissy nods, smiling widely.
Eddie is brushing himself down, attention fully absorbed in clearing the leaves which cling stubbornly to his jeans which gives Chrissy the courage to blurt, “You’re not how I thought you would be, you know?”
Eddie’s eyes snap up, sparkling with mirth. “And how did you think I’d be?”
Chrissy hesitates a little — she doesn’t want to offend him, but she also doesn’t want to lie.
“Well…mean and scary I guess.”
“Well I kinda thought you’d be mean and scary.”
“ Me?” Chrissy squeaks.
His resultant smile is slow and sensuous in a way she’s sure he didn’t intend as he confirms, “ You.”
There’s a warmth in her chest, glowing and bright. All of a sudden it comes to her — where she’s seen Eddie before, and she practically shrieks.
“Corroded Coffin!”
Eddie lets out an enthusiastic whoop of delight. “You do remember!”
“With a name like that, how could I forget?” Chrissy laughs.
Eddie’s gaze is fond, soft. “I dunno Chrissy, you’re a freak,” he replies.
He makes it sound like an endearment, like she’s part of a secret club of misfits that she never knew she belonged to. The warmth, where it smoldered in her chest, roars into glorious flames and chases away her numbing loneliness. Just for a little while she can forget her mother’s sneering face, and her father’s indifference and Jason shouting that she’s a bitch, because right now — Eddie sees her.
He lopes back to the bench, swinging himself onto it and reaching for his lunch pail.
“Right,” he says, throwing back the lid with a flourish. “Well, the good news is that freaks get a special discount, Chrissy Cunningham.”
Chrissy frowns, confused at this abrupt change of topic.
“Twenty-five percent off! I’ll do half an ounce for fifteen bucks — you’re robbing me blind here.”
Eddie gently shakes a bag of what, even Chrissy, is not naive enough to mistake for anything other than weed and she slowly puts the pieces together.
The drug dealing picnic bench.
Eddie, who is known on occasion to supply party favors.
She could kick herself. She’s not a potential kindred spirit. She’s a customer .
Oh.
The disappointment makes her stomach drop like she's just crested the peak of a rollercoaster.
Chrissy isn’t entirely sure of the expression on her face, but Eddie’s own has shuttered. His wide, appealing smile is gone and he begins to put the bag away.
“Look, we don’t need to do this, okay? I can leave…”
“No!” Chrissy almost yells, startling Eddie so that he raises his eyebrows. “No, I want you to stay.”
The indifference slowly melts from his face and a small, pleased smile forms. “Okay, then I’ll stay. So what’s the deal then, Princess Cunningham?”
Chrissy rolls her eyes at this new nickname and her mind starts to work so hard she is surprised smoke doesn’t come from her ears. It feels like waking up, the realization that she has been a passenger in her own life. Always trying to please, to impress, to make things easy and be good, and say no — or yes — but never what she wants. What if she, starting now, just did what she wanted to do? She’s eighteen today. Nobody can stop her. She can go live with her Dad. She can be… happy.
“Don’t laugh okay…don’t you know, be mean.” Chrissy knows Eddie can be mean. She’s seen it when the jock guys go after his little crew of misfits.
“I would never be mean to you, Chrissy Cunningham.” Eddie crosses his heart in an exaggerated oath, but his face is so sincere that she feels butterflies in her stomach.
“I’ve um…I’ve never done drugs before,” she whispers.
"Chrissy, why are you whispering?” Eddie whispers back.
This causes her to snort out a laugh and she covers her mouth, horrified. Eddie looks as though he’s been presented with a box of puppies.
“Okay, so you want some joints then? Pre-rolled and you can just…” He makes a gesture like lighting a cigarette, but Chrissy shakes her head.
“I don’t know what to uh… do with them.”
She feels like the squarest dork alive, sitting here with Eddie Munson in her cheer uniform, confessing to not knowing how to smoke a joint.
He looks at her, surprised and thoughtful. “You couldn’t just get one of the cheer girls or your dick of a boyfriend to help? I mean, sorry for the language or whatever, but he really is — ”
“A dick?” Chrissy smiles sadly. “Yeah, I guess he can be.”
Silence falls for a beat before Eddie speaks again, low and hesitant. “I guess I could like, show you?”
“Here? Now?” Chrissy gasps, horrified at the idea of having to act straight through the rest of the school day and then tackling tonight’s championship game.
Eddie’s laugh is a full throated hoot. He hunches over and rests his head against the wood of the picnic bench, snickering.
“Jesus! Much as I would love to witness the Cheer Queen wandering baked through the halls of Hawkins High, no Chrissy…regrettably not now.”
Chrissy’s cheeks are so hot she can practically feel them glowing. “Oh, right. Yes.”
“We could…um…we could go to my place? Later? I have a…thing tonight but I can meet you after the game?” He’s watching her from the corner of his eye, one hand buried in the hair at the back of his neck where a faint tint of pink is spreading.
“Sure,” Chrissy replies with a shrug. It’s not like they can go to her place, and she’d rather be somewhere that’s safe for her first time. Oddly enough, Eddie makes her feel safe.
She wants this, so she’s saying yes.
Eddie looks dumbfounded for a brief moment, before he shakes his head like he’s trying to clear an etch-a-sketch.
“This day is really fucking weird,” he mutters, just low enough so he probably thinks she didn’t hear.
Chrissy turns her face to hide a smile. “It’s my birthday today,” she offers shyly.
“Well, happy birthday Chrissy Cunningham! You sure you want to spend your special day getting high with the town freak?”
He’s wearing a small self-deprecating smile, and Chrissy almost blurts out that there’s no place she’d rather be.
Instead she replies, “Us freaks have to stick together.”
Her reward is a blindingly sweet grin that makes the rest of her day bearable.