Blue Lips

2

     They had screamed at one another almost the entire time that they had been driving. Eddie, screaming to Liz and Dustin to listen to him, Dustin screaming at Eddie that they were all going to die, and Liz, screaming halfway out of fear, and halfway out of frustration. Frustration that this could ever even occur, frustration that Eddie hadn't trusted her enough to tell her anything, frustrated that he'd rather call a 17-year-old kid than tell her anything about what the hell was going on, frustrated that he had never mentioned anything to her about any of this. She finally gave up trying to be heard. She knew that she was only going to slow them down when it came to trying to figure out what was going on. So rather than continue to try to get them to explain themselves, she sat silently next to Eddie, listening to them bicker. She was half amused at Dustin, who was really holding his own against Eddie, whom she knew to be the most difficult and bone-headed man to ever exist. She had always had a thing for Eddie Munson, but had never had the nerve to speak to him until two years ago, only a mere couple of months before everything happened. Before he was labeled as a cult leader, serial killer, psychopath. But she'd known even then, and had gone around town defending him to anyone who had the nerve to make some snide comment. It was no secret that Lizzie had never really fit into any specific group in high school, and this had left her as her own, strange, group-of-one, that never really spoke to anyone. Until the night that she had spoken to Eddie. And she was certain that he didn't even remember it, because she felt as though he would have brought it up. She leaned her head back and allowed herself to think back to the first time she had spoken to him.

     She had been out, alone, in the woods by Lover's Lake, sitting silently on the dock by her grandfather's lake cabin. Her grandfather wasn't ever there now, and she had taken it upon herself to keep the place up in case he ever wanted to come out and fish again. Plus, it was an added bonus that when she went out there nobody asked her any questions, she could just say that she was going to go work on the cabin and stay there for the weekend alone, spending time with her thoughts and her records, painting trim, or walls, or scrubbing floors, or washing rugs and curtains, or sweeping the porch and mopping the floors. It was her own fortress of solitude. She'd been there for two days, when she first spoke to Eddie Munson. On the dock, seemingly alone, puffing away at a clove cigarette and reading a poetry book that she had either found in the cabin, or brought with her from home. She could sit on the dock for hours and never realize how long it had really been, until she realized that it was getting dark, and she was being eaten alive by mosquitos, and she had run out of clove cigarettes, and was halfway through her last one. This night, though, she had waited until close to dark, just past the sunset, and gone out to the dock with six clove cigarettes, instead of her usual three, a pocket-sized poetry book that she had just bought, her Stanley thermos water bottle, a bag of hard candies, and a flashlight. She hadn't even heard Eddie and his gaggle of freaks appear, so it startled her when she began to hear soft conversation. She turned, about to say something about this dock being private property, and that they could take their little make-out session down the way, to the public dock, when she froze. She felt herself swallow, before clearing her throat.

     "Can I help you?" She'd asked calmly, trying to act as if she was so interested in her book that she couldn't possibly be interested in whoever was walking up her dock to speak to her. She glanced up to see none other than the Freak of Hawkins himself, Eddie Munson, staring right at her. "Hi," he'd said softly, offering her a timid, thin smile. She'd forced herself to move herself further under the blanket she was sitting under, and folded her book into her lap, using an old clove cigarette filter as a bookmark, before looking up completely. "Can I help you?" she'd repeated, determined to keep her voice steady, refusing to let him see how nervous she was. He sighed. "Well, I know that this is not a public dock, and I know that you probably would rather die than have a group of nerds out here on your property, and this is all probably a very irritating experience for you, but I was wondering if you would let us sit out here on the dock long enough for a smoke?" he asked, his face low, his eyes staring at her through his bangs, his posture almost the same as a child asking their mother for a cookie when they know that they haven't eaten dinner yet. She sighed, grabbing one of her own clove cigarettes and offering it to him, reaching with her other hand for a lighter. "I don't mind, but clean up your mess when you're done, and don't be too loud. I'm trying to read. If you cause a ruckus, I'm throwing you all into the freezing-ass water, one by one, naked; and you can figure out how to get yourselves dressed after that because I'll keep your clothes." He smirked at her, obviously finding it amusing that she was so willing to throw them all into the lake and keep their clothes, but he nodded. "Thank you, m'lady," he said, a goofy smile on his face, as he gave her a small, unceremonious bow. He reached out and grabbed her clove cigarette, smiling softly at her. "Is the cigarette an invitation to sit with you, or," he trailed off, looking quickly over his shoulder to see if his friends were staying in the car like he'd told them to.