Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story

Chapter Fifty-Three: Wicked Game

A/N: Hey everybody, I know you've been dying to see what happens next after the rather explosive chapter than came before this one. It's not all sunshine and rainbows, I'm sorry to say. But it won't be like this forever, I promise. -hippie

Description: You're still reeling after the fiasco at the housewarming party, and look to your friends for comfort. Eddie makes numerous attempts to get you to talk to him, some more idiotic than others. You thwart his attempts, telling him to steer clear. You're unsure whether you can look past his massive mistake, but only you can make that distinction...

Warnings: swearing, mentions of smut, smoking, alcohol use, drunk driving, small argument, crying, angst, heartbreak

Chapter Fifty-Three: Wicked Game

"Sugarpuff? It's Eddie on the phone again." Mom says through your bedroom door on Sunday morning.

"Just hang up." You manage to say, just loud enough for her to hear. The sound of her footsteps descends back down the hallway, and the phone is placed on the hook without another word. You let out a long sigh, oddly relieved to know Eddie can't get another syllable out.

You haven't slept a wink all night, constantly tossing and turning in your bed while thoughts race through your mind. Thoughts of Eddie's lips on Chrissy's, of how angry and heartbroken it made you feel. Still makes you feel. Every time that image flashes across your mind, you get the intense urge to scream into your pillow. An urge you've entertained a few times, once you were sure it wouldn't make too much noise.

Eddie's called three times in the last couple of hours, all of which you've ignored in one way or another. The first time served as an alarm clock for your mother, forcing her out of bed. You knew exactly who was calling so early, not bothering to move a muscle. You can picture the scene back at the apartment. Eddie, disheveled and sweating in his clothes from the party, having cried all night over you. Broken glass and spilled wine still lay on the floor, as he can't focus on cleaning up any other mess than the one he's made by lying to you. Arwen is no doubt snuggled in his lap as he cradles the phone, frantically dialing your number over and over, before changing his mind.

"I'm making omelets, Y/N. Do you want me to make you one?" Mom asks through the door, still leaving you alone to your thoughts.

"Okay." You call back, forcing the volume despite your vocal chords begging you not to. You feel absolutely awful from lack of sleep, and too much wine, and all this damn crying you can't seem to stop doing. You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. If it weren't for your heart being shattered into a million tiny pieces, you'd probably feel completely numb right now. But you swear you can sense the shards worming their way through your chest, lodging in your ribs and muscles on their way out. Everything hurts. You spend so much time fixating on the pain, that you don't even register the next twenty minutes passing until Mom brings you your breakfast.

"It's hot and ready, sweetie." She says, knocking first before opening the door. She brings in a tray to set on your lap, and you take the cue to sit up against the headboard. You keep the blanket tucked beneath your underarms to cover yourself, avoiding her eyes for the time being. "Here you go. Do you need anything else?" She asks sweetly, though the unbelievably blank look on your face quickly sours her on the inside.

"No. Thanks, Mom." You rasp, reaching for the glass of orange juice she's brought you to wet your mouth that feels like sandpaper.

"Okay. Well, just let me know. And I left the phone off the hook. That ought to stop the calls for a while." Mom says, going for the door. You just nod at her words, glancing down at your plate.