My Girlfriends Brother || Reddie

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, Eddie woke up feeling like he hadn't slept at all. His body felt like lead, weighed down by the events of the night before, each memory pressing heavily against his chest. The dull, gray light streaming through the gaps in his blinds was harsh, piercing his swollen, tear-stained eyes. His pillow was still damp from crying himself to sleep, and his throat was raw, the ache a reminder of the sobs he hadn't been able to suppress. Every breath felt heavy, as though the air itself was thick and unyielding.

He didn't move for a long time, lying flat on his back as he stared blankly at the ceiling. His mind was a mess, swirling with fragments of the previous night that refused to settle. No matter how much he wanted to push it all away, to forget and move on, the images kept coming back—each one more painful than the last.

The memory of walking in on Lexi and Richie was the first to hit him, sharp and unrelenting. He'd only cracked the door open a sliver, but it had been enough. Enough to see Lexi on her knees, her hands gripping Richie's thighs. Enough to see Richie's head tilt back, his lips parting slightly in a way that made Eddie's stomach churn. And then Richie had looked at him—those dark eyes locking onto his, wide with shock and guilt. That look was burned into Eddie's mind, replaying over and over, each time hitting him harder than the last.

Eddie turned over in bed, clutching the pillow tightly against his chest as he buried his face in its softness. He let out a muffled groan, the sound somewhere between frustration and despair. How had it come to this? How had he let himself get so caught up in someone who could never feel the same way? Richie was Lexi's boyfriend—he'd always been Lexi's boyfriend—and Eddie had no right to expect anything else.

But knowing that didn't make it hurt any less.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories, but they kept coming. The things he'd said to Richie the night before—shouted, really—played on a loop in his head, each word sharper and more biting in hindsight. He'd accused Richie of not caring, of pretending, of hurting him on purpose. He'd let his emotions boil over, spewing every thought and feeling that had built up inside him. And the worst part? Richie hadn't even fought back. He'd just stood there, looking at Eddie with something that might've been guilt, or maybe pity, and it had only made Eddie's anger burn hotter.

Eddie pressed his face deeper into the pillow, as if he could smother the memories and the feelings they brought with them. But it was no use. The anger he'd felt the night before had faded into something softer, something harder to deal with. Now, all he felt was guilt and regret, tangled together with the heartbreak that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

And then there was the kiss.

Eddie groaned aloud, rolling onto his back as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The kiss had been impulsive, a reckless attempt to distract himself from the pain. The boy—dark-haired, dressed as Ghostface—had been charming in a smug, playful way. Eddie hadn't even thought about it when the boy leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was clumsy and rushed, a mess of desperation and misplaced emotions.

For a moment, it had worked. For a fleeting moment, Eddie had felt something other than the weight of his heartbreak. But as soon as the kiss ended, reality came crashing back, harsher than ever. The boy had grinned at him, smug and self-assured, and Eddie had bolted, muttering a weak excuse before rushing back into the house.

Now, in the pale light of morning, the kiss felt hollow, like it hadn't meant anything at all. It was just another mistake to add to the growing list, another layer of regret piled on top of the rest.

Eddie reached blindly for his phone, squinting against the harsh glow of the screen. His chest tightened as he opened his messages, scrolling through the empty screen. No new texts. No missed calls. Richie hadn't reached out, and Eddie wasn't sure if that made him feel relieved or devastated. A small part of him had hoped Richie might text him—something, anything to show that he cared. But the silence felt like confirmation of everything Eddie had feared.