Hold Me Steddie

Edward Munson

Edward "Eddie" Munson blows the strands of dark, curled hair from his face as he whips his head like a wild animal, the electrifying melody of Paranoid by Black Sabbath wailing from the strings of his beloved guitar. His fingers develop a mind of their own as he lets the chilling rhythm poison his blood and run through every vein in his body like a melodic virus.

Eddie decides then and there that if a band like Black Sabbath were to poison him, he wouldn't be upset in the slightest.

He finds himself humming the lyrics in anticipation as the guitar solo nears him, his teeth almost drawing blood as he bites his bottom lip. Eddie informally calls every guitar solo the "climax" or "orgasm" of most songs and refuses to take it back, no matter what anyone else thinks, it is and will always be the truth.

The first few cords of the solo set him off, his brain becoming engulfed by the sorcery of metal music, along with the slight burn of his fingers against the rough strings. And then, suddenly, everything goes away. All the cobwebs of his mind and darkness of his thoughts simply melt into the strings. He is numb. But no longer in that dark lingering sense, it's somewhat exhilarating to leave his body for if not just a few seconds.

And then his world collapses.

"EDDIE!" the music drains from his ears and his heartbeat noticeably begins to slow. The young man slowly peels his eyes open, which he hadn't even realised he'd shut.

In front of him stands his uncle, one hand firmly on his hip and the other clutching the unplugged wire of his guitar.

"What the shit, man?" He isn't mad at his uncle, but he for sure isn't pleased by his loss of guitar solo climax.

"You're late, Beach Boy. And I swear to God you'll wake up the whole trailer park if you don't turn that damned speaker down."

"It's Sabbath, Uncle Wayne. And good, most of the people in this shitty park are assholes anyway."

Wayne cracks a small smile before he picks up a folded shirt upon the speaker and throws it at his nephew. Eddie is beyond thankful for the guitar strap around his neck as he catches it with two hands on reflex. Unfolded, the black-sleeved shirt reads Hellfire club, a snarling devil staring back at him.

"Washed that last night for your little game tonight." With that, Wayne begins to head for the door.

Eddie dramatically turns to his uncle in resentment, "The cult of Vecna is no 'little game', old man!" but Wayne is already out of the room.

"Whatever you say, just get your ass to school, Blondie Chaplin."

"Black Sabbath!"

~~~~

Eddie tries and fails to keep his eyes on the road as he and Gareth - a dated member of Hellfire and their band 'Corroded Coffin' - whip their heads to the blasting car stereo.

Gareth is sitting in a precarious position, his legs slung across Eddie's lap as he sits sideways in the worn leather seat, his hands drumming his sticks rapidly against the headrest, which he has been using as a makeshift drum since the song began.

Eddie's fingers also begin to echo the song's cords as he loosely grips the steering wheel, shaking his body violently as if mimicking satanic possession.

"IM ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL!" They scream in unison, their broad smiles becoming borderline demonic.

Eddie glances at Gareth, he's a good friend, not to mention a fucking good drummer. They are, truthfully, just friends. It's true, there have been a few drunken incidences involving lips and hands and touches, but it never goes too far and they never talk about it. It's become an unspoken agreement between them to act like it was all a dream by the next morning. And Eddie is okay with that.