Through A Glass Darkly | Eddie Munson x Reader

Chapter Nineteen

It was official. Eddie was screwed. And not in the hot-and-heavy kind of way, either. No, screwed in the cosmic sense. Screwed in the 'everyone is out for my blood' way. Well, maybe not everyone. Dustin wasn't. Neither were Nancy Wheeler (what), Robin Buckley (surprising), or Max Mayfield (shocking). Or even the king himself, Steve Harrington (what the absolute fuck).

He sat on an upturned bucket and watched the sunlight glint off the ripples of Lover's Lake. He should find a better hiding place than under a shitty tarp in this boathouse. He really, really should. Yet he sat, letting his eyes unfocus and refocus.

Dustin had said the idea of Hawkins being cursed wasn't far off. You'd said something was wrong with this town. That wasn't a coincidence.

Jesus Christ, you'd known all along. Eddie should've paid attention. You were a witch, after all. You saw things no one else saw - or at least he didn't. He hadn't paid attention, though. Oh, he listened to you. He got inspired by you. But...

But he'd been a fucking idiot, even after you'd demonstrated magic was real.

In November - fucking November - you'd claimed someone had taken magic from you. He hadn't known what you meant when you apologized and cried you wouldn't look again. You hadn't been apologizing to him, precisely. You'd been appeasing that someone.

Now he knew that someone was Vecna, a dark wizard from another world.

Before Chrissy's death, he would've laughed at the things Dustin had told him on Saturday. Laughed his fucking ass off. Not anymore, though. He'd seen too much.

Like, he could accept magic was real. Your magic was real. It felt good, but the curse that killed Chrissy didn't. That wasn't like your magic. You weren't like Vecna. You were good, determined, and intense. Maybe if you'd been there, you could've saved her.

Shit, Chrissy shouldn't have been at his place. He shouldn't have offered her harder drugs that afternoon, and he definitely shouldn't have been kinda, sorta flirty with her.

With a snort, he thought he shouldn't have done a lot of things.

He shouldn't have paused the relationship with you. He'd ruined one of the best things that had ever happened to him. If he'd been less of a dickwad, he would've been with you on Friday. You and him could've skipped school together, gone for chili cheese fries and a huge cookies-and-cream shake. After, he could've played some new songs for you to show his dedication to getting the fuck out of this shit town.

Then he would've made up for lost time. He wanted to kiss you so bad, to feel your hands on him; your touch a sweet mercy he could call his own. He would've done anything you'd let him. He would've been anything to get back in your good graces - been your dog, your slave, your whipping boy.

At this point, he didn't care if you'd respect him less. He respected himself less. He'd been such a coward by running away. As Chrissy suffered, he screamed and fell on his ass. He hadn't tried to help her or wake her or break the curse. No, he'd left her to die in his uncle's living room.

God, Wayne.

Wayne must've guessed why a cheerleader was there in the first place, and Eddie doubted Wayne thought it was because she was interested in him. For the most part, he kept the drug dealing away from the trailer. He didn't want Wayne to get in trouble with the law. Wayne looked the other way, because he understood dealing was fast money.

Fast money let Eddie concentrate on music, and Wayne supported his pursuit. Also, Wayne believed he only sold weed. Wayne didn't agree with outlawing a plant. He'd said, "God put that plant on the Earth and let humans find it and understand what it can do. Who are we to question God?"