✓ | FLOW ( eddie munson )

seven. bloody noses

veda henderson

          "There's no way you're scared of horror movies," I deny, jaw slightly dropped as I stare at the Munson boy, his eyes wide with terror and hands near his face in case he needed to defend himself suddenly. I glance at the TV where the movie's credits were currently playing, remembering how he squealed and flinched at every noise. "How was that scary?"

   "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Veda," He shakes his head, repositioning himself on the beige couch we were both situated on. I do, in fact, laugh it up. His reaction to a shitty little horror movie was quite possibly one of the funniest things ever. "I shouldn't be ridiculed because you're a psycho!"

   "You're the one friends with the psycho," I point out, lifting my index finger and waving it towards him like a stern mother. He smiles softly at me, leaning his head to the side until it fell onto the back of the couch. I was sitting sideways on the couch, facing him with my knee under my chin. My black and white Chuck Taylors were around here somewhere, but for now, my black socks with rainbow polka dots were covering my feet. 

   "I thought we weren't friends?" He questions, eyeing me up and down and waiting for my response. I smile sheepishly, remembering how I would never refer to him as anything more than my dealer. 

   I lean my head on the side of the couch as well, maintaining eye contact with him while I thought about my response. "I think you're my only friend, Muffin,"

   "Yet, you still can't say my name right," He comments resulting in me rolling my eyes. 

   "You're right," I agree, lifting my head up again, watching as his face dropped slowly in confusion from my sudden serious expression. "We don't know anything about each other besides the fact that you deal and I use. We can't be friends,"

   "Tell me about yourself then," He suggests, sitting up straight and pressing the tips of his fingers together. I glance at his hands, watching the yellow ceiling light reflect off of his silver chunky rings.

   There was nothing good to tell him.

   "Alright, fine. I'll go first," He loudly interrupts the silence, throwing his hands in the air before turning to his side so that he was sitting similar to me except with his feet on the ground. He was always moving, never staying still for longer than a minute. "My name is Eddie Munson and I'm scared of horror movies,"

   I laugh, ignoring the way he looked at me with a smile as he waited for me to share a fact about myself. "I already knew that," I sat up straight, nodding towards him. "Tell me something interesting like... like why you deal,"

   He turns his head ever so slightly, sending a cheeky smile my way as if to let me know that it was a good question. "My folks ran out on me a couple years ago. Figured I could get some good money from a few chumps,"

   "Happy to be a provider," I use my hands to fake fan myself, pretending to be flattered by his description of the people he deals to. 

   "Your turn," He says, reaching over to grab a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. He tilts his head back to throw it in his mouth, his long hair falling away from his jawline enough for me to see it properly. Damn. "Why do you buy?"

   I swallow hard, thinking of a way to tell him the truth without scaring him off. A watered-down version of the painful series of events that lead to me needing self-prescribed medicine just to feel normal. "I have a few skeletons in my closet,"