Chapter Text
He feels something humming just below his skin, anxiety and anger and shame mixed together despite how oddly clear his mind is. She wants her food and her pills. She asks where her refills are but doesn't give him the chance to explain. His mother is in rant mode, and thankfully doesn't seem to notice that he is home early from school. That would only add to the lecture that already covered everything from needing to find a new doctor who would take her back injury seriously to his friends.
"We talked about this. You were going to stop hanging around that trashy Tozier boy."
" He was being polite. He just walked me to the door."
She scoffs, " I doubt that boy has ever been polite a day in his life. Don't you see he's a bad influence, sweetie?"
Fed up and already so tired, he doesn't answer but this seems to upset her more. When he tries to hand her the drink he has prepared for her, an iced glass of sugary juice, he winced when her sausage-like fingers coiled around his wrist. Her eyes narrowed as she hissed, drawing him in to prove her point. But he is able to move away from her by twisting and shoving the cold drink towards her face in a clear sign that she should take it. He knew what was to come but frankly he was at his wit's end.
"What has gotten into you! "
" Nothing, " he sneers which only escalates things.
"I am getting really tired of your attitude. This is why I told you not to hang around those, those hoodlums. They've turned you into this sulking, snippy- Oh, if your father were around to see how you treat your poor mother-"
Something snaps within him.
"Oh really, " his voice warbles and that strangely calm part of him seems to be in control," Well maybe I should follow in his footsteps then and just...jump off an overpass."
A chilling silence prevails and she just looks at him like he is a stranger but he doesn't turn away. He won't back down from this challenge because he saw the article, and he has sat on the truth for too long. He's always been afraid to confront her about what he knows, but he's just so sick and tired of being afraid and lonely and miserable. He just can't take her lying and manipulation anymore as he has come to the point where everything she says is questionable in his mind, even the things he never was brave enough to consider like the illegitimacy of her back injury. But it wouldn't be so far-fetched he realized since she was willing to lie to him about his health as a child and about her health and about the real world would seem so much scarier coming from her than what he experienced so far, and now this. Fighting back angry tears, it is painful but somehow a relief having this out in the open.
"He was so disgusted by the both of us that he fucking killed himself-''
His mother covers her mouth, actually looking sick, " Dear Lord, no. That's not-"
" I know what happened. I saw the fucking article! He threw himself off the damn overpass. It's pretty damn clear! "
Her eyes overflowed with tears as she shook her head, gasping, " No, Eddie, my baby! It wasn't like that-"
" Stop lying! I know now! My dad-''
" He was sick. He had prostate cancer-"
"That's bullshit and you know it. He was perfectly healthy, just like me despite all those pills you forced on me. He didn't want us-"
" No-"
"Yes-
" NO, EDWARD! LISTEN!"
He stops, stunned by her scream. Surely the neighbors heard, "It was me! I smothered him. I couldn't do anything right. H-he couldn't stand it, " she hiccupped and suddenly, Eddie was listening, " He didn't want me! He hated the thought of me taking care of him. I just wanted to take care of you both-"
" He wasn't sick."
" He was, I swear he was. He was terminal, inoperable. I swear, sweetheart, you can look at his medical records yourself."
Eddie pauses, wondering if she's bluffing. He's shaking, on the precipice of something. So many twists and turns and all he really wants is the truth. Why can't someone just tell him the truth?
" He...his life insurance paid off the house, " she whimpers, " Some went to legal fees after...the case resolved. He left a good amount to you, for when you turn 18. He loved you so much, Eddie. You were the one good thing that came from us. But he couldn't stand the idea of getting sicker and sicker, and being stuck at home with me."
" It doesn't make any sense-"
She wails, hiding her face in her hands, " This is why I tried to keep it from you. I only wanted to protect you-"
" From what? How was lying to me protecting? How is any of this, " yells as he gestures to the messy living room aggressively, "-protecting me? I don't get to have friends or a normal life. I don't get to play sports or do after school activity. I don't have time for anything except taking care of you. "
"I don't mean to be this way, Eddie. I-I love you. I'm your mother-"
" And I wish you weren't!" He bellows as he heads upstairs at a breakneck speed. Eddie feels sick and his ears are ringing, but he can't stay still. His breath is coming out in rapid pants and he has begun to pace. How can he come down when it feels like the world is closing in on him? She’s calling for him, wailing. He ignores her easily enough until suddenly...there is a horrible scream, and a crash. He’s on his feet before he even realizes it.
"Please, help! Please!”
He flew down the stairs and found her on the floor. The arm of the lazyboy looked squished, collapsed and long ago the legs stopped raising but soon enough he ignored the chair for his wailing mother. Her puffy, red face was pressed into the stained, litter covered carpet by her own weight (he rarely had a chance to clean in here but she always messed it up so quickly) but he felt frozen. His legs were glued to the floor as he watched her enormous body flail weakly against the ground.
“Eddie, help me. Oh, Eddie, it hurts. Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t breath!”
“I c-can’t, mommy, “ he wheezes; he can’t lift her. He had never been strong, always short and slow in gym. She had long dwarfed him, her hands and fingers swollen from the processed meals he buys at her request or the occasional burgers he grabs from the diner she used to work at. (He’d long given up on using the money from her disability checks for healthy food because she would only yell, and weep, and refuse to eat it). She had been forced to remove her wedding ring a year ago, the circulation having been cut off as her weight grew.
“Eddie, please! Eddie, help me! My back, oh no, my back!”
That sheet had fallen and she was bare to the world now, covered in stretch marks and her body dimpled with cellulite. He felt cold and hot, cold and hot but he couldn’t bring himself to move even as she sobbed and called for him shrilly, pathetically. This was his mother, his only family, and he couldn’t even-
He sobbed, gripping his face in his hands as his breathing stuttered in his chest. He didn’t know what to do. He was just some sheltered teenager who did as he was told and needed routine to function. But then he hears it, now that her sobs have become harsh breaths and sniffs.
“Baby, call 911, “ she says and he nearly trips as he stumbles to the phone on the wall. He drops it but it is attached to a cord so he is able to recover it and dial. He thinks he hears her talking to him but the words are echoing in his head. He has to call 911, has to get help because he can’t lift her-
“911, what’s your emergency?”
His mouth was so dry, causing his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth. He struggles to speak, “ I-I need an ambulance. I need help. My mom, s-she needs help.”
“Can I have an address and the nature of the emergency?”
He sputters, “ I, she, I’m at home. I live at, um, so y-you take a right at Neibolt-”
“Exact address, sir.”
Eddie sobs childishly and the operator continues to question him, gently and professionally probing him for information. It feels like forever until someone knocks on the door and he feels lost. Does he stay on the phone or get the door? Does he check on his mother? How long has it been since he left her for the phone, since she called out for him as she struggled to breathe?
“Sweetheart, we have first responders at your door. Can you open it for them? They’ll help your mom, okay?”
Eddie’s knuckles hurt from squeezing the phone, “ There’s a cord.”
“Cord?”
“T-the phone, the phone cord.”
“That’s okay, Eddie. Just hang up and the EMTs will help you, okay?”
He doesn’t remember giving her his name, doesn’t remember much of what she said but he drops the phone, heading to the door with tunnel vision. He can still hear his mother’s horrible, sick breaths but she’s not crying anymore. He struggles with the chain on the door (Don’t forget the chain, Eddie-bear. Someone could come in. Lock the doors and put the chain on, sweetie, before you go to bed. And could you grab me my leftovers before you go?) and the firefighter at the door is older, greyhaired and stern.
Eddie doesn’t move out of the doorway immediately so he ends up with two firm hands on his shoulders as he’s walked backwards. Two more firefighters enter the house and one curses when he sees the living room, and then Bill’s father is in front of him, patting his cheek. But Eddie is looking past him. They brought a back board but his mom won’t fit. His mom won’t fit on it and he’s not sure if she’ll make it out the door, and if they can’t take her to the hospital, how can they help her? And now he thinks she’s crying again and they’re not helping her, he knows, especially when the two firefighters try to grab her arms and she yells in pain.
Her back, he wants to yell, she hurt her back and that’s why she’s on the floor, that’s why the house is a mess, and the reason she’s so heavy but the words are stuck in his mouth just like air is stuck in his lungs. He doesn’t know what’s happening anymore. Maybe he should go get the phone, ask the operator what he should do, how the firefighters are going to get her through the door.
“We have to tear it down, the door frame.”
Eddie's ears start to ring and all he can see are blurred faces and patrol car lights. What are they going to do? What is he going to do? He feels cold, no, hot then cold again; he feels nauseous and he’s scared, so scared that he’s gonna be sick and choke-
" Then what? We'll need a lift for her. And what do we do at the hospital? The beds are too small-"
Too small, too small-
He wakes up and he's no longer in Derry, no longer 20 years in the past or everything in this life was beyond his control. And yet he still lets out a sob in the darkness, feeling his wife's stir next to him. She lets out a fumble and then her hand is on his shoulder, hot and soft. It's supposed to be comforting and yet he wrenches himself away.
"Edward-"
He's almost running to the bathroom and she's no doubt sitting up in bed, hurt and confused. after a moment she comes and stands in the doorway of the bathroom as he washes his hands and splashes water on his face. No doubt she can tell that he has still shed a few tears and it's moments like this that he is reminded that they used to be such good friends. She's looking at him with such care and he doesn't feel worthy of it.
"I'm sorry I woke you."
"It's okay. Do you want to talk about it?" She looks uncomfortable but he knows the offer is sincere; she has never really known how to handle him when he is vulnerable, since he is usually the one to offer comfort. He is the man after all.
He shakes his head as if somehow that will drive away the leftover images and feelings of a nightmare; his ears are still ringing and stomach is still turning but he tries to put on a brave face," No, dear. I'll be fine in a minute."
"Is there...anything I can do?"
He approaches her slowly and kisses her on the forehead, much like a brother would a younger sibling; he behaves like she is the one in need of comfort and he supposes she is. she was the one who had to go to work at 7 a.m., the one who had a husband who had reoccurring nightmares that woke her so often and couldn't even remember to bring home the right ice cream. She ducks her head, mumbling a soft good night as she returns to bed.
No, he thinks as he stays in the bathroom a little longer just to collect himself. He doesn't want a divorce. He just wants to be a better person.