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It's been over half a year since Eddie died in the final fight against IT, taking my heart into the cold abyss of death with him. He must have, because I don’t know how else to rationalize the icy, empty hole in my chest. I’m living with Bev and Ben, who took me in and let me stay at their house rent-free because I can’t work. I can’t do anything, really. Eating is hard enough, showering is even more difficult. The losers in entirety (minus Eddie) look at me with such pity that I just want to scream.
Sleeping is a bit easier (if you count just lying in bed awake at all hours ‘sleeping’), but I’m starting to get bed sores. My room is filthy, and I am not exactly sure why my friends put up with me. I’m so exhausted by everything, and it’s too much to provide any contributions. Despite this, I remain here, and Bev checks up on me regularly to ensure I haven’t done anything ‘permanent’ to myself, as she said it.
“I’m not gonna kill myself,” I promise her at the time. I’m not sure how that will stand, but–as of the time being–I’m too much of a pussy. I feel like I need to live for Eddie; however, I miss him so much. It’s okay, missing Eddie is my norm. Feeling guilty and depressed is all I remember.
Except that's not true. Now with the clown dead, I remember everything– And I would be ok grieving in a normal manner, except no. I have to wake up with a boner for absolutely no reason, and frequently. I tell myself my body is obviously stressed and tense so I still muscle through. I stubbornly continue to refuse myself any kind of release– to cry or otherwise– except then it becomes too much and I cave because I thought I’d feel better.
It’s so much worse.
I am in the middle of actually sleeping the day away for once, when I have my first positive dream of Eddie since… Well, everything.
It begins with big, brown doe eyes looking into mine, Eddie smiling so warmly, and then he’s kissing me. It’s chaste and sweet and it’s all I want. I feel Eddie’s hands brush my cheek, run through my hair while he peppers kisses on my tear-streaked face. I melt immediately, and I hold him. I hold him even though I know in some way this isn’t real. Maybe it’s because it isn’t real. Maybe I’m allowing this for myself because I know this is all I’ll ever have of him.
He strokes my back; kisses behind my ear. Eddie shifts between my legs– and then I’m jolting awake. Tears are already flowing when my eyes snap open, and I feel so fucking cold.
It was innocent enough, in all honesty, but it still makes my eyes prickle with shame. I knew I was gay for a while, but it’s not exactly a good coming out story. I am absolutely devastated by the fact that my body yearns for a man who was never, ever mine. First a married man with kids, now a dead man and a family without a father. I feel anger at the world and shame at myself– a heady recipe for self hatred– for what’s far from the first time. Not exactly for this reason, but the boiling hot concoction is easier to cope with than the listless despair I normally choke on with every breath.
Fuck! I don’t deserve to miss him!
Despite the track of my thoughts, my body is not listening. I manage to lamely rationalize–the need to jerk off– to myself. To believe it’s a necessary stress relief tactic, which makes enough sense to my frantic brain for it to stop having a panic attack. But when I reach down to palm myself, it feels like I’m being electrocuted. It’s not even pleasant, but I lean into the sensation anyway. The agony makes me feel alive.
I curl in on myself under the covers as i slowly touch myself, face in my pillow, in what is essentially just to torture myself. Images flash in my mind of Eddie smiling at one of my dumb fucking jokes [[His vacant expression.]]. Of his body pressed to mine in the hammock [[Holding him as blood soaks both of us.]] Of feeling his morning breath on my neck after a sleepover [[He’s not breathing!]]
I cry harder.
[[“I love you, Rich.”]]
I’ll never hear that again, even if it was innocent; as kids who had no one else but themselves.
Eds…
I feel tension build in my abdomen as tears soak the pillow. My teeth ache as I clench my jaw, holding back my sobs.
[[“He’s gone, Richie.”]]
I break into sobs as my body finally releases everything I have. It hurts. It’s too much. My body aches even more than before, and I swallow back the saliva flooding my mouth as nausea cramps in my stomach. I try to ignore it–but it comes, expected but sudden, urgent. I scrabble off the mattress and run into the hallway bathroom just to puke pure bile. I heave and gag and drool until my body is too weak to continue. When I finally collapse, I curl up on the fluffy bath mat as much as I can. I shiver with aftershocks and a cold, aching emptiness. I manage to cry myself to sleep on the floor of the ornate bathroom.
I miss you...