Howdy

“What brings you out here?” you questioned with a wide smile. 

She patted a guy--not much older than you but with an obvious lapse in cognitive ability given the way his eyes were set low on his face--and grinned. “My grandson here loves to see Timmy the Tiger, don’t you, Reg?” 

Reggie made a honking noise and nodded happily, making your smile grow at his joy. 

You gave them a small wave goodbye and wished them a good evening. Nancy was standing by Johnathan and Fred, almost yelling at each other over the cacophony of the band and the excited voices of the cheer squad echoing through the gym. You took the long cord of the camcorder and wrapped it around your pinky finger and sat on the floor with a collection of blank tapes to look, as Nancy put it, necessary to the press team. 

“Perfect,” she winked, before turning to face the court. Johnathan looked just as giddy as a corpse with the camera dangling around his neck, and Fred Benson didn’t even acknowledge you were there, too busy mouth breathing in Nancy’s shadow.

Within a few minutes, Higgins ushered the crowd through the pledge of allegiance, a less than melodic version of the national anthem, and the introduction of the home team members. As Patrick jogged out to the sound of his name, you were furious at the way your heart raced within the confines of your chest. It became even more erratic when he spotted you on the floor and waved, a bashful smile creeping across his lips. 

You did not wave back, working hard to snarl at the traitorous rate of your heart.

He did look good though. The white tank top contrasted nicely against his dark skin. His hair was freshly trimmed and shaped, and the basketball shorts showed off the strong muscles of his legs.

You wanted to slap yourself for noticing any of this. Instead, you turned your attention to the members of the opposing team to see if they had any cute boys on the roster. Meh. Nothing special. 

The game was instantly intense, each team scoring back to back on one another. No one had a lead for long, and you found yourself watching with far more interest than you anticipated. Every once in a while, Fred would yank the cord from your hand as he paced the sideline to catch the action, but you wound up not reaching for it again, too enthralled to care about pretending to belong.

It wasn’t long before the game started turning violent. After half time, an illegal hipcheck to Chance took him out, letting little Lucas Sinclair have a shot at playing the court for the first time all season if what he said this morning was true. The look of pure shock and glee on his face as he ripped his long pants off to reveal his matching team outfit led you to believe that was true. You looked in the stands to see if Mike or Dustin were in attendance, but you only saw the tell-tale bowl cut of Will Byers bouncing around with joy as he screamed for his friend.There was no thin faced mike, or gummy grinning Dustin in the crowd beside him. You hoped Lucas didn’t notice. It would probably break his heart if he did. 

Out of the many baskets scored for Hawkins, both Jason and Patrick were among the top scoring. You hated the shriek of joy you let out at the three pointer Patrick hit to gain a one point lead. It was so loud that even Nancy peeped over her shoulder at you with an amused smirk. You ignored it, but couldn’t ignore the way your eyes followed him for the rest of the game. 

Until Lucas Sinclair also hit a three point jumpshot at the buzzer, sending the entire stadium--even the opposing team’s side--into an uproar of cheering. You were jumping and screaming, cheering on the kid that had escorted you to school every day this week and whom you had once babysat as a younger child. He was being lifted upon the shoulders of his teammates, the object of everyone’s celebratory screeches. 

Hawkins had won the Championship game with the help of freshman Lucas Sinclair’s Hail Mary basket in his debut game.

If Lucas was worried about ever being cool, this surely gave his mind ease. 

Fred was saying something to you--probably berating you for letting the tapes clatter to the floor when you jumped with excitement at the swish of the winning shot, but you didn’t care. For the first time in a long time you were enjoying something amongst your peers.  

When the team let Lucas touch the ground again and the parents started migrating towards the parking lot to leave, you helped roll up the cords and wires, waiting for Nancy to finish with her furious scribbling on her notepad to recount this glorious win in the school newspaper after spring break was over. 

You heard him before you saw him--the telling squeak of his sneakers against the laminate wood of the court. Sweaty, with tinged cheeks and a smile so wide you could see all his teeth, Patrick started making his way towards you. 

You couldn’t figure out why. He was a big deal now. A champion. Surely one of the cheerleaders would be happier to see him than you, but he didn’t seem to care. He walked right up to you, the dimple in his right cheek on full display. 

God, he looked so good. Almost as good as he used to when he was hovering over you and whispering how pretty you were when you were wrapped up in each other. 

No. 

NO. Don’t go there. For heaven’s sake, don’t go there. 

“You came,” he observed with a heaving chest, still working on catching his breath. 

You nodded, giving an awkward but friendly..smile? “I did. Thank you for the ticket.”

“You’re welcome. It really wasn’t a big deal at all, you know?”

Fred turned to you, an expression of pure disgust written all over his lanky features since you abandoned him to do his own work to have awkward small talk with a boy that wasn’t him.

You pointed your thumb at Fred. “I gotta finish up here, so--congratulations on the win,” you offered. “You deserve it.”

Patrick took a couple of steps closer, stopping you from turning towards Fred. “Come to the party with me.”

You frowned. “You know I don’t like parties.” Or you, you resisted adding. 

“I know but--” he sighed and licked his lips. Those gorgeous, plump lips that probably still tasted like you remembered. “We can go there for a couple minutes just to say hi, you know, make an appearance. Then go somewhere where it’s just us.”

The hair on the back of your neck was standing up, warning you that this was a bad idea. It felt wrong. Dangerous. Like you were walking into a trap. 

“I can’t, I have plans with Nancy,” you said.

Patrick scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Really? She used to stand you up without even calling first to go hang out with bowl cut Byers. You complained about it all the time.”

That…was true. Especially during the summer when Starcourt Mall opened. There were many days and nights you were supposed to meet there but more than a handful of times you were left at Orange Julius waiting for someone who never showed. At least you got to ogle at some of the guys from the next town over, but it always ended up hurting. Nancy never said she was with Johnathan, but she never answered where she was either. It was always “something came up. An emergency." Initially you thought how many times could Nana Wheeler fall without being moved into her son’s house, but then you realized she was probably lying to go hang out with her boyfriend. It wasn’t completely out of her character. It’s what she did the night Barb went missing. 

Not to mention at lunch she so blatantly pointed out you wouldn’t have any differing plans. True, you told her before about Patrick trying to coerce you into going to this stupid party and really didn’t have any desire to attend, but to cancel third wheeling at the pizza shop because you had plans with a boy tasted a little smug. Something you didn’t get to be often. 

“If I go, I need to be home by midnight,” you told him. 

A smile curled across his lips. “Alright.”

“I mean it,” you said sternly. “We can’t leave at midnight. I need to be inside the front door of my house.”

Patrick laughed lightly. “Yeah, I got it.”

“I’m serious.”

His smile grew, lighting up his whole face and sending your pulse into hyper speed without your permission. “I promise.”

Finding Nancy in the red room while Patrick changed out of his gear, you tried to remind yourself that this wasn’t going to be a repeat of last year’s spring break. You were better than that. Smarter than that. You could go to this party as friends and not do anything except talk. If he tried to get handsy, you’d poke his eyes and run to the nearest pay phone. 

Yeah. That was a great plan. 

Nancy didn’t seem to think so. 

Her usually round eyes were narrowed with suspicion. “And you’re sure going to a party with him is a good idea?”

You shrugged. “We won’t be alone. I’m sure the cheer squad will be there, too.”

Nancy was not convinced if the purse of her lips and the deep wrinkle of disapproval was anything to go by. So you quickly added, “If you’re so worried then come with me.”

Johnathan scoffed. “I don’t like parties.”

You resisted the urge to remind him you weren’t talking to him at all and eyed Nancy expectantly. “You could come play UNO with me if it gets too boring?”

She gave a small smile and shook her head. “As fun as that sounds, I’m gonna stick with my original plans. But hey—“ she raised her brow and gave you the look. The one that meant she wasn’t able to say what she really wanted in present company. “—call me when you get home, okay?”

Let me know you didn’t do anything stupid. You nodded. “Of course. Have a coke float for me.”

You waited for Patrick by the locker room exit, trying to ignore the queasy sensation in your stomach at how familiar this felt. Déjà vu of what was so exciting and new but turned out to be a big heartbreak and disappointment. But this wasn’t going to be like last year. Just hanging out. Nothing physical or romantic. Hell, you weren’t even really friends. 

When he remerged, smiling widely at little Lucas Sinclair and freshly showered from a well fought victory, the queasiness turned into stupid fluttering again, only made worse when he directed that smile at you. 

“Ready? We’re gonna ride with chance if that’s alright. Jason is gonna take Andy, Lucas, and the girls,” he informed you with a nudge of his elbow to yours. 

It’s not like you could disagree, so you nervously smiled and nodded. 

It felt awkward being at his side again—like an out of place ornament that didn’t match the decor. As he laughed and replayed what he was thinking to Andy, Matthew, and Brittany Snitzer, you walked alongside him to the car with your arms folded over your chest phasing in and out of the conversation. You stopped in your tracks when you heard the cacophonous racket exploding from the doors of the east wing. 

“A NAT 20! DOWN TO THE WIRE!!” Dustin Henderson screamed, jumping as high as his little legs would allow and clacking his heels together. He was followed by Mike Wheeler, Erica Sinclair, and guys that were wearing matching shirts Eddie wore every Friday. They must’ve just gotten done with their game—the one Lucas and Mike had been arguing about all week. 

It was then that you noticed Lucas had stopped to gape at them, too. The grin he’d been wearing so proudly slipping away into a heartbroken frown. His friends missed his game—the first game he got to play in and ended up securing the winning goal—and they didn’t seem to care. You knew all too well what it was like to feel left out, so you tried to offer some words of comfort. 

“Will Byers was at the game,” you told him, both of you watching the Hellfire Club walk towards their vehicles buzzing with excitement. “He screamed the loudest, I think.”

Lucas sniffled, clearing his throat as he did so. “Yeah, I saw him in the crowd. He found me after, too. Means a lot. But I wish they all could’ve seen it. I would’ve done the same for them, you know?”

Patrick called your name, catching your attention. “You guys coming?” 

You looked at the departing Hellfire club one more time, noticing that Eddie wasn’t among them and frowned. If the rest of his friends were positively screeching with glee, where was he? Stretching to the tops of your toes to see behind the mass herd of people walking to their cars to exit the crowded lot, you searched for the messy mop of Eddie Munson, heart sinking further in your chest with each passing second. Sighing in defeat, you slid into the backseat of Chance’s car. 

As soon as the door shut, squishing your thigh painfully as you crammed into Patrick’s side, you regretted your decision to ditch Nancy. The smell of Patrick’s cologne was so familiar, but of a time that was now tainted with bitterness and sorrow. The touch of his legs against yours didn’t ignite a fire of desire and giddiness in your veins, but panic and fear. Your stomach twisted in knots, tighter and tighter as the car picked up speed. The air was getting hot. Each sharp turn made your body press harder into Patrick, making your skin crawl. He didn’t notice that you were starting to sweat. He didn’t even look at you. His attention was on Chance, Matthew, Ross, Chuck, and Hunter who were talking excitedly over each other—bragging about how wasted and high they were gonna get and taking bets on who would puke first. Typical stupid high school boys with nothing to do but try to impress each other. You glanced at the door handle, wondering if you could safely fall out of the car and roll into a ditch at the next stop sign. You really did consider it until Patrick leaned closer to whisper to you, the brush of his lips against your ear startling you. 

“You really had me going earlier. I didn’t think you were gonna show up,” he said softly. 

“Yeah, me either,” you muttered.  

Judging by the bashful smile he was giving you, he completely missed the nausea in your tone. 

“I’m glad you did. Maybe we can try and be friends again, you know?” He didn’t sound sarcastic or seductive. Just genuine and maybe a little shy. The same kind of timid charm that caught your attention the first time. It only made your muscles more rigid. 

He must have felt you tense up, because his face quickly switched to panic. “No—I didn’t mean—not like that. Not that I wouldn’t—I just—I mean—“ he took a deep breath, puffing his cheeks out like a blow fish. It was something you once found cute, and instantly reminded you of the time you were at Lake Jordan one afternoon last year. He held his arms around your waist, keeping your body close to his as he rubbed the tip of his nose against yours in an Eskimo kiss. You were both giggling and smiling like idiots to each other. Then he made that face—what you called his thinking face—sending you into full blown laughter. 

Recalling that day and seeing that same expression on his face now sent a sharp, stinging pain right through your chest. How different things were. How different they could’ve been. How much your feelings had changed—both yours and his. 

He let out a quick sigh. “I just meant I would like things to not be so awkward anymore—for us to at least be friends.”

The hopeful sparkle in his eyes seemed sincere, but you couldn’t stomach what he just said. As if he wasn’t the whole reason for the mess between you! 

“I’m not the one who made things awkward, Patrick,” you reminded him sternly. 

He looked down in shame. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

It was the first time you actually believed he meant it. He only said it but once before. Sort of. But something in the way he frowned and wouldn’t meet your eyes led you to believe that for once, he might have an inkling of guilt over what he’d done. 

If he’d come up with this sort of apology a year ago, maybe you would’ve been able to remedy things. But the truth was he didn’t know just how much he hurt you. He didn’t know how many nights you cried yourself to sleep over his sudden abandonment. How much you questioned yourself over what you could’ve done to prevent getting dumped like that. How much time you spent ruminating over every single second of that relationship to see where and how you went wrong and agonizing over how to fix it. How many times did you forgo meals because you were too upset to eat? How many times did you physically feel your heart shatter every time you saw him in the hall pretending you didn’t exist? He didn’t know what that was like. He couldn’t. 

And so, you couldn’t bring yourself to truly even consider being his friend. You’d have too much resentment. Too much venom to swallow whenever you caught yourself enjoying his company. You could accept his apology. You could even forgive him eventually. But to be friends? No. That didn’t sound feasible. 

But you didn’t tell him that. Not just yet. Not when you were crammed in a car at the mercy of him and his friends. Thankfully when you got out, you didn’t have to address it. As soon as the car pulled into the dirt parking lot of what used to be Benny’s, Patrick lost all interest in talking to you, which came  as a relief. The tense, anxiety ridden state of your nerves decreased a little due to the open air, but when you stepped inside the small restaurant that had been turned into a hell den, you were ramped right back up.

People were already filling the cramped space—perhaps twenty or so of your classmates. The girls in the cheer squad were dancing on some of the tables that remained in tact. The only lights were that of the neon beer signs. The booths had been cut up. destroyed, and turned into makeshift mattress or benches. Blankets, towels, and aprons were strewn about in makeshift pallets all over the floors. It smelled of old vomit, beer, and very strong weed. The walls had been tagged with varying penises, phone numbers, and a particularly interesting image of a cartoon principal Higgins with his thumb in his bare ass. You snorted, wondering if Eddie was the artist of that one. 

It was supposed to be like this. Benny wasn’t supposed to be dead. He was supposed to pass the restaurant on to his kids like his dad did for him. He was supposed to be the one stop shop for burgers, fries, and pies for the next two generations. Seeing the restaurant you used to frequent with your parents and friends torn to shreds was heart breaking. Surreal. Like a scene straight out of purgatory.

Patrick was getting clapped on the back and congratulated when you found a spot to post up against with a beer that had been shoved into your hand by Jason, sloshing all over the place. 

You could try. You really could. You could slam a few beers and get out there. You knew a lot of these people all your life. Most of them you’d been in school for the last decade together. You were once friends with Rosemary Berglund in middle school. Would it be so bad to try and connect with her again? Or even Chrissy Cunningham. Before mom went to work with Dad, you and Chrissy had been in the same children’s program at church. Would she talk to you if you made an attempt all these years later or would you embarrass yourself? 

Gulping down the disgusting contents of the red solo cup in hand and shivering at the bitter cold taste, you decided that yes—you would try. 

After one more nasty cup of beer to try and calm the nerves. 

Fun. This was supposed to be fun. Everyone was doing it. It would be fine. 

With much more courage than you had before, you maneuvered through the clumsy crowd of bodies until you were face to face with Chrissy Cunningham. 

Of course the other cheerleaders were looking at you like you were lost, but Chrissy had always been nice. Instead of wrinkling her nose and curling her lip into a snarl, she quickly masked the initial shock and smiled politely. 

“Oh my god! I can’t believe you’re here!” she said brightly, twirling her blond hair around her finger. 

“Yeah,” you nodded dumbly. You didn’t know what else to say, eyes flickering between the unwelcome glares of the others. To wipe those stupid sneers off their faces, you made it known you were there by invitation just like them.    “Patrick asked me to come.”

Chrissy covered her cheeky smile with her hand. “That’s right! Oh, I’m so glad. Poor Patch, he was so put out when you guys stopped hanging out.”

Unsure as to what you say, you just nodded and tried to keep your face neutral with hopes that the muscle twitching beneath your eye could only  be felt and not seen. Chrissy’s comment seemed to shock the other girls more than your claim of being invited. They immediately started looking around for the honorable mention to see if he was lingering somewhere. In an instant, you found him at Hunter’s side playing beer bong. 

Your eye twitched again. Not drinking my ass. 

Chrissy leaned a little closer but didn’t make an effort to lower her voice. “Are you guys…you know?”

You shrugged, pretending to sit on a secret that was far more interesting than the blatant NO you wanted to say. 

“Well, be gentle with him. He’s a real sweetie,” she advised. “I’m gonna go get Jason’s jacket. I’ll see you around, okay?”

Awkwardly, you waved bye while she and her minions made their way gracefully through the crowd—not having to weasel or elbow their way like everyone else. 

You felt like a fucking loser being dismissed like that, so to not stand there like a lonely idiot, you stuffed your hands in your jacket pocket and meandered towards the side door. 

There were people outside, too. Playing cornhole and horseshoe on the grass. Evan Turney was trying—and failing—to shotgun a beer with some other boys. You watched them with mild interest as most of the beer spilled down their chins and soaked the already wet ground. It didn’t seem like they were swallowing anything with the amount that was pouring from their red faces. Still, it didn’t stop Andy Dixon from raising his empty can victoriously when he finished making a mess before everyone else. 

This…was not fun. You could easily walk to the town square and see if Nancy and the Byers were still eating. That way you could salvage your night and put this whole thing behind you. But what would you do if they weren’t there? Probably call Mom to come and get you so you didn’t have to walk alone in the dark, which somehow made you feel even more like a loser.

Your name being called made your head turn. Someone recognizing you was shocking enough, but when you realized who was trying to get your attention made you blink harder and do a double take. 

Relief crashed over you like a rogue wave. Muscles you hadn’t realized were round so tight it hurt suddenly uncoiled at the sight of him. Never in your life did you think you’d ever be so happy to see Eddie The Freak Munson, yet it took everything in you to not wrap your arms around him and his stupid squeaky leather jacket as he approached you with a look of mild amusement. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he questioned. 

“Being stupid,” you admitted with defeat. “What about you? I thought you hated parties?” 

Eddie patted the pocket of his leather jacket. “Only thing I care about is green. And these idiots? Pay heavily for cheap weed.” He stepped a little closer, studying your face in the dark and mimicked your frown. “Why the face?”

You sighed. “I thought it would be fun but I just wanna get outta here.”

Eddie nodded. “Want a ride home?”

“Can we get something to eat first?” you questioned hopefully. Truth be told you hadn’t eaten since lunch. 

Munson snorted. “Of course. Let me get some more cash real quick. Hang tight.”

You wouldn’t have to be here with a bunch of drunks or stuck looking sad and pathetic while everyone else partied around you like you weren’t even there. You wouldn’t have to walk home, find a ride, or rely on Patrick or Chance who were probably not sober enough to drive by now. Like a knight in shiny…black jeans, Eddie Munson came to save the day. You were so happy you could weep.

So happy, in fact, that you actually smiled when he came sauntering back from Andy Dixon with a wicked grin on his face. “Does the lady want McDonalds again or should we splurge and get some Waffle Hut?”

You walked beside him, glad to see his van parked across the street. “You don’t actually eat there, do you?” you grimaced. “Isn’t it nasty?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and gave you a look. “Haven’t you learned to stop listening to other people and try shit for yourself? Try before you deny. Though I would recommend getting a little toasted before. Smother and covered hash browns when you got the munchies is just…man there’s not even words to describe—“

“Hey, what the hell?!” a voice yelled from behind you. You peeked over your shoulder just in time to see Patrick jogging towards you at the edge of the property. 

Your stomach dropped like a rock in water. You didn’t wait for him to reach you all the way before saying “I’m tired. Eddie is gonna take me home.”

Patrick stopped short just a few steps from you with a snarl present on his lip as he glowered at Eddie before looking at you. “You don’t need to go with him. I’ll take you home.”

“You don’t have a car,” you deadpanned. 

“Chance will drive us later,” he countered. 

That was the absolute last thing you wanted. “Chance has been drinking. I don’t want to go with him. I want to go home now with someone I trust driving.”

Patrick scoffed, giving Eddie a once over, disgust clear on his face. “Trust him? Since when? I already told you to stay away from him! ”

“I’ve had enough of this. I’m leaving. Bye,” you turned on your heel to keep walking towards the van, but a loud thud made you spin around again. Patrick’s nice maroon polo collar was suddenly in Eddie’s tight grasp. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Eddie warned sternly. The look on his face was dark—rigid with a warning—the same face of disdain he used to give you when you were assigned to work together. 

Patrick didn’t seem to care, staring equally unyielding at Eddie with defiance and fury. “Get your hands off me.”

“Fine. I don’t want any trouble,” Eddie agreed, releasing Patrick’s shirt from his clutches. “But don’t take another step further.”

Patrick sneered. “Or what?”

Eddie took a heavy step forward, crowding Patrick’s space and making the four to five inch height difference much more noticeable as he peered down dangerously at his classmate. His chest swelled, making his intimidating size even larger. 

Patrick tried to remain firm, squaring his shoulders and not backing away. “You don’t scare me,” he spat. 

Jess Christ, what the hell was happening?! How was it that you—usually unnoticed and passed over—was suddenly the cause of two guys sizing each other up?! These kinds of things happened to girls like Chrissy and Heather. Hell, even Nancy! While you were afraid Patrick was about to get his face rearranged by the heavy rings on Eddie’s knuckles, an odd rush of excitement ran down your spine. This wasn’t something that happened to girls like you, and yet…how thrilling to be the center of attention for once. Was it sickening to think so? Shame seeped through your pores just as quickly and intense, drowning out the excitement of it all. 

“This is stupid. Let’s just go,” you interrupted. 

They both ignored you. Eddie smirked at his opponent, a light huff of a half chuckle escaping his nose. “Oh I don’t care if you’re scared of me. I’m just wondering…what will your friends think? They’re looking over here, you know?” Eddie nodded towards Andy and Chuck who were staring at the scene a few yards ahead of them, talking out of the side of their mouths. “They’re probably wondering what the hell you’re doing. Begging a chick who clearly doesn’t want to be here to stay here with you. It’s not a good look, buddy.”

“Not as bad as letting The Freak walk away with the chick I came here with,” Patrick retorted quickly. 

Your jaw dropped open in shock and disgust. “Oh, fuck you! Is that what you’re worried about, you shit ass?!”

Patrick finally spared you a glance, saying nothing with his lips, but his eyes said everything. 

You shoved Eddie aside, standing directly in front of your ex boyfriend with fury pumping so fast through your veins you were shaking. “That’s what this has been about the whole time, isn’t it?” you theorized aloud. “The warnings, the flowers, the wanting to be friends again? It’s so your idiot  teawon’t think you lost your toy to Munson?”

Patrick looked at Eddie, an uncharacteristic smirk full of malice spreading across his lips. “I don't care if the freak wants my sloppy seconds.”

It happened faster than a blink. You didn’t even realize you were doing it. It wasn’t a thought that formed in your head that you had time to consider. You don’t even remember grabbing the sleeves of his shirt or yanking him closer to you. You hadn’t even felt your knee make contact with his body. One second, Patrick was standing there looking smug and boisterous, and the next he was dropping to the ground while he clutched his crotch. With his forehead buried in the dirt, he rolled into a ball like a rollie-pollie gasping and trembling as he struggled for breath. 

You were shaking, too. Chest heaving with ragged breaths while the fellow lettermen came rushing to their friends' side. Something—someone—Eddie, put his hands on your shoulders and started steering you towards his van. He was saying something, that much you could tell, but you couldn’t make out the muffled noise over the loud pulsing of blood through your ears. 

Numb, trembling, and breathing heavily, you climbed into the passenger side of the van and fumed as Eddie kicked it into gear. Was any of the stuff Patrick said earlier real? The apology, the olive branch, the hope for friendship—was any of it genuine? Or was it just for show? To keep you hanging on by the thin thread of hope he tried to bait you with? How could he do that? How could he look so soft and authentic if it was just a ploy?

You tried to get your breathing under control, turning the labored panting and sniffling into a regular rhythm the best you could while furiously wiping away the tears fueled by anger that stained your cheeks. You refused to cry over Patrick McKinney again. He’d taken too much and you would not allow any more of yourself to give a flying fig newton about him. Coward. He was a coward for caring more about what other people thought about him.  

Eddie kept the radio off while you got yourself together. He was trying not to be obvious, constantly flickering his eyes between you and the pitch black county road that led to the next town over, but Eddie Munson was about as subtle as a brick to the face. 

“I’m fine,” you said bitterly, wiping your nose on your sleeve. 

“Duh,” he chuckled. “I’m just trying to figure out why you let me think you were a stuck up wimp when you’re actually kind of a badass?”

You scoffed, sinking lower into the upholstered seat. “I am not.”

“Looked pretty badass to me!” he argued, a small smile forming on his lips. “I imagine most girls would’ve just run away crying after hearing something like that.”

“I did run away crying,” you reminded him. 

He shook his head. “Nah, You didn’t run away. I had to help you along a little bit but you didn’t run. You handled that like a true warrior. Just grabbed him like a chump and kneed him in the sac. Honestly, it made my own junk shrivel into my guts cause know that shit hurt.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you remained silent and rested your head against the window. You didn’t think kicking him like that was as impressive as Eddie made it sound. If anything you were certain rumors at school would start circulating at school about how you went psycho on him and attacked him. You slid even further in your seat. Oh god. Your stomach turned thinking about what kind of stories were going to greet you after spring break. 

“I’m not badass,” you muttered. “If anything I’m realizing just how much of a loser I really am.”

“You’re not a loser. Even if you were—“ Eddie shrugged. “Could be worse. You could be twenty in the twelfth grade like me.” 

“The twenty year old twelfth grade loser is my only friend so it is worse,” you pouted. 

Eddie blew a raspberry hard enough to shower the dash with spittle and put his thumb down. “Boooooo!” he yelled loudly, making you jump. “Leave the pity party behind! You just made your ex boyfriend cry and we’re about to get some good food! Lighten up!” He leaned over with raised eyebrows and a manic smile. “Or should we—you know—light up before we get there?”

Apparently it took you too long to answer, because Eddie was already digging a joint out of his cigarette pack and stuck it between his lips. 

“It’ll make you feel better,” he said through the side of his mouth as he lit the end of the spliff. “Always does me.”

You doubted that very much. All the energy you had upon seeing Eddie at the party was replaced with agitation and the desire to just go home and sulk. Munson must’ve seen the distrust in your face and once against advised you to stop being a Debbie downer and get over yourself. 

“Yeah, it fuckin sucks he was a prick, but you won,” he said, handing the joint to you. “He’s not gonna make the mistake of messing with you ever again. Not unless he has some sick fetish.”

You eyed the handrolled funky cigarette in your hand. The last time you got high you were sleepy, drooling, and awoke from a nap with a pestering headache. You hoped it wouldn’t be the case this time, but there was only way to find out you supposed. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, bringing the joint to your lips. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Course I am,” he smirked. “Was there ever any doubt?”

You shrugged, letting the bitter smoke fill your lungs. You still coughed a lot just like the first time, but you weren’t choking and gasping as bad so that was some improvement. Munson snorted, showing off the dimples in his pale cheeks as he took pleasure in your amateur skills, and kept driving towards The Waffle Hut in the next town. 

When you got there a few minutes later, you were starting to feel the effects of the weed. Your limbs were growing heavy, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and you were blinking hard to clear the haze of your vision. Eddie thought this was funny too apparently, cause he kept chuckling every time he glanced your way. 

He opened your door and offered his hand to assist you in getting out of the van. “Better, right?” 

You took his hand and held it in yours, inspecting it with a wide stare. Soft and scratchy at the same time. Warm. No, hot. But not sweaty. Pink and pale with blue green veins bulging on his palm. The gaudy rings sparking in the neon yellow light of the restaurant sign. 

“Yeah,” Eddie laughed heartily, pulling your hand just enough so the rest of your body followed and tumbled from the van. “You’re doing just fine, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Your face was already hot from the weed, but now it was blazing at the nickname. He released your hand and walked toward the entrance, but all you could focus on was how lonely and cold your palm was now that he had let go. Sullen and with a pout on your lips, you followed him into the diner. 

Inside was loud! Numerous people—at least fifty—were sitting in the yellow booths, smoking, drinking from their coffee mugs, and laughing. Most were men, but there were some women with them too, and people of all shades talking to each other across the isles and even the farthest corner of the room in one giant conversation. It seemed like they all knew each other—one big party of flannel and trucker hats. Three cooks were standing at the flattop grill placed in the center of the restaurant, flipping pancakes in a frenzy while also hootin and hollering with the customers like old friends. 

Skin tingling as if you stepped through the looking glass, you asked “What is this place?”

Eddie gave you a sloppy grin, his eyes starting to redden from the effects of his own buzz. “The interstate—74–is right there and this place never closes. Not even on Christmas. Especially not on Christmas. Lots of truckers come here to eat and stretch their legs for a minute.”

 “And they all know each other?”

Eddie nodded. “Oh yeah. Rides are long and lonely but they talk to each other on the CB—the radio with the walkies? They run into each other at the weigh stations and stuff too, so. You know. Bound to make a couple friends.”

You gaped at him. “How do you know all this?” 

He tapped the tip of your nose, sending a heated flush through your face. “How you think Wayne got all those hats, sweetheart? Driving trucks around.”

There it was again—the nickname with no malice or sneer. You swore your knees were about to knock together from swooning but good god why was it over Eddie Munson of all people? 

Drugs. It was the drugs. Now you know why the Reagans were so adamant against them. They really did lower you inhibitions. No—they took your critical thinking straight to hell. 

A woman in a pale blue uniform dress and apron nodded her head towards Eddie, her husky voice asking when his uncle Wayne was gonna come through again as she weaved through the small isles and led you to an open booth. 

“He’s such a handsome man,” the woman purred. “Even for a baldie.”

Eddie laughed and slid into the booth. “I’ll be sure to tell him he’s missed.”

Leaning over the table, you asked Eddie a question that had suddenly popped into your mind. “Why is it that every time we go somewhere, a new woman asks about your uncle?”

Eddie grinned mischievously and shrugged. “You heard her. He’s a good lookin man. Even for a baldie.”

Your jaw dropped. You supposed it was kind of true. You could tell that he might’ve been a looker when he was younger—less worn and grey—but not so much now. 

“Oh my god. Is Wayne a slut?” you blurted. 

Eddie snorted, which turned into a deep rumbling laugh, which inevitably turned into a menacing cackle that made his Adam’s Apple bounce uncontrollably. It made you laugh, too. First a couple confused chuckles at what could be so funny, but then you couldn’t stop. Some sort of high pitched squeal erupted from the back of your throat, shocking both you and Eddie, and sending each of you into unbridled giddiness. Well, you tried to cover your mouth and physically hold back the blooming cacophony, but it did nothing to muffle the sound. 

The best part was that no one around you seemed to care. There was no judging stares, no whispers about if you’d gone crazy. Everyone else was enjoying their own conversations with the same energy and amusement. Everyone was having fun and not giving a shit about what the people around them were doing. 

The stitch in your ribs from laughing so hard and loudly, nor the spittle that leaked from the corner of your mouth, or even the lack of breathing could get you to stop. The only thing that ceased your guffawing was the return of the waitress who asked if you were ready to order. You immediately cleared your throat, wiped away the tears that escaped the confines of your waterline, and tried to get yourselves in order. You might have been able to do it if Eddie hadn’t gaped at the waitress with bloodshot eyes and a dropped jaw and asked “huh?” like an idiot burnout. The total lack of awareness sent you back into a fit of giggles that only seemed to peeve the waitress. 

“Wave me down when you’re ready,” she said sternly, clicking her pen closed and moving on to the next table. 

“Okay—okay—shhh,” Eddie hiccuped. “I have to focus.”

“That’ll be the day,” you giggled. 

Eddie pointed an accusatory finger at you. “I resent that. I can focus when I want. And I want to eat so hush. To answer your question, I think Wayne prefers the term ‘Tom Cat’ to slut. But I wouldn’t know, I’d rather die than ask him shit like that.”

You let a few giggles escape your lips. Your sides were sore and you were trying to get your breathing back to normal, coughing every now and then from the sudden change of oxygen intake. How long had it been since you laughed like that? Actually, have you ever? Despite having felt like you’d just run a few miles, it felt…good. A release. 

You opened the menu to see you were still struggling through the hazy vision. If there weren’t pictures beside every option you wouldn’t been screwed. There was every breakfast combo one could ever think of as well as heartier dinners like pot roast, pork chops, and burgers. You were so hungry that everything sounded so good. Waffles, pancakes, grits, eggs, breakfast potatoes, sausage in any and all kinds of forms. 

“Hash browns smothered in onions, covered in cheese, chunked with hickory smoked ham,” you read inquisitively. 

“That’s what I’m getting,” Eddie said proudly. “With a chocolate chip waffle and a sausage egg and cheese sandwich.”

Your stomach gave a loud rumble and you clutched it with a whine. “God, that sounds good but I think I may puke if I eat all that.”

It took some time, but when you did decide what sounded the best, you and Eddie placed an order and used the time to properly recover. You leaned your hand against your knuckles and looked him over. His eyes were still bloodshot but his cheeks were returning to their normal color now that you’d both stop making a commotion. It really was unfair—why did guys get all the things girls wanted? The long, thick hair. Gorgeous eyelashes so dark and bold without a lick of mascara. He had no trace of acne scaring or pesky chin zits. There were some light freckles across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes, but no other blemishes otherwise. Despite having seen this before the first time you went to his house, it was still incredibly irksome and yet gorgeous at the same time.

You wrinkled your nose at the thought. What was wrong with you? Munson and gorgeous were not meant to be used in the same sentence. And yet…

He caught your grimace and turned his attention to stripping himself of his jacket, flashes of black ink showing on the inside of his pale forearm. He cleared his throat and started to fidget with his rings as he spoke. 

“So can I ask what the history is with McKinney?” 

The ghost of the smile that had been dancing on your lips faltered. What a way to kill the mood. But, he did rescue you from the party and it looked as though he would’ve scrapped with Patrick judging by the nose to nose standoff you interrupted, so perhaps he did deserve the full story. 

“Oh, you know. The usual,” you shrugged. “He was sweet, attentive, and wonderful for a couple weeks and then once he got what he wanted from me he turned into Scarlett O’Hara: Gone with the Wind.”

Eddie grimaced. “Well that’s fucking stupid. Both of you.”

You threw the balled up paper wrapper from your straw at his stupid face. “Gee, thanks for not judging, asshat.”

He flicked the paper back at you when it landed on the table. “I guess it’s not your fault. Nature teaches us that hazardous creatures come in vibrant or unique colors. Poison dart frogs, coral snakes, shit like that. But they forget to mention that most harmful are the ones that blend in. Stone fish. Cottonmouths. Step in the wrong spot and—wham! Dead.”

You frowned, not at all following his train of thought. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The fart knocker that blends in is the person who said I was dangerous because I don’t. And yet, he’s the only one of us who left a mark.” He pointed at the window, “Cottonmouth.” he said, then pointed at himself. “Jewel Beetle.”

That made you scoff. “Jewel beetle?”

“Colorful like a hazardous bug yet totally harmless. Unless you’re a blade of grass or something.”

“Right. We’re making this about you now,” you snapped. 

For once, Eddie Munson didn’t know what to say. He bit the inside of his lip for a few moments before he copied your position, resting his cheek against his palm and scanning you over. “I’m sorry that happened to you. All of it.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he was just blowing smoke up your ass. Trying to save face or just say what you wanted to hear. But the frown tugging at the corners of his mouth and the way his shiny brown eyes shone with sincerity, you could clearly tell—no guess work—that he was being genuine. It was kind of uncomfortable and unnerving the way his gaze was boring into you. 

Clamming up a little, you nodded. “Thanks.”

“So…why would you go out there after all that?”

“Yeah, well,” you sighed. “I did say I was being stupid.”

Eddie’s right eyebrow ticked up, a small grin fighting to make itself known across his lips. “Don’t tell me you were wooed by those ugly ass flowers? Or weeds more like.”

You snorted lightly and rolled your eyes. “Actually, I thought those were from you.” 

Surprise flashed across his face, his brows hiking up so high they disappeared behind his bangs and he pointed at himself. “Me?” he squeaked. 

You nodded slowly, warmth spreading up your neck. “That was the day Lucas and Mike showed up to ride with me to school because you told them to, and I thought that maybe you put the flowers there too as an apology for being a butthead the last couple weeks. But obviously that’s not what happened.”

Munson tilted his head to the size, watching you quizzically for a couple beats of agonizing silence. “You almost sound disappointed.”

You hated that your heart jumped at his words. You were disappointed, but was that because they were from Patrick or because they weren’t from Eddie? You refused to ponder any further and just shrugged, not offering anything to give you away. 

As if he could see the demons on your shoulders arguing, Munson hummed thoughtfully before leaning over the tabletop to let you in on a secret. “Well. I don’t know about shitty flowers, but I can get you some cheap yet exquisite grub at—“ he checked his watch. “—quarter to midnight?”

The dumb lopsided smile that showed the white of his teeth along with the ridiculous wiggling off his eyebrows was enough to get a soft chuckle out of you. 

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed with a growing smile. “I suppose that will do.”

When the food did appear, it was in much larger portions than you imagined. It was also a lot greasier than you imagined. Everything, even the utensils and coffee mugs, had a thin layer of slipper residue on it.

“Gross,” you commented, showing him the way the syrup carafe was covered in crystallized overflow and sticking to the pads of your fingers when you picked it up. 

Eddie waved his sandwich that was dripping hot sauce from the bottom dismissively. “Who cares? It’s damn good food.”

And it was. Every bite was heavenly in your tongue and settled nicely in your growling stomach. You and your classmate sat in silence for the next twenty minutes just enjoying the nourishment and listening to bits of conversations from the booming voices around you. It wasn’t long before you were adequately full and slowing down to a sleepy pause.

“I can’t believe I ate all that,” you said. 

“Leave room for pie,” Eddie commented through a mouthful of food. 

You shook your head slowly and groaned at the thought of more food. There was no way you could fit in anything else. The tingling sensation of the high was wearing off now that your appetite had been cured, making the meal you just inhaled that much heavier in your gut. “You might have to roll me out of here as it is.” Leaning your back against the wall and stretching your legs across the vinyl booth in effort to get more comfortable, you watched the cashier frantically punch in numbers on the register. 

“Do they sell pull tabs here?” you wondered aloud. 

Eddie barked out a laugh—sharp and loud. “Christ, girl! Couple weeks around me and you’re assaulting people and deep into illegal gambling? Maybe Higgins is right—I am a bad influence.”

You shrugged before woefully admitting, “Not the worst thing I’ve done lately.” 

He leaned in further, almost dunking the ends of his hair into the puddle of syrup on his plate. “Pray tell the adventures I’m missing out on? Or is it something lame like being out past your curfew.”

You sneered playfully at him, “No, it's not that.” But you hesitated telling him what it really was because…well…it was shameful. 

In order to keep up the ruse with your parents that you had actually gotten into University of Chicago, you started making a habit of checking the mailbox early in the morning to snag any outgoing mail Dad put in there. You didn’t want any checks going to the university and Dad getting a call saying he was mistaken and that you weren’t actually officially in yet. That would be horrible. Embarrassing, even. Instead, you swiped the envelopes addressed to the registrar and put them at the bottom of your closet in an old shoebox hidden beneath a heap of clothes you didn’t want anymore. 

Eddie kept looking at you expectantly—those brown eyes shining with curiosity and mirth. You weren’t entirely sure you could trust him with such sensitive information. Would he throw it back in your face? He seemed the type with his volatile temper. But then again he knew far too much about you as it was and hadn’t been a complete piece of shit about anything you’d shared with him thus far. 

So you took a chance. You told him about intercepting the mail, avoiding his gaze and tracing designs on the greasy laminated tabletop as you recounted your shame. 

Munson dropped the remnants of his sandwich and gaped at you—wide eyes and equally wide open mouth. Shifting uncomfortably in your seat under his dumbfounded gaze, you snapped at him to say something. Anything!

He blinked a couple of times before chuckling. “Sorry, Sweetheart, I just wasn’t expecting grand larceny as an answer. Holy shit!” He leaned over the table more to whisper. “You know those are felonies right? Tampering with mail and withholding that kind of dough?” 

A felony? TWO felonies? Just for hiding an envelope and saving Dad hundreds of dollars? You doubted the validity of the statement but then again…this was Eddie Munson and if he could be trusted with any kind of knowledge, criminal charges would be it. 

“Of course you would know that!” you snapped, panicking a little. Was it suddenly hot in here?

“I’m surprised you don’t, future lawyer!” he retorted. A sly smile ticked the corner of his lips. “But thinking about it…it’s not that far-fetched. How very white-collar of you. Next you’ll be telling me you’re embezzling it.” 

You straightened your posture, suddenly smug at his mistake. “It’s only embezzlement if it’s within a company.” At least that much you actually did learn from Albrecht’s class. Maybe he wasn’t right about the felony thing after all. 

Eddie mocked your facial expression before blowing a particularly slobbery raspberry. “You’re splitting hairs. Fraud is fraud and you are being quite fraudulent.” 

Fraud. Your stomach sank lower at the implication. “Only if I use it,” you said meekly.

He shook his head. “Stealing checks out of the mail—no matter the intention or whether you spend it—is the double-edged felonious sword you’ll fall on, my friend. If you’re caught. But you’re smart so I doubt you will.” 

His faith did seem to perk you up a little. “You think so?”

He shrugged. “Just give him the unopened envelope when you eventually confess. I’m sure he’ll be so relieved to see that money again he wouldn’t even consider the criminal part of the equation.”

You sighed heavily, the idea of having that conversation with your parents making your guts wriggle like earthworms. It was an unpleasant thought. All of it. From relaxing you spilled the beans to Eddie to having to eventually pop the bubble of perfection you spindled for your parents in an attempt to earn their attention and pride. It was honestly killing the mood. 

“What’s Lady Wheeler say about your sudden wild side?” He pulled a cigarette from the breast pocket of his jacket and let it dangle between his lips. “I noticed she wasn’t with you at the party.”

Why was he honing in on all the sore sports all of a sudden? You crossed your arms over your chest and frowned deeper, watching him light his smoke and looking obnoxiously handsome doing so. 

“Of course she wasn’t there,” you said bitterly. “She was hanging out with her boyfriend.”

Munson nodded slowly and hummed, blowing a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth. “I see. Not really into being third wheel?”

“Who is?” you snapped. “I don’t think they even really like each other, you know? It’s weird. They’re weird! All they do is bicker. He doesn’t like it when she does—well—anything! He is always belittling the things she likes as if the shitty music he listens to makes him cool and different. She actually hates the music he plays when I do hang out with them but she doesn’t say anything! And I think that’s what bothers me the most is that Nancy just lets him talk down to her. Yeah, she bites back and gets her licks in sometimes but it’s like—why? Why does she allow him to just do that? He’s such a pessimist, too—“

Eddie let you rant. He stared intently at you as he occasionally took a drag from his cigarette or ticked it against the half melted ashtray on the table as years of bitten back opinions just came flooding out like a river through a broken dam. You weren’t really sure why you trusted him with these feelings, but he didn’t interrupt or look anywhere else to give you the idea that he was bored with the conversation. If anything, he genuinely seemed interested in your theory that perhaps Johnathan liked the idea of dating Nancy—the girl next door with the perfect nuclear family with a talent for sleuthing and good writing, something unattainable and such a status symbol for someone like him—versus actually dating Nancy—someone who was from a well to do family and hadn’t experienced the fractured home that Johnathan Byers did—as he so often threw in her privileged life in face. 

“—not that Steve Harrington was any better. I mean, he was a stuck up douchebag but at least he was good looking. Objectively,” you added quickly with a half shrug when Munson  curiously raised a brow at your statement. 

He pulled his chained wallet from his back pocket and dropped a worn ten dollar bill atop the receipt the waitress had dropped off during your fuming. You followed him from the booth and out of the resturaunt continuing to think aloud and narrate how you’d been disappointed when in ninth grade Nancy had broken the news to you and Barb that Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington had come up to her at lunch and called her cute—you hadn’t even really noticed that he opened the van door for you until you were sitting in the passenger seat and backing out of the parking lot. 

“Thanks,” you added quickly. “Sorry. That was a lot about people you don’t even like.”

Eddie shrugged. “More like I’m learning a lot about people who I spent my whole life around and didn’t actually know anything about. Though I can see Byers liking The Smiths. But uh…don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh?”

You scowled. “No. But you obviously think I am.”

Eddie shrugged, a look of unease marking his features. “I mean…you don’t really have to understand why she likes him. She just does, right?”

Anger—from seemingly nowhere—started to ignite a fire in your chest, sending hot blood to your cheeks and an ugly confession to your lips. 

“No, what I don’t understand is how she juggled two totally different guys while our best friend was missing,” you said hotly. “Barb was missing for a year—literally a year—before that tape came out and what was Nancy doing during that time? Living her own episode of The Love Connection like it wasn’t her fault Barb went missing in the first place!”

Munson’s brow furrowed. “How was it Wheeler’s fault?”

You were shouting now. “Because! She asked Barb to go with her as a cover to Steve’s house and as soon as she got there, Nancy told Barb to get lost so she could fuck the most popular guy in school. Then Barb disappeared and ended up dead! If Nancy had just walked her back to her car or—I don’t know! Been a better friend! Then Barb would still be here!”

Eddie was taken aback judging by the look of surprise on his face. He nodded slowly, seeming to process what you had just said. 

“If she had just walked Barb to her car—,” you spat furiously through gritted teeth. “—if she had just made sure she was safe!” Your eyes were stinging with tears that took no time to spill over. You tried to wipe them away, but there was no use. They flowed freely as you let your true feelings spring from your lips. “She let Barb wander back to her car alone and she stepped in the leak or something. Got exposed to whatever chemical! She died ALONE and afraid and—!”

You couldn’t talk about it anymore. The iron grip of pain surrounding your heart was clenching so tightly that your voice failed. Instead you tried to focus on your breathing. Steadying it. Get it back to a rate that wouldn’t lead to hyperventilation as you tried to rebury the secret resentment back into place. 

“So…because she was the last person who saw her…it’s Nancy’s fault your friend died?” Munson asked carefully. 

It sounded stupid when he phrased it like that. Nancy wasn’t the hand that ended Barb’s life. It wasn’t really her fault. But if she had just been there. If she had been paying attention. If she could’ve just—

Munson interrupted your train of thought. “So you must think I killed Barry.” 

“What?” you blinked.

“Yeah. If you think Nancy killed Barb, then by that logic, I killed Barry,” he said venomously.

“The lab killed Barb,” you snapped.

“I was the last one to see him!” Eddie shouted, pointing himself hard in the center of his chest. “I wasn’t fucking him, but I went off to shoot fireworks with Gareth while Barry walked away! Does that make it my fault?!” 

You gawked at him, mouth hung agape as you tried to follow his thinking. “We weren’t even talking about you! Or Barry!”

The angrier he got, the louder he shouted, and the faster the van sped down the dark country road. “But it was Nancy’s fault, right?” he challenged, his voice getting louder. His cheeks getting redder. “My fault? Because we were the last ones to see them alive?”

“Tha—that was different! You didn’t shoo him away like a fly, did you?”

“And if I did, would it matter?!” Munson balked. “You said yourself it was the lab that killed Barb! So is it my fault or not?”

You swelled. “They’re not the same thing!”

“Aren’t they?!” he hollered back, going so fast that the engine roared almost as long as him. “It’s exactly the same thing!” 

“Slow down, you’re gonna kill us!”

Eddie pointed a stern index finger at you. “THAT would be my fault, but you’re saying it was my fault that Barry—“

You were going to rupture. “I LITERALLY DIDN’T SAY THAT. YOU SAID THAT!”

“WHERE WERE YOU THEN, HUH?!” he screamed, eyes as dark as the sky outside. “IF YOU WERE SUCH A GREAT FRIEND HOW COME YOU WEREN’T THERE TO SAVE HER?! MAYBE IT’S YOUR FAULT! DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT?”

You glared at him, chest heaving wildly from breathing erratically from the raw fury coursing through you—heart thumping so hard it was giving you a headache to the same throbbing rhythm. The next time you spoke it was so low it didn’t even sound like you. 

“That’s all I think about.” 

In seemingly less than the normal time it should’ve taken, Munson turned the corner that led down your street so hard it made the tires squeal and threw you against the window even with your seatbelt on. 

“You’re a shit friend for blaming her because you’ll never know what it’s like!” he shouted. “She will hate herself every fucking day for the rest of her life because all she thinks about is what she could’ve done different because SHE WAS the last one to see her fucking friend. Just like I do! Every goddamn day since it happened!”

He slammed the brakes in front of your house, causing you both to lurch forward. Furious, neck burning from the cloth of the seatbelt burrowing into your skin, and shaking, you scrambled to unbuckle your seatbelt. 

“Yeah? Well you’re a shit friend, too!” you yelled. “Every single time I have something to say, you somehow  make it about YOU! YOU! YOU!”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Be thankful you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“Thank FUCKING GOD!”

If you weren’t in such a rush to get away from him, you would’ve loved nothing more than to grab that frizzy hair of his and bash his head into the steering wheel until his face looked like minced hamburger meat. Instead, you slammed the van door hard enough to make a bang like a gunshot before storming up the driveway angrier than you had ever been. 

————

Part 9 coming soon