Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Day After Day

Description: The day after your mother comes home drunk, you have a little talk with her. The next two weeks contain your Heavy Metal screening with Eddie, and the beginning of the journey to visit Wilfred Munson in prison. You worry about how said visit will go, but you won't know until it actually happens.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of smut, mentions of masturbation, teasing, mentions of depression/suicide, mentions of alcohol use, anger, light arguing, mentions of death, fluff

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Day After Day

"Wake up!" You shout at your mother as you flick on the light switch in her bedroom. She groans at the bright light and your loud voice. She rolls over to look at you, her brows knitted in annoyance. You show no sympathy for her hangover, standing with your arms crossed. "Get up, Mom. I think we need to have a little talk." You say, barely hiding your intense anger towards her. It's after noon already, you've given her plenty of time to rest. Now is the time for a goddamn explanation.

"Okay." She whispers, struggling to sit up in bed. Her head is pounding worse than she ever thought possible, and her stomach is churns beyond belief. She takes a deep breath, before attempting to stand up. "Oh, god." She whimpers, reaching for the trash can beside the bed. She vomits into it, still dizzy from last night. Her head stays inside the can for a moment, waiting to make sure she's finished. Spitting the remaining bile from her mouth, she sets the container down and follows you out of the room. You lead her to the dining room table, gesturing for her to take a seat. She takes the empty chair next to Dustin, leaving a spot open across from her and beside Eddie.

You retrieve a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin for her, setting them on the table. She happily accepts them, drinking down half the glass immediately. You take your place at the table, crossing your arms. Eddie and Dustin are dead silent, knowing better than to test your already thin patience. They keep their faces still, not even daring to breathe too loudly. "So, you wanna tell me what the fuck you were thinking, Mom? Why you thought it was a good idea to drive home drunk, and almost kill a couple kids in the process, no less?" You bark, your face hard as stone while your eyes never leave her pained expression.

"I-I, uh...I don't know." She says shakily, struggling to open the little bottle of pills you gave her. Eddie reaches over to help her, but you stop him in his tracks.

"No. If she wants aspirin, she can get it her damn self." You glare at him, and he puts the bottle back down. His hands return to his own lap, and he nods like a scolded child. You look to Mom again, trying your best not to shout when you speak. "Mother, I think you and I both know damn well that 'I don't know' doesn't make a very good answer. It wasn't a good answer when I used to come home from school with bruises all over me, or when I stole a couple bucks from your purse one time. So, it sure as shit doesn't mean anything now."

"I know that, Y/N." Mom replies, barely above a whisper. The tension in the room is palpable, and so quiet you can hear the earth turning. You had hoped some sleep would've calmed you down, let you wake up and think rationally. But seeing Mom passed out in bed for hours only reminded you of what she did last night. "Look, I know you're upset with me. I'm certainly not proud of this."

"You're damn right I'm upset! And we can definitely agree on the lack of pride here. I just don't understand why you'd do something so fucking stupid! You could've gotten a cab home, or hobbled over to the motel across from the bar for the night. Anything would've been better than getting behind the wheel. I also don't get why you felt the need to drink so much, you never even drank like that when Dad left." You give her some time to contemplate her answer, your foot tapping incessantly as you try to stay relatively calm. Mom's still struggling with the stupid pill bottle, her hands slipping over the cap repeatedly, the pills clicking against the inside of the container like the beans of a maraca. "Oh, for fuck's sake! Give it here. I can't keep watching you struggle with the damn thing." You hold out your hand, quickly and easily flipping the cap off. It flies across the room, landing on the kitchen floor.