CHAPTER SEVEN 007. eddie munson INTO THE FIRE - DOKKEN
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THERE WERE A LOT of things that went unsaid between Emma and Eddie.
An example, plucked from the top of Eddie's head with no prior thought, was the boy's crushing guilt. A funny kind of guilt; Eddie was never entirely good enough with words to articulate ( even to himself ) what it felt like to be in his car as the duo sped towards the only safe place he knew. Perhaps it was a lack of real world experiences — or more likely, the copious times he skipped English for his many real world experiences — that left him short of expressions. Maybe it was the blinding images of Chrissy which dented his ability to function, or communicate with Emma in her shell-shocked state beside him in the front seat. The tiredness could've also played a factor; the two had been driving around the small town all night to pick up supplies, before eventually making their way to the boat house by Hawkin's lake.
It didn't matter really. What mattered to him ( besides the obvious ) was that the only way he could even consider his guilt, was through a stupid prank he'd played on the school's Spanish teacher.
It was simple, but effective. Right before she entered the classroom, Eddie made a dramatic show of putting a couple of mentos in his coke bottle and placing it enticingly on the poor woman's desk. Now, he'd never before considered what the bottle felt like. It was made from glass - which from other worldly experiences, Eddie knew was quite prone to being broken. But with his feelings now, he could empathise with the glass as unbridled chaos ensued between it's sides. He could imagine the strain on the casing, and the gentle — unnoticeable — push and pull as pressure slowly built from the inside, until every possible ounce of free space was utilised by the growing tirade of fizz.
When his Spanish teacher opened the bottle, at least there was some release from that push. Sure, it had gotten him a weeks detention and what Eddie swore was a bias come graduation day, but the relief must've been dizzying.
But there was no relief now. Just the fizz, that slowly bubbled around his carcass as he glanced towards Emma's teary form. A girl that he often imagined saving from a burning wreckage, or during a treacherous campaign when the rest of his party was already slain. Or, in a more realistic setting, the boy had imagined walking right over to her table of friends and taking her away.
He failed to connect the dots between thought and speech when it came to his shame about leaving her in his trailer; the horrible feeling sprouted every time he considered how he acted, and would never leave him if he had any say in the matter. He blew his one chance to be a hero and get himself his girl. But he would never tell Emma that.
It was just another thing that went unsaid.
OoO
ADELADE'S FRANKENSTEIN WAS RUNNING riot in her head. The creature had grown what the girl would describe as a tumour on it's hunched back, which was filling ever so slowly with her anxiety for Chrissy and Emma as she waited beside a row of movie tapes. The growth was exponential as she watched the group discuss their choice between themselves; a choice she considered as already made, considering the intensity of the curly haired boy's disdain for the idea.
