Work Text:
December 1990
Judging by the bizarrely calm expression. on Laura Cunningham’s face, Eddie’s guessing that this isn’t the first time she’s seen Chrissy with a tube up her nose. She stands at her daughter's bedside, holding her purse in front of her body, explaining to the doctor that Chrissy is “naturally small” and that a feeding tube is “utterly ridiculous.”
The doctor huffs and pulls Chrissy’s chart off the wall behind him and flips through papers, responding that her daughter is “dangerously underweight” and “anemic.” He throws her blood pressure into the explanation and Laura keeps a straight face even though Eddie’s pretty sure she doesn’t know what it means. He waves around papers of pink lines and mountains, saying Chrissy’s heart has “significantly weakened” and is not “providing enough blood” for the rest of her body. It’s the reason she had a seizure. The reason they’re both suffocating in this disgustingly white hospital room.
(Eddie’s words, not the doctor's.)
Eddie’s head almost bursts hearing all of this explained again. Was it the fourth or maybe the fifth time? He looks over to Chrissy to see if hers is doing the same but finds her staring blankly ahead, dissociated from the whole thing. He would reach over and shake her out of it but he’s scared of ripping out that gnarly fucking tube and the IV in her arm.
Feeling horribly alone, he inches his hand under the scratchy white blankets and lightly pinches her thigh. She lands back in her body and turns to Eddie, looking scared and disoriented. He watches her brain reset when it picks up on her mother's voice and her cold hand comes to grip his. “I don’t want her here.” Chrissy whispers, loud enough for only Eddie to hear, but he stands up anyways and clears his throat.
“Uh…” He forgets why he felt so brave when their angry eyes land on him. “Do you think we could take this in the hallway? Doctor?” Eddie’s crossing his fucking toes that the guy gets the hint.
Which lands Laura and the doctor having one out in the hallway. While Eddie paces holes into the tile and Chrissy bites her fingernails off.
“How did she even find out? I told the nurses not to call her!” She whisper-yells, legs drawn up and her eyes wild. She reminds him of a trapped feral animal. A tube and wires criss-crossing over her stomach and looking around her with an alarmed expression. The hospital gown she was given hangs off her frail little shoulders and her hair sticks up around her face. The only thing missing is some twigs, leaves, and a smear of dirt here and there.
A surge of anger rises up in his chest after taking her appearance in and he’s not quite sure what he should be angry at first. He runs through a list of possibilities; himself, Chrissy, her brain, Laura, the doctor.
“Well, they obviously didn’t fucking listen to you.” He regrets how harsh he sounds after the sentence has already left him.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is quiet and her face has fallen. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, no.” Eddie sits beside her on the bed and pulls her into a hug, wires and all. “That’s not how I meant that. I’m sorry, Chris. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault, baby.” He feels like a piece of shit when her shoulders cave and she starts crying. Wet little sobs rack her whole body and he moves his fingers through her strawberry blonde hair and kisses her ear, apologizing the entire time.
“I just-“ She lets out a shuddery breath before pulling away, cheeks splotchy and angry with tears. “This happened so fast. I didn’t want any of this to happen. I didn’t want you to find me and I don’t like it that we’re here. My mother-” Her hands are shaking and Eddie tries to hold them, but they’re still jittery, even between his. “My mother is going to make everything even worse. I’m never going to get better.” She leans towards him when she says it. Like it’s a secret she’s been keeping for years. More tears spill out of her eyes. “This is so awful. I hate this thing.“ She wretches one hand free to hit her tube and winces at how it moves in her nose. “My body hurts and I miss our bed and you and I wish this would’ve never happened.” Her voice bubbles to tears again and Eddie almost goes with her. Feels a wave of tears burning at the front of his eyes so he squints them shut and holds on tight, tight, tight to Chrissy.
He couldn’t do much except meet her cries with reassurance that they’ll talk to the doctor and he’ll understand why Laura can’t be there. All while he stroked her back until she tired herself out in a wet spot on the collar of his shirt. He promises that then they can focus on Chrissy getting better so they can go home and everything will be okay. It will all be alright.
*
Except it wasn’t alright, because Laura never left. She booked herself a hotel room right around the corner and came every day. Sat for hours and berated and complained and whined about being “stuck in Chicago” because Chrissy’s doctor was being overdramatic.
“Your brother has a soccer game today,” Laura said, checking her ruby-red nails for the thousandth time. “I hope your father makes sure he has everything he needs. You know how forgetful he can be about stuff like that.”
If Chrissy doesn’t respond, she’ll keep pushing. “Remember all your cheer competitions? How I was always there? What would you have done without me?”
Fucking, Christ.
“Mom, I’m really tired today. Would you please go so I can get some rest?”
“Oh, you can rest, honey. I will just be right here.”
“No, I mean, leave the room. Maybe there’s more to do at your hotel?”
Laura’s jaw twitched into a straight line and Eddie doesn’t remember what horrible thing she said but she did leave right after. It had Chrissy silent and withdrawn for the rest of the day, holding on tight to Eddie’s hand but nothing more.
She was a menace at mealtimes too. Sometimes Eddie wondered if she specifically planned her visits for them. Because she always showed up right before, got settled into the chair adjacent to Eddie’s, pulled a disgusted face whenever they dropped off Chrissy’s food tray, and asked if she was “really going to eat that.”
(God, it made him want to tear her apart with his hands.)
It was almost the same every day; Chrissy would ask her to leave, Laura would refuse, Laura would call Chrissy ungrateful, and Chrissy would have to come up with something equally as biting to send Laura back to her room for the day. Chrissy’s doctor called this “hashing it out” and said that “the girls had been due for one eventually.”
He became more complacent, even when he was around during one of her lunches, going over a recent echocardiogram and discussing their next plan of action. Laura cut right through what he was saying, arms crossed over her chest and a nasty tone in her voice. “You really can’t expect her to eat food when she still has that thing in her nose.”
Eddie’s pretty sure it came out sooner than it was supposed to because the nurse who did it looked really upset. The doctor's lips were in a thin pursed line and he traded few words after it was removed and Chrissy had coughed up the mucus that came with it. Something about, “Hopefully you can get back on the right track,” and Eddie wanted to flip him off right there.
As suspected, eating got even harder in Chrissy’s world. Relying solely on gross hospital meals that she couldn’t even eat quietly and that was if she could even keep them down. Too much of anything made her sick and having Laura on the other side of her, telling her that she “shouldn’t have had the Jell-o” made it even worse. Eddie wasn’t a professional in medicine, but he was a professional in Chrissy, and he could tell that the persistent mindfucks were starting to wear on her physically and mentally.
They decided that the best thing to do would be to go home. Laura couldn’t follow them there. She didn’t know where they lived. And Chrissy could eat food she actually liked in a place that made her feel comfortable. They would talk to her doctor about a treatment plan, they would follow it, and life would slowly, but surely, return to its new sense of normal.
The next day, Eddie pulled the doctor aside and started his speech with the famous line that had gotten them this far in the hospital system. “My wife and I think that it might be better for her to return home…”
*
Arrangements were made and over the next couple of days, the hospital began discharging Chrissy. It started with another round of tests to prove that she was well enough to leave and her doctor stated that she had made a “marvelous recovery” but she still looked as sick and frail as the day Eddie found her slumped against the bathtub. It was unnerving because it all felt so wrong. To watch everything that had previously been “big concerns” get brushed underneath the rug. He realizes as those days unfold that this is what Laura Cunningham was up to all along. Returning Chrissy to the world too soon, worse than how she left, all for the sake of asserting an unhealthy amount of control and manipulation.
It came as a heavy blow one night, when Chrissy was curled up on her side, finally free of wires, and her hair still wet from the shower. She had asked Eddie to stroke her hair to get her to sleep, and he did it happily, even though his back ached from leaning onto her bed and he had to hold his arm in a strange position to get it done. Her face looked so soft and peaceful, Eddie had almost forgotten what that looked like on her. He wishes that she could always look that way but knows that her brain won’t let her.
Knows that she was born in Laura’s arms and probably had a lifetime of living like this. Being told she was ungrateful and overdramatic and chided her for eating Jell-o and drinking juice. And he knows that it had gone too far at some point. They were in a similar position to where she is now; Laura pulled the strings and signed the papers to get Chrissy out of the hospital too soon and bring her back home where the cycle would start itself over and over and over.
Except now, it’s Laura berating Chrissy to sign those papers herself.
It kept Eddie up that whole night. Had him so distraught that he called Wayne on one of the pay phones and kept feeding it quarters until he had cried and talked it all out. Then he walked to a nearby gas station, bought a pack of Reds, and smoked the whole thing outside of the hospital.
It ultimately wasn’t his decision to stop the cycle. That would have to come from Chrissy. But Eddie was going to support her however he can. However, she needed it. And he wasn’t going to stop, even after she was healthy again, and even if a day did come when her relationship with food was “normal” all of this was behind them. He promises it to himself, to her sleeping body, to Chicago, the world, and even Laura fucking Cunningham.
*
Her old clothes are returned to her in a stale plastic bag and Chrissy figures that she would feel better to get out of her paper-like hospital gown, but when she pulls them out and smells the damp plastic-y edge that they have to them now, it makes her stomach twinge.
She came in wearing pink fleece pajama pants. Her favorite ones, with small white bunnies, dappled across them, and a big, soft, burgundy sweater. She goes to rub her cheek against it for comfort but that smells like plastic too. Chrissy pads on bare feet into the cold bathroom, shivering and trying not to look at herself while she pulls off the hospital gown and steps into her old clothes.
Eddie picked out these clothes for her the night she came in. When he got home from work and found her against the cool porcelain of their bathtub, naked, and wet from a bath. She barely remembers that event, but Eddie does so vividly. When she asks about it he tells her with a fragile voice that she looked like she was going to die.
(“You were so… blue. Your lips were purple and I could see every vein in your arms. You wouldn’t stop shivering even after I put you next to the heater. Your feet and hands were so cold.”
“I asked you what had happened, but you didn’t answer. You looked like you weren’t even hearing anything I was saying.” This is usually the part in the story where a tear falls onto his cheek and Chrissy wants to do unspeakable things to herself.
“I-I thought you were having a seizure or something. A-and I asked you, I asked you what you wanted me to do. I shook you so hard I thought I hurt you, trying to get you to tell me what you wanted me to do, but you weren’t answering. So I called Wayne-”
This is also the part of the story where Chrissy’s lips start trembling, knowing that by the time Eddie called Wayne, he was probably heading out for the night shift. “And he told me to get you dressed and bring you to the hospital.”)
There’s a knock on the door that startles her. “Hey.” It’s Eddie. “I got you all checked out. The doctor will be here in a minute. You ok?”
She wipes her face and shoves the gown into the laundry bin, hoping to never see it again. “Yeah, I’m ok.” She opens the door to him. “I was just getting changed.”
He smiles weakly and rubs a thumb at her cheek. “You still want to do this?”
He’s asking if she wants to leave the hospital like there’s some alternative choice. There really isn’t. Even if they stayed here, she wouldn’t be doing herself any favors. Not with her mother lurking around, antagonizing her like some nightmarish demon.
She nods meekly and he offers a tired smile and catches her lips in a kiss. “Let’s get your shoes on.”
He kneels down on the cool tile while he slides her boots on for her, lacing them up, and talking while he does so. Eddie’s always so good at distracting her and making her laugh even in situations where she doesn’t ever think she will again.
It’s strange to experience him loving her even in moments like these because Chrissy’s been convinced that it’s this that makes her unlovable.
(The convincing was done by a fair share of her mother and herself.)
“Alright, sweetheart.” Eddie presses a wet kiss to her shin and pulls down her pant leg. “You’re all set.” He sits next to her on the bed and they lean into each other for a minute, welcoming the brief silence before Chrissy’s doctor pours in again.
“Looking forward to getting home?” He asks, making small talk while shuffling through Chrissy’s file. He pulls out a new piece of paper and hands it to Chrissy before she can respond.
“You’re still considered underweight but you’ll be okay enough to go home. You need to make sure you’re eating at least three meals a day to get your strength and nutrition back up.”
“Three meals?” Chrissy says, flabbergasted. “I can barely keep down two right now!”
“It’s important for you to try anyways. You could really use it.” He affirms, twisting the knife in Chrissy’s gut around further. The three of them fall into a perturbed silence, Chrissy and Eddie sharing looks of confusion. The quiet is interrupted by Laura opening the heavy door, looking exasperated and disgruntled.
Her face hardens into a scowl and she turns towards the doctor angrily. “I thought I asked you to wait for me.”
“My apologies, Mrs. Cunningham. The hospital system moves pretty quickly.”
Laura rolls her eyes with a small grunt and goes to stand by Chrissy’s side. She can smell her mother's powdery perfume clinging to the polyester of her navy skirt set. It makes her feel like she’s shrinking.
“One last thing-“ The doctor continues, reaching into his breast pocket and producing another leaf of paper. He gives this one to Eddie. “This is a prescription for Valium. It’ll help Chrissy with managing the stress of this situation. Give her one, if she needs it. It’ll calm her down and put her right to sleep.”
Chrissy presses her nails into her palm, embarrassed that the instructions for her prescription were given to Eddie instead of her.
“She won’t be needing that,” Laura comments, peering over Chrissy’s head at the prescription.
“That’s for her husband to decide.”
The discomfort of everyone in the room intensifies and Chrissy wants to hide forever.
“Husband?” Laura repeats, shooting daggers at the top of Chrissy’s head. She can feel them poking her soul.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair.” He says as if he didn’t just dig a six-foot grave for Chrissy to die in. “If you have any more problems you can follow up with your physician.” He hands Eddie the rest of Chrissy’s file, bids everyone a good day, and leaves the room.
*
Chrissy clings to Eddie’s arm while they walk out of the hospital and into the cold air. He keeps checking if she’s okay and she nods meekly, just wanting to hurry and get away from her mother.
They make it out of the sliding doors of the emergency room and the cold air rips right through her. Blows in her ears and makes her instantly wrap her arms around herself.
“Stay here,” Eddie says, taking off his leather jacket and wrapping it around her. “I’m going to bring the car around.”
She pleads with her eyes but knows it’s no use, there’s no way Chrissy will be able to make it over to the parking garage and up to wherever the car is without exhausting herself. She hasn’t walked more than a couple of steps around her room since being admitted.
“I’ll be right back,” Eddie assures, squeezing her arm before jogging off into the wind, keys jangling in his hand.
“Well, that’s nice of him,” Laura comments, a sneer in her voice. “I have to be honest with you, when I got the call, I had just thought you were on drugs or something. Considering who you’re hanging out with.” She points her chin toward the direction Eddie went.
“The fact that it was just another one of your diets is embarrassing. What am I supposed to tell your father? Or your brother at that?”
Chrissy looks down at her scuffed-up boots. The end of a lace drags on the concrete.
“You know he really misses you. He thinks you abandoned him.” She seethes through her teeth. “What a shame.”
“I’m sorry.” It comes from Chrissy’s chest. Like she’s giving her whole self in an apology. “I’m so sorry, mom.”
“Yeah, I am too.” She holds her hands tight in front of her, barely shivering despite the biting wind coming off the lakes. The silence between them is sharp and uncomfortable.
“C-Can I ask you something?” She feels stupid for asking.
“Hmm?”
“How did you find out I was here?”
“They called your father. You are on his insurance after all. Wanted him to clear all the charges that were coming. And good thing they did, because it’s a fortune.”
Chrissy already knows the predicament she’s landed herself in before Laura even finishes the blow. Tears burn at the forefront of her eyes and she wants to sob.
“You’re an adult now, Christina. You need to be responsible about these things.” Chrissy lets a noisy sniffle leave her and wants to crumple because of it. Laura reaches into her purse and retrieves a lip stain. Rolls it up and blots her lips with it. “Maybe you shouldn’t let your diets get the better of you like they always do.”
In putting her lip stain back in her purse she pulls out her sunglasses and slides them over her face. “Now, are you going to be coming back home with me or are you going to continue living out this fantasy you have?”
The thought of returning back to her mothers is nauseating and instantly fills her nostrils with the smell of toilet bowl cleaner and vomit. The decision isn’t hard, it’s saying it to Laura that is.
“I have to stay here, Mom. I have a life here.” It’s delivered like she’s pleading for it. Like how she used to plead for a toy or an ice cream. The longer Laura is silent the more Chrissy cries. It’s just like old times.
“I hope your husband knows what to do with you when you’re like this, Chrissy.” Her eyes shoot daggers from behind her sunglasses. “You don’t have a real life here and you know that.” She sneers and turns her head towards the sun, a holier-than-thou halo forming around her tight curls. “But welcome to the real world, honey.” Then she walks away grumpily, heels clicking against the pavement, leaving Chrissy feeling empty and cold with tears streaking her cheeks.
*
Their apartment is left exactly the way she remembers it. The evening comes in a murky blue hue through the three large windows in their living room. The air is off, has been off, so the old apartment smell comes from the walls, and the wood, hangs in front of her.
Eddie closes the door behind them and flicks on the kitchen light. Pink from the hanging pendant lamp spills across wooden floors and Chrissy stares at it all, dazzled like it wasn’t her lamp that she brought home and put up herself. She takes in a slow scan of the kitchen and living room. Cleared counters and an empty sink, their table stacked with mail and books and papers. A blue suede couch behind the chairs, draped in blankets and tossed sweaters and cardigans. The TV sits across from that. Eddie’s guitar, bass, acoustic, amp, and pedal board. Her sewing desk is against the East facing window.
All just how she remembered.
Eddie drops the duffel bag he brought to the hospital down on the couch and sits down beside it, rubbing the heels of his hand into his eyes. Chrissy’s heart clenches up seeing him so tired. Wants to take him to bed, bury her cold toes into the backs of his knees, and sleep this whole thing off.
“Did you come home a lot? While I was…” She doesn’t want to say in the hospital even though she was there not even over an hour ago.
“Uh, yeah. Sometimes. Just to check on things and make sure we didn’t miss anything important in the mail. Took a shower and shit.” His voice rasps with exhaustion. “Nothing interesting.”
Chrissy sheds his jacket she’s wearing and leaves it on the back of one of the chairs. Eddie opens up his arms for her and takes Chrissy into his lap. She squeezes her arms around his waist and sighs when he does the same for her. “I missed this.”
This in reference to sitting on Eddie’s lap and being physically close to him, but she means their apartment too. The quiet. The distant sirens. The wind hits the fire escape. Everything.
“I know.” He says it to her collarbone, leaves kisses there, and hums. It tickles all the way up her shoulder. In the quiet, tender, moment she can feel the uptick of anxiety. The gears start churning in her brain and plotting against her. They all point back to the doctor, calling Eddie her husband in front of her mother. The bite she left her with before clicking off home.
Chrissy feels all the life get punched out of her again.
“Do you think it was weird when the doctor called you my husband?” Spit out the intrusive thought first. Always. She wants to tear herself apart.
Eddie barked out a laugh and peeled his head away from her neck. “What kind of question is that?”
“Well, I know we had to act like we were married because they wouldn’t have let you stay otherwise-“
“No, it wasn’t weird,” Eddie assures. “Why do you ask?”
Chrissy shrugs and fingers the print on his Metallica t-shirt. “I don’t know. Just wanted to make sure.”
Eddie frowns. “Did your mother say something to you?” He knows her so well it makes her tear up. “Honey…” He coos and brings her into him, holds her close to his chest, and pets her hair. “You know she just says that stuff to hurt you.”
Chrissy sniffles and pulls her legs up to make herself smaller. “I know.”
“If I were uncomfortable being called your husband I wouldn’t have done it.” He rocks her slightly while she cries. “We’ve been together for a while now, two and a half years, right?”
Chrissy nods, his shirt wrinkling with the up and down of her cheek.
“So it’s not weird. I don’t have any plans of going anywhere. I’m happy, right here with you.” He punctuates the sentence by squeezing her sides. “There’s nowhere else I would want to be.”
“I might not have popped the question or bought you a ring yet, but I have plans of doing that. Whenever we’re ready for it. Do you think we’re ready for it?”
He’s serious and it scares her just a bit. The possibility of this being forever. Two-and-a-half years and it still feels too good to be true. Like at any moment the nasty gears in her brain would churn up everything bad that’s inside of her and throw it all at Eddie. Repulse him to a point where he would go flying back to Hawkins and never looking back at her again.
Eddie catches her chin with his finger and asks the question again. Chrissy shrugs and wets her bottom lip. “I like the way things are right now.”
“Okay, then they can stay that way.”
*
He helps her out of her stiff pajamas and washes her hair in the shower for her. Her lavender-honey body wash replaces the smell of cleaner and ammonia. The tension, that had been weighing down like a brick between her shoulder blades, dissipates under the hot water. After, it’s a sleepy blur of a soft towel that smells like their home and the worn cotton of one of Eddie’s t-shirts.
He tucks her into their bed, situates the pillows around her, and pulls the quilt up to her chin. Leaves a glass of water at her bedside and a wet kiss on her forehead. He was only going to Tom’s, the corner store two blocks over. She could rest and sleep for a little bit until dinner was ready but, instead, she was wide awake. Those pesky gears churning and churning.
She’s thinking about everything on a loop. About her apartment and her things. How much she missed them all and how much she doesn’t deserve them. The tall windows evenly spaced out on the walls make her feel too small. The wood beams running along the ceiling make her feel like she’s living in some antique treasure chest instead of the generic apartment box she believes she deserves. Chrissy wanders through the whole apartment, proclaiming that it was too good for her. The warm tones and the working radiator. The kitchen was perfect for two people and occasional dinner parties. The bookshelf is built into the wall.
The beginnings of a velvet dress were left on her desk. Three weeks ago, when she was playing with the idea of cap sleeves in her design class. The forest green fabric was folded next to her sewing machine as she hoped to pick it up the next day. Now, the fabric had creased and crumpled from being left there. She held it up and frowned at it. She’d need to borrow a steam cleaner to soften the fabric enough to straighten it out. Hairs of lint stuck to the fiber tips and shook under her breath.
It felt simultaneously stupid and earth-shattering but her eyes welled with tears regardless.
Chrissy wonders why she can’t be happy here. Why, surrounded by things that are so equally her and Eddie, she still feels so out of place. Perhaps that was her mothers doing, she thinks it as she slides up the window and slips out to the fire escape. Making sure that Chrissy didn’t feel wanted anywhere.
Certainly not in a place that was as good as this one.
Her movements are slow when she settles against the rusting metal, heart thumping in her ears. The cool wind slips right through her clothes and it makes her feel deliciously cold. Wet hair, teary eyes, and all.
She lets the gnawing in her stomach grow and it feels so similar to hunger, the boundary lines blend and swirl until they’re hardly recognizable. She finds her way back to bed before Eddie gets home. Even dozes a little while she hears him clanging around the kitchen, though her mind is plagued by the way her mother said “husband” like it was something embarrassing. Something Chrissy didn’t deserve.
*
Chrissy tries her hardest to stick to the compromised treatment plan. On paper, by week three, she should be well on her way to three meals a day. Except, she’s still struggling at two. Barely managing a small snack before the gnawing becomes unbearable.
She was hoping, during her first week home, that eating would get easier with time. She had spent the majority of that week gripping the sides of the toilet bowl as everything she worked so hard to get down came rushing right back up.
(Eddie sat next to her every time, rubbing circles into the small of her back and making sure her hair never got in her way. He shushed when she came up for air, snotily apologizing for the ways in which her body was failing her.
“It’s alright. You don’t have to apologize. You all done, sweetpea?”
Then she would either fall into his chest and he would haul her up to the closed toilet lid, wipe her mouth, and brush her teeth. Or she would roll back over with another wave of nausea so powerful it made her shake.)
Chrissy’s never made a conscious effort to “get better.” She didn’t even know it was possible until she moved out of her mother's house and it was revealed that all her “food quirks” were actually alarming bad habits.
It’s because of this, that makes trying to have a normal relationship with food so hard. Chrissy has no recollection of what that looks like. For as long as she remembers she’s been chided about watching her figure. It’s become a part of her life and her thoughts. It was so deeply rooted in her psyche that it seemed impossible for any shrink or doctor to pull it out. Even when months came when she could pay attention to other things except for nutrition labels and waistlines, her mother's voice and upbringing still nagged her relentlessly.
In situations like these, distractions became increasingly important.
They started out as walks, Eddie and she would make their way to the park hand-in-hand, wrapped up in scarves and layers of sweaters, heads ducked down from the wind. They’d follow a cemented, man-made trail until Chrissy’s urges to destroy herself faded. They’d head back to the apartment, sometimes stopping to get a coffee or tea from the shop nearby, and Eddie would set them up on the couch with a movie and blankets. If she was up for it, they’d talk about what triggered her, but if not there was never any judgment on Eddie’s end.
For a while, it worked. Eddie’s talented at posing distractions and keeping her mind occupied when it needs to be. Except, by the second week, the record store was calling, asking for Eddie’s help during the holidays.
Chrissy knew it was coming. He couldn’t stay home forever and while they could stretch a couple of months on their savings, it made Chrissy anxious to think about that money being used. Especially after such an expensive hospital visit.
So, Eddie went back to work.
(Part of the agreement was that, if Eddie went back to work, Chrissy would take care of herself. Meaning that she eats breakfast and her snack without beating herself up for it. And if she had any, any at all, inclinations that she was going to fall into one of her “bad habits” she would call Eddie.)
(“But what if the store is busy?”
“They can manage for a few hours. You’re more important to me anyway.”)
She wanted to tear herself apart even more over that on Then, the distractions became of her own creation. She rescheduled the exams she missed while she was in the hospital. Steam cleaned and finished the dress for her design class. Ticked off her final assignments and then aced the exams with flying colors. She picked up baking again. Washed and air-dried all the blankets they owned and went through her closet, stuffing her old clothes into a trash bag and lugging it to the little thrift shop where she worked.
She asked Megan, her manager if she could pick up some shifts again but found out that she had been let off for the rest of the year.
(She tried to convince her that she could work but Megan insisted, smacking gum over the cash register. “Don’t worry, honey. It’s all paid leave. That way you can focus on getting better.” She said it kindly, with a warm smile on her face, but it made Chrissy angry.)
And, due to the holidays, her school was closed so she couldn’t pick up any classes or sit in on lectures. The design club wouldn’t have another meeting until the middle of January and everyone she knew in there had gone back to their homes over the break.
(It came as a heart-pinching blow, that people had families they loved. Families they wanted to go home to for the holidays.)
Then, she filled her day up with tasks by pulling out her inner-doting housewife and catching up on all the chores she thinks she had missed. Chrissy couldn’t be perfect for her mother, or herself, but she could be perfect for Eddie.
He would never see how damaged she really was.
She dusted the wood beams and bookshelves. Climbed on top of the kitchen counters to get the backs of the cabinets. Then, she swept it all up, vacuumed, and mopped. Once the floors shone with pine sol, she took a shower and walked over to Tom’s with a small list of ingredients she needed for dinner.
She took her time picking out a yellow onion, turning them each over in her hands, and looking for any bruising or marks. There was never any, but it was important to check. She did the same with the garlic, the carrots, and the potatoes. Peeked at the fridge of chickens and poked one of their bare, pink, saran-wrapped bodies with her finger. She wouldn’t be able to stomach that just yet.
Tom, the owner, chatted with her while he weighed and rang up her vegetables. Asked how she was doing and, if there was anything that she needed help with while Eddie was working, she could always come down to the store and ask.
His generosity took her off guard and while she thanked him for her kindness, knew she wouldn’t take him up on the offer. It would be so annoying, she told herself as she gathered her bag kindly and pushed her way out of the chiming door.
Cooking is another demon. Sometimes, she can throw things together without hyper fixating. Sometimes, she needs to watch them be thrown together in order to keep track of everything she’s consuming. And other times, she can’t even think about it without feeling repulsed. That is when Eddie steps in.
Since coming home, he’s cooked a majority of their meals. Leaving them wrapped on plates in the fridge so she can grab whatever has been prepared. It’s easier that way because then, it can just be food. Not ingredients, adding together and plotting against her. It also avoids the possibility of Chrissy doing something stupid.
(Eddie had walked into the kitchen one morning to find Chrissy wetting a pan with water in order to avoid using butter to cook an egg. “What are you doing?” He asked, looming over her shoulder.
“Making an egg.” She answered honestly. Eddie scoffed in response and nudged her out of the way with little effort.
“Mmm-hmm, right. Go sit down at the table and wait for me to bring you your breakfast.”)
It was never delivered with any judgment. Chrissy knows, down to the bottom of her soul, that Eddie would never judge her. He takes care of her and loves her unconditionally. Never changes the amount of love and affection he’s dishing out depending on if she’s in one of her moods or not.
He takes Chrissy exactly how she is and handles it. He knows her like one knows their own body, what it needs, and what it likes. Sometimes Chrissy feels like if she one day stopped the whole world would still spin on its precise orbit because Eddie made it so.
It’s so beautiful and wholehearted it almost makes her sick.
And she knows she definitely doesn’t deserve that.
*
She roasts vegetables for dinner and puts together a salad. Has everything ready by the time she hears Eddie’s boots coming down the hallway then his keys jingling as he unlocks the door. Chrissy springs up off the couch and Eddie beams, pulling her into a tight hug before he can even close the door behind him. His hands are a wind-bitten cold where they lay on her back, but she couldn’t care less. Smacks a warm kiss right on his chapped lips and melts there.
“How was your day, baby?” His voice vibrates where her head is on his chest. She wants to crawl inside and live there sometimes. He pulls away briefly to tug off his jacket and she swallows at the way his muscles move underneath his t-shirt. Her palms start to sweat and a tingle arises at the bottom of her stomach. Something entirely separate from hunger but equally as consuming.
Eddie repeats himself and it shakes her out of her trance.
“Oh, um. Fine! I made dinner!” She makes her voice sound cheery as she pulls Eddie into the kitchen. Table set and ready with two plates between serving bowls of potatoes and root vegetables. A chilled bottle of wine is there too, pulled out of the fridge. They had started it before all this happened, but never got around to finishing it because Chrissy got embarrassingly wasted when she wasn’t eating.
“What’s all this?” Eddie laughs, pulling Chrissy to her side and pressing a wet kiss to her cheekbone.
She melts into him, and presses her nose to his neck, still chilly from the winter that rages outside.
“Just wanted to make you dinner.” She answers and receives another kiss, this one deeper and more feverous.
“You’re perfect, you know that?” Eddie says against her lips, hands wandering down her body and around her skirt. She squeals when they land on her ass, and pushes them away with a giggle.
“Stop! We should at least eat dinner first!” She smiles, eagerly sits down across from him, and pours the wine into both of their glasses.
When Eddie bites into the dinner he leaps out of his chair and kisses her again, lips tasting crisp with the wine and the seasoning on the vegetables. “Oh, baby. This is better than eating at some fancy restaurant.”
*
They finish the half-bottle of wine and Chrissy feels her skin tingling from it. Her voice is bubbly and giggly and warm. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
Eddie puts on Chrissy’s favorite tape, Jacqueline Taïeb’s 1967 album, and they dance around the kitchen while they clean up. Chrissy stands beside Eddie, drying off the plates that he passes to her, singing to herself.
She catches his dimpled smile directed at her and returns it. “What?” She laughs, lifting herself up onto the tips of her toes to put away the plates.
“You’re beautiful when you’re happy,” Eddie says, rinsing out the last wine glass and placing it upside down on the drying rack.
His warm hands encircle her waist, pulling her over to the couch and on top of him. “You’re beautiful all the time, but especially when you’re happy.”
His lips spread out in another smile and Chrissy presses her lips there and feels the surge of girlish love rising in her chest. Eddie’s tongue is warm inside her mouth and she sighs, melting at the weight of it inside her. It makes her belly prick with desire and the friction of his jeans underneath her skirt has her tingling. Eddie pulls away first, cupping the globes of her cheeks and biting down on his puffy, wet lip.
“We don’t have to do anything.” He begins and Chrissy almost rolls her eyes. She knows why he’s saying this because they haven’t had any sex since she’s come back. For multiple reasons; her depression, moodiness, Eddie’s apprehension to set her off, and the worry that he’s going to break her.
She’s never been physically breakable. She was captain of the cheer team for goodness sake.
Eddie leans forward again, leaving soft kisses across her cheekbones. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Chrissy almost whines, feeling like a child pleading for a toy they want. She squeezes her hands on his shoulders and breathes out an airy; “I want to, though. Want to be close to you.”
And she nudges his nose up with her own and finds his lips again. Their kisses turn heated, evolving from soft and gentle to tongue, spit, and teeth.
Eddie’s talented at taking things slow, making everything soft and gentle for Chrissy. Likes to tease and get them both worked up. But that’s not what she wants. She wants it a little bit rough, passionate, she wants him to mark her up a little, make her beg for it.
Theirs a blur of the clothes they desperately peel off, searching for each other's hot skin. Eddie shudders at Chrissy’s touch, making her even dizzier with need. It’s been so long. Too long she’s thinking when he pushes her onto her back, chuckling as he rolls down the white lace of her panties.
“These are pretty, baby.” Eddie marvels, feeling the lace in between his fingers. “Did you wear these for me?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Chrissy agrees desperately, moaning when he pushes the backs of her thighs up to her chest and wiggles down to where his mouth meets her cunt. “Oh, oh-“ Her back arches off the couch at the first touch of his tongue to her clit and she almost cums right there. “Wanted you, wanted to have you so bad.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Eddie pouts, licking stripes between her folds, circling the tip of his pink tongue around her throbbing clit. “How long have you wanted it, huh?”
She purses her lips and thinks back, through the blur of the slow, lonely days she’s spent by herself. Squirming in her sewing chair, thinking about Eddie. So many times she took herself to bed in the afternoons, pulled down her panties and played with herself. Dreaming of the days before all this when Eddie was rough with her, manhandled her onto her knees, called her a slut while she desperately sucked him off, and a good girl when she had his cum all over her chin afterward.
She wants that now. Wants him to be mean and rough so that she can forget about everything. Except, it feels selfish to ask that of him. Especially with it being the first time they’ve been together in a while.
The sensations on her pussy stop, followed by a sharp smack on her cunt. She moans.
“Hey.” Eddie’s voice is sharp and her eyes dart down to him. “Did you hear me?”
“I’ve always wanted it.”
Eddie chuckles and climbs up the short length of her body, picks up her lips between his own and they taste like pussy. “I know you have. You’re a needy thing, aren’t you?”
She nods, willing to agree to anything he asks of her. “Yeah.”
“That’s ok, I’ll take care of that.”
And he does, making her come twice on the couch. One from his mouth, and one from his mouth and fingers, curling up to meet that spongy spot inside of her. Then he carries her to bed, throws her on the mattress, and crawls all over her. Sucks hickeys into her neck and she does the same in return. It fills her up with nothing but desire and lust. And desire and lust feel better, more filling, than the grief that burns holes straight through her.
She wishes that she could just stay like this sometimes. Right under Eddie’s thumb, with no thoughts of her own to spin her around in self-destructive circles. She would only have to think about Eddie. What Eddie wants. What Eddie needs. What Eddie likes.
It makes her come again.
“Jesus, Chris. You’re really gagging for it tonight, aren’t you?”
It takes some stretching but eventually, he’s able to sit himself fully inside of her. He drags through her deliciously and all inhibitions that she had drilled into her about self-control and modesty are forgotten. She needs this more than she’s ever needed anything else and she voices it as such.
“Oh, I need you so much. Love you so much.” She murmurs, tears springing from her eyes, fingers dancing along the length of Eddie’s back, searching for a spot to dig her nails into and hold on.
His voice is sticky-soft while he fingers strands of strawberry blonde behind her ears and pumps into her so slowly it makes her want to cry.
The rest of the night passes in a sex dream that Chrissy doesn’t resurface from until Eddie pulls her into the shower. Holds her against him while he washes her down underneath the spray. His hands are back to being gentle with her. Eyes gone of the mischievous glint they carry when they play games like that. He dries her off and puts her in her pajamas. Rolls fluffy socks up to her ankle and kisses her knees when he’s done.
She tries to sleep despite the gnawing and when the morning comes and she’s crawling over him again, asking to be fucked, only she’ll know why she is really “gagging for it” that bad.
*
Eddie thinks things are going well.
Chrissy’s mood seems better and she’s been taking care of herself. Or if she can’t, she tells Eddie, and he takes care of it for her. Though, more often than not, Chrissy’s got it covered. Lately, she’s been greeting him at the door. Like she’s been waiting there for hours for his footsteps.
(Chrissy would never tell him if she did that or not. She would find it humiliating. But yes, she does wait for him.)
Eddie even looks forward to it. A smile already creeps up on his face before he opens the door and has an armful of Chrissy. She drags him inside with a long kiss, takes his jacket and scarf off for him, and shows him the home-cooked meal set at the table. The kitchen is clean despite it’s recent use, along with the living room, bathroom, and their bedroom.
Things are going so well that when his boss invites them to dinner to celebrate his promotion he agrees. Calls Chrissy from the record store during a slow afternoon waiting for her bubblegum-sweet voice on the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“Hey, baby.” Eddie smiles. God, he loves his girl. “How’s it going?”
“Oh-“ There’s shuffling behind the phone and he hears a warbling sound in the background being cut off. “Fine. I’m just working on a project. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s great actually. My boss, Gerard, invited us out for dinner tonight. Said he was buying. Do you want to go with me?”
In the silence over the phone, he feels his heartbeat tick. Wondering if he fucked up and said the wrong thing. Or did this too soon. Fuck fuck fuck.
“Sure! That sounds like fun.” She answers, her voice cheery and smiley.
“Really?”
“Yeah! I can finally wear the new dress I made. Now that we have somewhere nice to go…”
“Are you sure? I can-“
“Eddie, I said I wanted to go.” She interrupts. “Now, let me go so I can go paint my nails. What time are you gonna be home?”
“Probably around five. He wants us to meet him there at seven.”
“Ok, baby,” Chrissy says. “I’ll see you then. I love you.”
“I love you too.” He repeats, followed by the click of their phone being put back on the receiver. He still holds onto the store's phone for a minute, the long dial-up tone background noise for the ways his brain runs around in circles.
Wondering if he did the right thing.
*
Chrissy’s fingernails which she painted to match her dress, clink against the side of her wine glass. She picks it up and takes another sip of the Pino Grigio inside. Hardly halfway through the glass and she was already feeling a bit tipsy.
Which is fine, because it helps her to stay a part of the conversation happening around her. But also not fine, because she can’t stop thinking about what she just ordered.
Gerard, bless him, brought them to a fancy steak restaurant in River North. Told them to get whatever they wanted, because he would take care of the bill. The generosity was shocking, especially seeing the astronomical prices for all of the dishes and drinks.
What was more concerning though was trying to find something safe for her to eat. The steak was entirely out of the question. She’s seen the salads being carried by, coated in oils and dressings. And she really doesn’t want to make a scene or seem ungrateful, asking for all of those things on the side just for her to not use them at all.
So she settles on the pasta primavera, which Gerard says is his favorite. Though, while they’re waiting for their food, she’s practically jumping with anxiety about it. She tries not to show it so she hides it by talking more, leaning into Eddie, and acting as happy as she can.
When the food arrives, it feels like an entirely new fight, staring at the plate of pasta in front of her. She tries to ignore the way that Eddie’s eyes are burning into her skin. Wishes she could turn to him and snap that him watching her just makes it worse. But she doesn’t.
Laughs at what Gerard is saying and picks up the fork to dig in.
She eats all of it.
*
Which lands her in the bathroom, pacing around in the handicapped stall while the bill is being paid. Panicky cries are coming up in her chest and she shakes her hands like she could shake it off, but the panicking persists.
It sits like a brick in her stomach, unmoving. Just weighing her down and making her panic even more. It hurts her stomach to be that full and she knows what she has to do.
Except, it’s been a while since she’s done that. And if she does it then that means her mother is right. Means her brain is right. She’ll never be better. She’ll always be stuck like this.
A sob cuts through her before she can catch it. A hiccuping cry makes the pasta that won’t settle rise up in her throat. Now that she feels it there, she can’t just push it back down.
So she presses her knees into the dirty bathroom tile and vomits.
*
The taxi ride back to their apartment is quiet. Eddie’s head is faced away from her, looking out the window. Deep in thought about something. Chrissy looks out the other way, fiddling with the velvet hem of her dress.
She suspects that he knows.
So, when they get back into the apartment, she pulls out all the stops to distract him from her problem. Kisses him with sticky lip-gloss lips, hopes that the mints she ate cover up her breath. Runs her hands up his back and back down to his waist. Kisses down the slope of his neck to where he’s most sensitive.
He pushes her away and she falls backward on the couch, surprised. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes flicker over her and she sees the inner contemplation before he speaks. “Did you eat today?”
“What-“ Her voice stutters before she lies. “Of course I did.” She folds her arms over her chest and keeps her eyes down, not able to meet his while she lies through her teeth.
“Chrissy,” Eddie warns, his crossed arms mimicking her own as he stands across from her. “Don’t lie to me. Did… you… eat?” He draws out the last sentence, putting an emphasis on each word and it makes Chrissy’s stomach churn.
She wants to scream.
“Why do you care? It doesn’t matter. I ate dinner.”
“Because I know you got sick in the bathroom. I’m not stupid, honey.” The pet name isn’t meant to sound condescending but that’s how it falls on Chrissy’s ears and it makes her blood boil. “I’ve known you long enough to know what you look like right after you get sick.”
She hurls herself up from the couch, eyes tight and furious. “Fuck you! Stop getting all in my business!” Her feet thud against the wood floors leading to their bedroom and she goes to throw the door closed behind her but Eddie catches it with an arm.
“Fuck me?!” He’s yelling and it makes her want to fight to be louder. “I’m trying to fucking help you!”
“I don’t want your help!” She yells from where she’s sat between the pillows.
“Fine! Then let's go get the phonebook and find you a therapist because I can’t-“
“I’m not talking to a stupid shrink!”
“Then go eat!”
“No!”
Their words fall from them, chests huffing and heaving, burning holes into each other with their eyes. Chrissy’s never disliked Eddie, ever. Not in their four years of knowing each other. Not before that when he was just a distant memory. But right now, she despises him.
As if he could read her mind, his eyes glossed over with tears and she could hear them cracking his voice when he said; “I’m not going to- I can’t sit here and watch you fucking destroy yourself.” He sniffles hard and forces himself into his boots. “I’m not burying you.” He picks up a pack of reds and shoves them in his back pocket. “Or planning your funeral.” Snatches a leather jacket off the end of the bed. “I’m not doing any of that shit.” He turns on his heels and slams the front door behind him, shaking all the walls, and Chrissy, right down to her core.
She lapses into an angry silence, picking her fingernails and gnawing her lip. The feeling dissipates, breaks up like a dandelion you blow on, and scatters. It leaves behind a feeling of sorrow so deep it digs holes into her chest. She turns over to her pillow and sobs.
*
When she peels her eyes open again, the apartment is dark and quiet. Sirens echo from the distance and the fire escape groans with the wind. The weight of recent events punches the resounding sleepiness from her and she turns over to Eddie’s side of the bed with a heavy heart. The comforter is cold and it’s wrinkles haven’t moved an inch.
“Hey.” Chrissy hears from the doorway, Eddie’s figure shrouded in the evening. He steps into the bedroom, the moonlight casting white shadows over his face. The end of his nose is red and his voice is gravely like he’s been crying.
“Hi,” Chrissy responds, sniffling and wiping the ache from her eyes.
The bed dips with Eddie’s weight and he curls up on his side, tucking his hands underneath his cheek and looking at her. “I’m really sorry, Chris.”
Her chest twists up and she digs her molars into her cheek to keep herself from crying all over again. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you. I know that things aren’t as simple as just seeing a therapist and it was stupid of me to say that.”
His breath comes after, a steady rise and fall that keeps Chrissy grounded in their bed. “I just want you to be healthy. I love you so much and I can’t imagine this world without you.” His voice cracks and she can see the glimmer shining off his big brown eyes. “I thought that was going to happen when you went to the hospital. I don’t know what to do except cling to you and do everything for you but I know that’s not going to help.”
His hand slides against the blankets until it finds Chrissy’s, curls around her smaller one, and squeezes. “I need you to tell me how I can help you.”
“Do you think we could just stay like this for a while? I think that would help me.”
Eddie smiles sadly but he scoots over and opens his arms for her to crawl into. She does instantly, relieved to press her face into his chest and hide in his body.
“Of course. We’ll stay here as long as you want.”
They stayed there until the morning, Eddie getting up at some point to piss and help Chrissy change into a clean shirt. When eight o’clock came they were still there, breathing through the grey morning, taking things so slow that everything else would have to catch up.
He brought her coffee in bed and stroked her naked thighs while she drank it. When the coffee got cold, they had sex. Soft, slow, tender sex that made her cry. Eddie stroked her wet cheeks while he moved in and out of her, telling her how loved she was, how beautiful she is, and how he wants to spend the rest of his life right here.
She hugs him close while he fucks her, presses her forehead into his shoulder, curls her toes around his back, and does her best to believe him.
But, like all things. It takes time.