Chapter Text
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
- Robert Frost
If you ask Eddie if he’s scared, he’ll tell you no.
You could put a revolver to his head and he won’t admit it… why? Because that’s absurd. Please, him? A dungeon master? A drug dealer? A freaking psycho hunter? Afraid? Hell no. Absolutely not.
But…
It’s a lie all the same.
Eddie shivers not from the bitter cold, but from fear.
Too bad fear won’t get him to the fucking cabin.
He walks on, boots kicking away at the snow around his feet, trying to convince himself he’s not losing his mind in the middle of nowhere. And he tries hard . He ignores any weird sounds, doesn’t look out of the corner of his eye, ever, and he dismisses the thought that he’s being watched or followed along the treeline. He repeats the one thing he’s heard for weeks now.
They caught that maniac Henry Creel.
The woods are safe now.
It’s what the headlines say, it’s what the teachers whisper about in the halls, it’s what the slow ass clerks at Melvald’s mention when they bag his items, as if they're getting paid to talk about a goddamn serial killer. There’s no escaping the giggly gossip of preppy girls when they talk about going to the woods, and if you spare even one miserable second to listen to the jocks brag about their next lay, you’re sure to catch someone acting way too excited about fucking in the trees again. Eddie always hears them, far too fucking much, enough that it must be all those idiots talk about.
“Ding dong, the wicked wizard’s dead! '' they all say. “The curse is lifted!”
Take the family out to Lover’s Lake this holiday weekend!
Eddie could scream.
But he trudges through the moonlit path, under dim lamplights, and stays quiet. Most of what people say about that sicko is made up bullshit. No use getting upset.
Sometimes, however, the rumors surprise him. It turns out some people aren’t that far off from the truth.
Anyway, if Eddie can make it back to his cabin without some new serial-killer-wannabe skinning him alive, he might just buy into what they’re selling. In the meantime, he’ll bury his hands deep in his jacket so they don’t freeze off, and complain to the fucking trees from under his scarf. The ax he has to grind isn’t with them, at least.
No, it’s with motherfucking Jeff, who left him out to dry when he needed him most. He remembers it like it was yesterday, because it fucking was, goddammit, just thinking about it—
Eddie grips the rim of the large icebox they have set up in Jeff’s garage, trying not to freak the fuck out as he glares at the guy.
“No.”
“...Yes.”
“No.” Eddie says slowly. “You’re fucking shitting me.”
Jeff crosses his arms and backs up to lean on his dad’s Impala, eyeing Eddie flatly.
“I’m not,” he says. “Would it help to say I wish I was?”
“No!”
The coolers' lid slams closed with Eddie’s careless shove, and he plops down, right on top of it. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s gonna do tomorrow. Half the trip was built on Jeff just being there and now…
“Damn it… New York?” he whines.
“New York.”
“Like… like New York, New York?”
“I mean, it's more like Queens but— “
“That’s still — whatever, it doesn’t make a fucking difference. Shit. Fucking New York City, Jeff?”
“”Look, I can go back and forth on this all day dude, and that won’t make a fucking difference. This shit’s been in motion since last night.”
“But why now?” Eddie groans. “The lodge trip is tomorrow! We brought this,” he knocks on the cooler below him, “ fuckton of food, I got all our shit packed for the buses — we’ve already put money down on the goddamn cabin— “
“And I’ll get you your money back—“
“It’s not about the fucking money, man!”
“I know!” Jeff shouts, pounding a fist on the car door. “I know, okay?! My hands are tied! What - what do you want me to do, Ed? It’s not my fault! We didn’t think Nana Jackson would last this long! I can’t just tell my parents ‘Can you cancel the tickets? I don’t wanna celebrate our potentially last Thanksgiving with grandma because I rented a cabin last month for some school trip’. Do you hear how stupid that sounds? Do you?“
“... you can always travel next week.” Eddie mumbles.
Eddie knows it's the wrong thing to say the minute he says it, but Jeff’s already got his hands on his head like he’s having a crisis, eyes wide and mouth agape at Eddie’s suggestion.
“The week of Thanksgiving?! Oh my god. Wow. Oh my god, you better quit playin’ Munson.”
“I didn’t mean, well… they have trains - “
“Tra - ? Nahhh man, nah. You a dumbass.”
“Hey — it’s an idea! And it’s not like — listen, it can fucking work, I’m not an idiot —“
“That’s debatable—”
“Fuck off, I’m trying to salvage this shit, alright?” Eddie snaps. He kicks the stupid cooler and threads both hands through his hair, chancing a hopeful glance at his friend. “You think… maybe you could still swing by the rager? Call a taxi to take you to the airpo— “
“Eddie, really? Uh-uh dude - that’s it. You’re on some bullshit. Get the hell out of my garage.”
Now Eddie’s stuck here in the woods, all alone, ready to get his ass shanked and probably mugged with all the cash lining his pockets. As expected, the jocks and the party freaks at Jason’s rager swiped most of his prepared stash the minute he walked in, and the stragglers had him clean out within the first hour of being there.
There wasn’t much point in staying at Carver’s mansion-esque lodge if he didn’t have anything to offer, and people’s offended looks at being told he’s sold out made sticking around even less appealing than it already was.
He should be happy that the drugs were snapped up so fast and he made a killing, but the reality is, if Jeff hadn’t bailed last minute, Eddie would’ve raked in a lot more. They’ve got their sales tactic down to a science and for good reason. There’s a lot to be said about how exactly Eddie gets his clients and truth be told, the majority come sauntering up to his picnic table after sampling some pre-rolled heaven or popping a pill that turns a shitty party into the time of their lives, if only for a moment.
Tonight there was no ‘pre-rolled’ table. Eddie’s hands are fast at a lot of things, but they’re definitely not as quick as Jeff’s when he rolls the perfect J in less than a minute. It’s a whole thing now too, and Eddie sure as hell takes advantage. He gets to talk out of his ass to get people to buy, all while they gawk at Jeff’s close up magic show that always has them coughing up $5. Their whole schtick keeps the party going, and it also helps that every time, without fail, the douchebag Tigers lose their shit over how badass it is.
Even the evil King himself was asking about Jeff tonight, face screwed up in a disgusted frown, ticked off that he wasn’t gonna get his entertainment for the night. The fucking prick. He couldn’t have been more pissed than Eddie that his friend wasn’t there, but telling Jason Carver he could shove his insipid rich-boy opinions where the sun don’t shine, at one of the biggest parties of the year, simply wasn’t an option - not when Eddie had bags of herb, X and other pleasures to get off his hands. So he huffed off a ‘sorry man, he’s out of town' under his breath and grabbed his cash from Carver’s girlfriend, hell bent on getting out of that ridiculous mansion.
It’s just his luck that the strangest thing ever happened right then and there, just as he was taking the wad of bills from Chrissy’s hands. Because of course it did.
Time stopped.
He swears he felt every ridge of her fingers when their hands touched. He swears it burned.
And he knows that their eyes lingered for way too long.
Too long for it to be safe.
Too long to not remember.
Eddie didn’t allow his mind to go too far back in time, but he recalled the conversation he had with Gareth last week when the guy was tattooing an angry bat over another one of his scars.
“You weren’t at the Halloween party Heather Holloway threw, right?”
“Nah, she only wanted pre-rolls delivered before the whole thing started— she said Hargrove would bring everything else.”
“Pfft. It all comes from the same place.”
“I tried to tell her, man. No dice.”
“Guess she thinks it’s cleaner that way. Anyway, Sheryl Peterson told me some interesting news.”
“Hmm, Sheryl Peterson of the Twisted Tigers dance team? Interesting news, indeed.”
“That’s still a developing story - doesn’t count. This shit’s gonna blow your mind, dude.”
“I’m listening…”
“Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham are on the outs. Have been for a while. They’ll be over any day now.”
“...says who?”
“Everyone.”
Jason’s dragging Chrissy to the other end of the house the minute the money’s in Eddie’s hand, but his gaze doesn’t leave hers. It’s dangerous territory they’re in, eyes locked in a standstill, and he can’t help but think — can’t help but remember when they—
Her eyes tear away from his. Eddie cuts the memory before it plays.
The God-honest truth?
Eddie lingered at that over crowded party for her. To see her super-glued to Jason’s side. To catch her nibbling on two chicken wings and dry carrot sticks. For just a glimpse of her wrapped in her big maroon sweater with little blue diamonds on it, looking as alone as one could be surrounded by a throng of people. Poor thing was miserable out of her mind. You can’t fault Eddie for wanting to give her a little distraction, and he wasn’t asking for much. All he wanted was one more look. One more accidental glance, one more, and maybe he could pull her in again. Just one more, damnit.
He phoned it in when he saw her walking upstairs with Carver close behind.
Maybe if Jeff were here she would’ve stuck around longer. Hell, he has no way of knowing that, but he does know that she always liked his friend’s parlor tricks.
But Jeff isn’t here. There’s no point in mulling over what could’ve been. So Eddie left. There were still some loose ends to tie up anyway.
He delivered pre-requested orders to some other student cabins, distributing the goods with another round of 'sorry bro, no leftovers from the party this time.', and then he hit up a few fancier cabins to take special orders to faculty members. Finally, with an exasperated ‘yeah Ms. K, I’ll be fine walking back. It’s not that far.’ he got the hell out of dodge.
Chrissy Cunningham flips around in his brain in perfect spirals against his will. He sees her over and over again, with those big, desperate eyes of hers, trapped like a bluebird in a gilded cage. Like someone biding their time, waiting - yearning, to run. That caged look haunts him. It follows him through the eerie dark woods, over the jagged tree branches, and past the black frozen lake; to another group of student cabins, much cheaper than the first.
She follows him all the way home.
Literally.
It’s a good thing Eddie took the school buses to get to Lover’s Lakeside Lodge & Resort.
He had the foresight to drive up there a couple days before to drop off all the drugs he was planning to sell over the weekend, and that trip wasn’t easy on the van. He figures he could’ve gotten her up the mountain again if he had to, but when he gets his cabin's small porch he’s glad he didn’t.
Snow.
Feathery snowflakes have formed a thick layer on the old pine wood porch, and when Eddie steps inside he has to shake the rest of the white stuff off his boots before he mucks up the front entrance. Being so cheap, the cabin doesn’t have a built-in heating and cooling system so once shut in, Eddie plugs in the heater he brought along and throws some of the stock firewood in the fireplace to light it up.
He didn’t realize how fucking cold this place could get until he left Carver’s McMansion and was out in the elements. The cabin’s nice, but if you asked him, it’s not the greatest idea to host the fall Junior/Senior trip up in the mountains where any moron could catch hypothermia if they decided to wear shorts and flip flops in the snow, because some of those dipshits at Jason’s rager were.
But Eddie’s the village idiot, right? What does he know?
Anyway, despite this being his third run of senior year, he’s never been up here —not just because it was always too expensive. No, turns out when there’s a killer on the loose, schools don’t wanna catch a case for disappeared kids, so the whole trip (read, all field trips) was put on hiatus since 1983. It only took Barabra Holland being found half dead near Sattler Quarry, and Will Byers getting kidnapped/found for them to keep all the teens behind closed doors for over two years, and boy did it suck ass. Everyone hated it, and Eddie practically blames the lack of sunshine for all his D’s and F’s.
It’s no wonder why they’re letting Jason Carver throw a fucking rave at his daddy’s lodge, and why Ms. Kelly came up to Eddie’s picnic table two weeks ago with a gentle smile and $200, asking for the works for she and her fellow chaperones. The only thing surprising about that whole exchange was that it was Kelly and not a soulless sucker like Mrs. O’Donnell, but it’s not Eddie’s job to judge the wicked.
Business is business.
As soon as he gets the fire going Eddie shucks off his thick jacket and denim vest, trades it for old black W.A.S.P sweater and sleep pants, and then settles into the gingham couch near the hearth with a massive blanket to drown himself in. For the first time in a while, the couch fits his frame - he can actually stretch out his aching feet between the folds of his blanket and goddamn, it’s like a slice of heaven on earth — he can feel the stress easing out of his shoulders already.
The cherry on top of his bliss is that he has the dog-eared pages of The Silmarillion between his thumbs and he’s ready to burn the midnight oil on “Of Beren and Luthien” for the 8th time. He’s been waiting for this shit. It’s gonna be kickass time and Eddie is ready.
Not ready enough, it seems.
An insistent knock at the door puts the fear of a God he’s never believed in, deep in his bones, and sends him flying off the couch.
He curses as his elbow hits the floor and prickly tingles run up his arm, but pain is irrelevant when he’s trying to find something heavy enough to take a person out. The knock grows a little more frantic and a strain “hello?'' that Eddie doesn’t hear sounds from behind the wooden door - luckily Eddie’s found that the unplugged lamp on the other side of the living room should be good enough at leaving someone immobile if he gives it a good swing.
Eddie doesn’t even answer the door. Why? Because he’s a certified expert at this shit by now, thanks - ain’t no way he’s gonna get clobbered by some murderer on a highschool trip, fuck that cliche. Eddie Munson’s gonna catch this fucker unaware or die trying.
He yanks open the door and swings to —
The fucker’s Chrissy Cunningham. The fucker’s Chrissy Cunningham. THE FUCKER IS CHRISSY —
It’s only by the grace of whatever greek gods blessed fucking cheerleaders with wicked reflexes that Chrissy Cunningham, fuschia pink puffer jacket, white earmuffs — mittens and all — trips over the stairs to land ass first in a pile of snow behind her, shrieking on her way down. By the grace of Dio , Eddie Munson doesn’t put a dent in her head that would’ve had him charged for attempted murder. He can barely register the scene before him because, no, no , this shit isn’t fucking happening. That’s not - no , no, no -
No, his eyes aren’t fucking with him. The whole thing scares Chrissy as much as it did him too, because suddenly, they’re both screaming like banshees at 12 AM.
“Ahhh, fuck! Holy shit! Holy sh-it! Son of a, goddamn it Chrissy why — ! What the fuck — “
“ Oh my god, oh geez, oh my god - Eddie, Eddie, fuck, holy shit-i-it! “ she cries - actually cries. Not just screaming his name in abject terror, but she’s hiccupping —
He starts bounding down the steps to run over and the girl scrambles back like a spider to get away.
“Jesus Christ I’m sorry I - Chrissy - oh my god fuck are you alri—“
“Put the fucking lamp down!” she screeches.
Wait.
Why is he still holding the goddamn lamp?!
He throws it to the side and the thing lands with a sickening thud he tries not to register.
“Oh fuck - sorry I - “
“Were you going to hit me with that?!” she asks, her voice pitched up to the stratosphere.
“Not you! You weren’t supposed to - !” He wants to tear his hair out. That would just make him scream harder, so he stomps his sandaled feet into the sloshy snow and curses. Chrissy’s staring owlishly at him like he’s lost it and maybe , just maybe , he has, but who the fuck cares. Why is this happening? He rubs the bridge of his nose with a pained hum before taking her in again.
“Fuck," he groans. “Chrissy — dear god, woman. What the hell are you doing here?”
Chrissy followed him here.
Well, actually — she didn’t but — okay, inadvertently, she might’ve seen him walking down —
No, that’s not it. She got lost… yeah, that’s it!
… trying to find Barbara Holland’s cabin.
With every word that falls from her stumbling mouth, Eddie gets even more confused.
“Uh, Chrissy?” he interrupts from his side of the couch. ”Barb’s cabin is not in this cluster.”
“Wow, I almost didn’t notice.”
She rolls her eyes and sips on her unsweet green tea.
After the debacle outside, Eddie helped her out of the snow and got her and her duffle bag (that he sure as hell didn’t notice before) into the cabin, because her ass was wet with snowmelt and her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering from the cold. She went to the spare bedroom to change into something warmer while Eddie paced up and down the living room rug, replaying their interaction until his head spun.
He also brought the lamp back in and boiled some water for tea. The first thing was Chrissy’s idea, ‘ the lamp could be an antique, Eddie!’ and the second was his. If anything’s an antique, it's that ancient kettle he had to use. It’s 1985 and that thing looks like it's from 1935.
Can’t say it didn’t get the job done though.
Chrissy’s got on a thick set of sky blue pajamas trimmed with pink on the edges, half his blanket bunched up to her chest, and a little cup of tea to warm her bones. The sight is quite adorable, even if she’s rolling her eyes at the truth — more cute points for her for that heartwarming gesture.
“Eddie, I know Barb’s cabin isn’t around here.” she says. “I got lost — I passed her cluster, number 3, by the lake. Yeah, I was following you at first up until you passed the landmark, but then I went too far and got to cluster 4. There’s a split path when you’re coming down from the first couple of clusters— “
“The ones near the mess hall?” he guesses.
“Mmmhmm!” She smiles encouragingly. “There wasn’t a lot of light on the left trail, and I figured it would’ve been illuminated more if students had to take it so…”
Eddie nods and sips his super sweet tea. “The lighting at this resort is a real problem.”
“Right? I tried to tell Jason before but he doesn’t care that much. He says it’s a problem for his dad. “ her eyes drift down to her cup at the last comment and stay there as she speaks. “Anyway, that was probably the path I was supposed to take but the darkness was just too… creepy . Not that the other one was any better, ugh, there were weeds everywhere. I kept walking and once I’d reached cluster 4, I was panicking a little. Then I remembered you.”
Her gaze snaps back to his face, and his heart jumps a little. It’s from surprise. That’s it.
“There were hardly any lights on in any of the cabins in the 4th cluster, so I walked on because I rationalized that maybe you’d have your lights on in yours and you could lead me to Barb’s. I also thought cluster 5 wasn’t that far but… uh, that — “
“ —was a mistake, Chrissy.” he finishes. She frowns as if to say ‘I already knew that' and soldiers on.
“Okay, sure, but then I saw the lights on in your cabin when I finally got here — “
“What, so you were just gonna knock on some random door?”
“Your door!” she argues.
“Chrissy that’s — that’s incredibly dangerous,” Eddie chides. ”I could’ve been anyone. I came at you with a 30 lbs lamp for fuck’s sake! I mean, that’s nothing for the hicks out in these woods. I could’ve had a shotgun pointed at your head and blasted — ”
“Ugh, geez, I don’t need a visual, Eddie,” she hisses. “I saw you from the freaking window, I knew it was you, how was I supposed to know you were going to try and murder me with a lampstand!”
“That wasn’t for you! Anyway, my warning still stands whether you saw me or not, Chrissy. Jesus, you’ve got to be more careful. There was a fucking psycho on the loose this summer— “
“And he’s dead, isn’t he?”
Eddie doesn’t get to respond right away. Chrissy’s already thrown off the blanket and is marching to the kitchen to throw her mug in the sink’s shallow basin. He’s following her before he can think and she must know it; she’s already leaning over the counter in some quiet resignation when he approaches.
“You killed him, didn’t you?”
Her words ring in his ear.
Chrissy’s hair falls like a curtain around her face as she looks down and maybe that’s a good thing, because suddenly he can’t look at her. The memory’s already assaulting his brain like it's hot off the presses.
She’s got it all wrong. Eddie didn’t kill the guy. He didn’t. He saw that piece of shit keel over and die but, no, no it wasn’t him who did it, it was—
“I-I didn’t kill him.” he stutters, “I’m not the one who — who… it was Nancy who gave the gun to Jane because she—”
“Does it make a difference?” Chrissy asks quietly, her voice hollow. “The man’s dead , Eddie, and part of that was because of you. Part of the reason I’m even a- alive…”
“ Hey," Eddie says. He leans down, trying to see through that curtain of strawberry waves. “So much of that was you , Chrissy. Fuck anyone who says otherwise. You were so brave and I — listen, I just did what anyone would’ve done — ”
“No. Don’t… don’t downplay it.”
Her hair’s whipped out of her face when she turns to him, eyes razor sharp. “That was you. Only you. Not anyone would’ve done it.”
There’s a response somewhere in his brain, surely, but nothing comes out. It’s not like there’s a lot of options when you see someone bound and gagged at your old supplier's place. Helping Chrissy was the obvious thing — common sense.
So what could he say to that?
Chrissy doesn’t wait around for him to answer, blowing out a labored sigh and dropping her shoulders to go back to the couch. It’s only when he watches her tangle herself up in his blanket that his voice starts working again — unfortunately, it's spewing nonsense.
“You still want me to take you to Barb’s?” is the stupidest shit he’s asked all day.
She glowers at him.
“Eddie, it’s twenty-three degrees outside, do you really think—“
“Fuck, um — just forget it, I wasn’t — “
“ — I’m in pajamas — “
“I get the picture, Cunningham. I don’t need the sass on the side.” He throws himself on his end of the couch and grabs some of his blanket to pull over his toes.
“Guess you can stay here.” he mumbles.
And holy hell, he’ll let her call him an idiot in every language out there with that cheeky grin she flashes him.
“Good!” she chirps, and the little minx burrows herself into the couch some more.
They talk until the clock strikes 2:30 AM. It’s conversation for conversation’s sake, a bunch of easy shit-talking but Eddie enjoys it, listening to Chrissy, hearing her voice go all warm and soft with sleep. It’s even cuter when she uses that sweet tone of hers to call Sarah Palmer a straight up snake- skinned bitch.
“Careful Miss Cunningham,” Eddie snickers. “Them’s fighting words.”
“Oh please,” she yawns. “I almost kicked that good-for-nothing weasel in the teeth the other day while doing a backflip, and you know what? Sometimes, I wish I didn’t miss.”
“Oh, do you now?” he teases. “So mean, Chrissy.”
“I — mean? Me?” she gasps, eyes wide. “I am not mean! Sarah gets under everyone’s skin — not just mine! She lies all the time. There’s no way you haven’t seen what she does!”
Eddie tilts his head, recalling a couple comments — “Rachel Kingston is a filthy skank ”, “ Darren Wilson is illiterate”, “Mark Thomas does meth” and, more recently, “Heather Holloway sucks dick behind the bleachers before homeroom” . In his opinion all of that was not only stupid and untrue, but also painfully uncreative for someone who was supposed to be a cutthroat bitch.
(although the last one about Holloway isn’t a complete lie. It was risky though - anyone talking smack about Heather Holloway is gonna get their ass kicked by Hargrove. Honestly, Sarah Palmer was pretty ballsy for that one).
“I have witnessed some slander a time or two,” Eddie shrugs. “More than enough to warrant our Queen’s justice.”
“Exactly!” Chrissy frowns into her crossed arms, and Eddie wishes he had a camera to make her delightful scowl last longer. “Everyone wants her off the cheer team and you know what? I don’t care if she’s one of our best flyers - the minute winter break comes she’s gone, even if I have to drag her out of the stupid gym!”
“Damn,” Eddie whistles. He doesn’t even bother to stop his excited grin from matching Chrissy’s. “Sounds like the Queen of Hawkins High likes a little violence. You learn something new every day.”
“Oh it wasn’t just me,” she giggles. “The girls on the squad were pretty insistent too and… you know Billy Hargrove, right?”
There it is.
“He’s one of my top clients,” Eddie says, “I couldn’t miss him if I tried.”
“Well,” she leans to and whisper, like it's not just the two of them. “Billy pulled me aside during lunch the other day and told me he wanted to talk. He asked a couple questions about the squad, then about Sarah, and Eddie, I swear he told me ‘It’d be real swell if you got that dick-hopping Jezebel off your team, Cunningham. Just an idea.' and then he just walked away!”
It’s the most Billy thing Eddie’s heard the man do, and he’s already snorting along with Chrissy befores she finishes the story.
“That cocky son of a bitch,” Eddie muses, “he’s done a lot of fucked up shit in the last two years, but you can’t say he ain’t loyal.”
If it were possible, Chrissy’s jaw drops even more when she puts the pieces together. “Heather Holloway?!”
“The very same, Cunningham.”
“Holy shit!”
Chrissy falls back into the arm of the couch, a hand buried in her hair. Eddie will say it - he’s getting more of a kick out of Chrissy’s stunned disbelief over Billy’s hardly subtle relationship with Heather than he would reading Tolkien right now.
“What, Carver never told you?” he asks.
“No,” she scoffs bitterly. “God, Jason never tells me anything. He’s always holding on to all these weird secrets about people, and I think he…” she goes quiet, her hands start playing with the black fur of his blanket, “I think he likes to throw that stuff in my face. I don’t know. It feels that way sometimes… like he gets off on knowing more than I do. ”
Sounds just like something a dickwad like Carver would do, Eddie thinks but sure as hell doesn’t say.
They lapse into a silence that’s more tense than he would like. Chrissy keeps messing with a section of the blanket. She keeps her knees drawn up. Closed off. Something’s begging for it though, to break the tension, so Eddie does the inevitable. He clears his throat and asks the question that’s been on his mind since she got here.
“Chrissy, why aren’t you with Jason right now?”
He wishes he didn’t have to ask with the way she reacts. Her eyes lock on his but not in a good way, not like earlier. She looks at him like she’s ready to bolt right out into the snow outside. Like he’s taken an ax to this little bubble they’re in and wants to pop the illusion. But you see, Eddie has to ask. He’s not here to take advantage of whatever luck that’s been bestowed on him tonight without a single thought for Chrissy and whatever brought her to his doorstep.
It’s too bad he fails to get an honest answer.
Chrissy lifts her eyes first. Then she picks up the corners of her mouth into a strained, familiar smile. A patronizing grin that Eddie’s seen times without number. One that sickens him a bit. Its a signature beam that placates the masses, that gets a basketball game’s crowd roaring, and most importantly, gets people off her back. That while charming, is a loud and clear fuck off, please that only Chrissy’s perfect smile can give.
He takes the hint before she even says anything.
“We got into an argument over something… ah, something really stupid, honestly," she lies. “He was plastered and clearly still high. We tried to make up but it didn’t work. He didn’t know what he was do — saying. I don’t think he knew what he was saying. I got mad and… well, I couldn’t stay there. Thought I’d shack up with the girl’s tonight — not the ones from the squad. Barb’s been a real sweetheart lately, especially about the whole uh, the whole Creel thing, so I… I needed that tonight.”
She’s practically curled up into a ball in front of him, tracing a single finger over a brown gingham square.
“I just needed to get away.”
Eddie nods. One single nod that he makes sure she sees, and he thinks.
“Is here okay?” he asks quietly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you anywhere else?”
There is a beat as she looks away and Eddie preps his heart for the hit. Thinks about where he left his boots and snow jacket, about whether that oversized flashlight he brought has enough juice to light their way to Barb’s cabin.
“Here is okay.” he hears her say. When he looks up, that smile’s back on her face. But her eyes are a little softer, her lips more relaxed, and he can tell it’s 100% real.
“Well, cheer queen,” he smiles. “Let’s get you some beauty sleep.”
Chrissy takes Jeff’s abandoned bedroom. Eddie makes sure she takes his extra large blanket with her, and puts the electric heater in her room for the extra warmth.
His efforts don’t work, but not for the reason he thinks.
Eddie thinks he’s hallucinating for a split second when he opens his eyes to see her standing at the doorway in the dark. He sits up on his elbows to get a good look at her. He’s tired, it takes a second for the blur to leave his eyes, but he becomes much more aware when he sees her tremble visibly. She’s shivering. He’s about to ask if she needs more blankets, or if they gotta switch rooms, or if the fires gone out or if —
“I had a nightmare.” she whispers. The confession shocks energy into his bones and he’s sitting up before he can think. Then she’s rambling in front of him.
“I’m — shit, I’m sorry Eddie. I can’t… sleep. I usually sleep with… uh I slept with Jason or, or at home we put up a cot in my brother’s room sometimes. So I can sleep next to him. Just someone, someone’s gotta be there. I’ve gotten better at sleeping alone though so if you can’t — I would totally understand. I can sleep on the couch; maybe you could leave the door open — “
Eddie’s bone-tired. He doesn’t know why the poor thing is still going on. He motions her towards the bed, arms outstretched, and he scoots over so she can take the right side.
“No, no… just c’mere, sweetheart.”
He sees her open her mouth as if trying to find some way to be polite, but she gives up. Maybe she’s just as exhausted. He hopes she is. Eddie’s going to pass out cold any second.
When she climbs in the bed she faces him, and he smells whatever lavender scented stuff she must use on her hair. It smells nice. Really nice.
Beautiful even.