Chapter Text
Headaches. Chrissy Cunningham was looking for a cure for headaches. Tylenol hadn’t worked, drinking water hadn’t worked, getting more sleep may have worked if she was able to keep the nightmares off for more than a few hours at a time—something the blonde knew wasn’t possible. So when a teammate pulled her aside after a whole practice listening to Chrissy complaining to the other cheerleaders about the consistent, dull pang right in the center of her forehead, she surprised even herself by agreeing to go meet Eddie “The Freak” Munson out in the woods behind the school. Becca certainly hadn’t ever struck her as one of those kids who did drugs, but she insisted that a couple strong tokes would not only knock out the headaches, but fix the sleeping problems too.
Chrissy wasn’t sure what she was supposed to make of Eddie Munson. All she knew about him was that he sat a few rows behind her in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class and was frequently removed for being disruptive. They hadn’t ever talked before—Jason definitely wouldn’t approve. But as she sat opposite him, nervous and embarrassed at the picnic table in the clearing behind the parking lot, something bloomed inside of her.
She had, in fact, talked to him before. Sixth grade and that silly talent show felt an eternity away from her at this point, but that didn’t erase the memory of the little tha-thump in her chest when she watched a boy, an eighth grader with close-cropped hair and wild eyes, shredding at his bass on stage, much to the chagrin of a hundred Hawkins parents and family members. How free he had looked goofing off and playing his music, making crude gestures and mouthing along to the words to a song she never heard before or again.
He was much the same now, rolling around in the leaves and cracking jokes. She ignored the spark in the base of her stomach when he pulled down his shirt to expose the tattoo on his collarbone, laughing as hard as she had in months at and because of him.
As she handed him some neatly folded bills in exchange for a plastic bag of little green and brown nuggets, she paused.
“What’s up?” Eddie asked, arching an eyebrow but looking altogether very sincere, “Change your mind?”
“Um, no not that,” she replied, embarrassment spreading pink through her cheeks, “I just realized I have absolutely no idea what to do with this.”
Chrissy was full of surprises today. Never did she think she’d be sitting in the passenger seat of Eddie Munson’s decaying van, riding to his house after cheer practice. But the next game of the tournament, the one that would decide if Hawkins High went to the championship game on Friday, was tomorrow and there was no way she was attending it with a splitting headache on three and a half hours of sleep a night.
Eddie had thought it was just hilarious that Chrissy asked him to teach her what she was supposed to do with the weed. Literally threw himself down in the leaves under their feet and belly laughed until he was almost purple. Chrissy had kicked a clump of dirt and leaves over his head and made to leave, but he caught her arm and told her to meet him at his van when practice was over.
Eddie’s house was nothing like she imagined, though it wasn’t like she had put much thought into it before that afternoon. Eddie took her baggie of nuggets and had her sit down on the couch. He got her a big cup of water and forced her to eat a granola bar before he’d even pick up his grinder.
“Non-negotiable,” he told her, wagging the bar at her, “no way you’re getting high the first time on an empty stomach, that’s bad news.”
The dark thoughts rumbled like distant thunder in the back of Chrissy’s brain—this wasn’t in her acceptable foods of the day—but she nibbled at the granola bar as Eddie pulled a strange glass contraption from the end table, which doubled as a tiny cabinet.
“Alright,” he started, “this is a bong. I don’t have anything pre-rolled, and this doesn’t take as long, and you can decide how much you want to put in the bowl to keep things nice and easy.”
He may as well have offered her something from the space show her younger brother was obsessed with. Chrissy held the bong delicately, like it would shatter at the lightest touch, even in spite of the blasé manner Eddie held it only moments before. Eddie sang quietly to himself as he deposited some of her nuggets into the grinder and got to work.
“What song is that?” She asked, eager to fill the space.
“Hmm? Oh, uh, it’s something I’m working on for my band. Lyrics are still a little messy, but I like it so far.”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” replied Chrissy. She knew he was in a band, they had talked about it at length at the picnic table, but to actually hear a melody that had come exclusively from his head was enthralling. “I would love to hear it!”
Eddie grinned as he pinched the bud into the bowl of the bong, patting it down with his pinky finger. It looked like he barely put any in, but what did she know?
“Sure. We’ll get you a couple hits and I’ll grab my guitar, maybe you can help me out. Not sure metal is something you’ll be too crazy about though. Alright, hold it like this—no, put your hand here, on the neck—“
Heat flooded through Chrissy’s body as Eddie carefully repositioned her hands. They were so much softer than she expected them to be, and the tips of his left fingers hand calloused grooves on them. She coughed, taking a big gulp of water before returning her hands to where he’d instructed.
“Okay, I’m gonna light it. You’re gonna inhale so the smoke fills the bottom, but not too much or you won’t have enough breath. Then pull this out—or I can do it—okay, I’ll pull it out when it’s got enough smoke, and then breathe in the rest of the way. Hold it if you can, but don’t feel like you have to, m’kay?”
Chrissy gave a tiny nod, and pressed her lips to the top of the bong. Oh my god he probably puts his mouth on this all the—
“Alright go ahead and breathe.”
Inhaling, Chrissy saw over the tip of her nose the base of the clear glass instrument fill with smoke.
“Good, now breathe in again.”
Eddie lifted the little glass stopper, and the smoke swept up from the base and into her lungs. Immediately realizing she couldn’t hold it, she sputtered and coughed out the toke. The bong was gone in an instant, replaced by her glass of water and a gentle pressure rubbing circles on her back.
“That was really good!” Eddie said with a laugh, turning to pack a much larger amount of weed into the bowl.
As the coughing subsided and she took another deep drink, Chrissy tried to assess her surroundings.
“Was it? I don’t—I don’t feel any different.”
“That was about the tiniest toke I’ve ever seen, of course it’s not gonna work right away. I’ll give you one more and then we can put some music on, or watch tv. After about ten minutes we’ll see how you’re feeling.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want some too? I don’t really know what I’m gonna do with all of this…”
Eddie was already lighting the bowl, sucking in a far larger hit than she had taken, and expertly blowing the cloud at the ceiling.
“You make it look so easy!”
“Well, let’s have you try again.”
Chrissy did much better the second and third times. She still didn’t hold anything in, but she avoided coughing up everything she’d just breathed in.
“Whoa, I’m… really thirsty,” she whispered a few minutes after setting the bong down on the table.
Her cup was refilled a moment later.
Eddie flung himself back down on the couch. “That’s how you know it’s working,” he said, packing himself another bowl. “How does it feel?”
“It’s… good.”
It was. Chrissy’s body filled with an airy lightness, as if she were floating to the ceiling. Only when she flexed her toes did she remember she had them, or remember she was on the ground at all. Her smile (she was smiling, wasn’t she?) felt miles wide and each time she blinked, a century passed in quiet contemplation in Eddie’s living room.
“Oh yeah.” He called from the other side of the universe, or was it just the couch? He was so far away, so, soooo far. “You’re gone, princess.”
She suddenly remembered the most important thing in the universe. “I wanna hear your song!”
Eddie disappeared down the hall, and reappeared a second later holding what Chrissy’s mother would describe as “a metal demon.” The guitar had a red finish with glitter and pointed edges, and Eddie looked like a certified badass with it hung around his neck.
“So this is kind of inspired by a couple different bands—Metallica, Rush, some Led Zeppelin if you squint—and it sounds a lot better with everybody there. And I’m not really much of a singer, but—“
“I’m sure you’re great!”
He smiled, clearly embarrassed, and plugged his guitar into a small amp next to the radio, and pulled off his necklace. She realized the pendant was actually a pick.
The noise that exploded from the amp as Eddie swung his arm down the first time was nothing like Chrissy had ever heard. Her parents didn’t approve of music like this, and mostly had her listen to recordings from church choirs or the top hits on the radio. It fascinated her how his fingers slid up and down the neck of the guitar, changing the sound yet meshing the notes into something powerful. His lips were moving too, she realized, but if he was actually singing it was impossible to hear.
He finished playing, panting hard, and Chrissy broke into applause.
“That was amazing! You play so well.”
He grinned, leaning the guitar in the chair next to the tv as if it were another guest. It definitely looked like the most expensive thing in the entire room. He must really cherish it, she thought.
“Ah, well, I’m okay. But you should really hear the new Metallica tape. They rock. Master of Puppets? Absolutely legendary.”
“Do you have it?”
Eddie scoffed, looking positively scandalized. “Do I have it? Chrissy, this album hasn’t left the tape player in two weeks.”
Moments later, they were listening to the song. Chrissy nodded along, tapping her fingers on her thighs as the music built up to what she had to agree, even with her extremely limited scope of knowledge, was a legendary guitar solo.
“I’ve never listened to music like this before,” she confessed after they had gone through the whole album. “Will you play it again?”
“You like it? Like… actually?”
Chrissy nodded, curled up in the corner of the couch, feeling herself returning to her typical state of mind.
“It’s so expressive. It feels like they’ve really got something to say! And… can I have another hit?”
Eddie practically exploded after that. For hours the pair listened to Eddie’s tapes, comparing which songs they liked and disliked, which albums were better or more unique than others. He played her several other Corroded Coffins songs, and after the third one finally turned the amp volume low enough for her to hear his voice and his lyrics. Sure, some of the sentences didn’t make a ton of sense, and she tried to give him some pointers when she thought it was appropriate, but his voice was perfect for this type of singing. Finally he conceded he would actually pay attention in Mrs. O’Donnell’s upcoming lectures about Shakespeare and his lyricism, but only if she shared her previous notes the next morning before class.
At nine in the evening, she sighed. Eddie looked up from the chair where he was picking away at a few chords of the last song of his he played for her.
“I should probably go home. I told my mom I would be back by 9:30. This was so much fun. Thank you, really.”
Chrissy’s heart absolutely melted at the warm smile he gave her in response.
Eddie agreed to keep the rest of her ounce at his place, and told her he could pick her up after the basketball game tomorrow, but he had to prep for Hellfire Club while they were hanging out. When Chrissy raised an eyebrow, he said he would explain it all the next day, and offered her one final hit before they left.
Back at home, Chrissy was grateful her parents were already in bed.
“Goodnight Christine,” her mother shouted from behind the closed door at the other end of the hall. Her father’s half-asleep grunt approximated a “goodnight” at a much lower volume.
“Goodnight mommy, goodnight daddy!” She replied, slipping into the bathroom.
While she didn’t think her clothes smelled like weed, she left them at the bottom of the shower while she scrubbed the comforting smell of Eddie’s trailer from her skin and hair. She wished her parents home smelled a bit more like that; more lived-in, less magazine cover. Eddie told her he lived alone with his uncle Wayne, and while they did what they could it wasn’t like there were ever many visitors who, quote: “cared about that type of thing.” After a nudge, he promised to take out the trash and bottles and maybe even run their ancient vacuum before she arrived the next day.
Slipping under her cool sheets while still mostly stoned was a level of luxury Chrissy hadn’t expected. Master of Puppets was stuck in her head—Eddie played it at least five more times before the night was through—and she flexed her toes to the beat in her head, almost like counting sheep to help her fall asleep. She tried to picture the little white puffs of wool jumping across a fence, but what she got instead was Eddie Munson.
His reputation at school for getting in loud arguments with jocks at lunch or jumping up on tables and desks purely for dramatic flair, not to mention the whole devil-worshiping rumor, hadn’t prepared her for how gentle he really was. She played over and over how he guided her through each hit, helping her hold the bong or the lighter properly. Even after she was comfortably toasted, he checked in on her, forced her to eat another granola bar, and smiled whenever she said something strange or spaced out for a bit too long. And god, he was so cute. Beneath all the strange expressions and clothes was a winning smile, beautiful eyes, and a heart of gold.
Not like it really mattered. No one would know what she knew—Jason would go apoplectic if he found out they had spent any kind of time together, especially alone.
And yet she found herself surprisingly disinterested in what Jason thought of her friendship with Eddie. Tomorrow she would do it again, she told herself. Tomorrow she would learn a little more about this boy who disappeared into the periphery of her life for years.
For the first time in months, Chrissy looked forward to tomorrow.