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deathbecomesthem · 1 month

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Crawling to the Finish | Part 4 | 10K

Eddie Munson x Fem!Disabled!Reader

*This is a completed series that is queued and will be released on the dates below. This Masterlist will be updated with each part that is released.

+18 ONLY | MDNI

Warnings: There will be lots of descriptions of medical stuff. The reader is physically disabled due to an undefined accident. Major bone trauma. Lots of talk about pain. Blood loss/Blood transfusion, discussions about a urethral catheter and post surgical bowel movement. Vomiting. This is an honest story about what a post surgical experience is often like. In my opinion, it's not super explicit, but take heed of the warnings.

There is SMUT in this part. (Oral, PIV)

Summary: You get your hip replacement, and your life.

A/N: The physical disability described in this series is my own. The experiences are very close to what my own. Be kind.

A/N 2: This is it, the last chapter of this series. I hope it's satisfying. It took a lot for me to write this story, especially this part. 💜

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The alarm screams into your quiet bedroom at 4:00. You were already on edge, so the sounds makes you leap in the air, throwing your arm hard into the soft flesh of the person laying next to you. You both groan in pain – you from the jolt to your hip, Eddie from your hard fist hitting his chest.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry.” Eddie’s rolling over to hop off the side of the bed to help you up. It’s an automatic movement at this point. He’s spent nearly every single night in your bed for the last 2 weeks, and he never fails to help you in the morning, even when he’s still mostly asleep.

“I’m fine, Baby.” His voice is hushed, but alert. He was as restless as you were last night. He held you tightly and played with your hair until you finally drifted for a little while.

You asked him if his uncle minded him being away from home so much, and he laughed and reminded you that you’re both adults. Your mom was fine with him staying over, and all had an unspoken arrangement about refraining from any kind of sexual activities when she was home. Really, you were so tired and scared about your upcoming surgery, there wasn’t much more than occasional heavy petting in the front seat of his van after school anyway.

“Go back to bed, Ed. I’ve gotta get ready, you can sleep.” Wordlessly, not arguing, just doing, he helps you get into the bathroom. You hear your mom moving on the other side of her bedroom door. Eddie gives you a kiss on the forehead, and heads back to your room.

A clean pair of underwear, sweatpants, and a t shirt sit on the stool in the bathroom. You spot the pre-surgical soap sitting on the lip of the bathtub along with a fresh washcloth. Time to wash your body, every inch, with the hospital soap. The smell immediately brings you to realization that – yes – this is happening today.

Your mom meets you in the doorway of the bathroom, ready to take her own shower, as you leave to finish getting ready in your bedroom. She gives you a tight-lipped smile and pats your arm before squeezing past you and into the steam filled room. When you enter your bedroom, you find Eddie sitting on the end of your bed, fully dressed. He’s sitting with his hands held between his open knees. His smile matches the one your mom had just given you, the tension and stress about the upcoming day edging you close to the edge. You’re ready to break.

Eddie points to the chair that sits in the corner of your room and tells you, “Sit down, Baby.” You don’t question it, you sit for him. Your brain is an open nerve, every bad thought runs through it over and over again. You can hear a distant screaming in your head, white noise zinging between your ears. Eddie stands and walks over to you, grabbing your hairbrush from the vanity. He motions for you turn and tip your head back a little. Again, you comply.

Your hair is only slightly damp. You shampooed it last night when you took your first pre surgery shower. Eddie is so gentle when he runs the brush through your tangles. He’s humming something quietly while his hands run up the back of your neck in a soothing movement.

His voice is soft and sweet, filling the room with a warm calm. You’ve never heard him sing before, and you feel a sense of sadness at missed opportunities. You close your eyes and focus on his voice, on his soothing touch on your neck and scalp, and on the bristles of the brush massaging your tension. The surge of affection you feel for him is so intense. You vacillate between overwhelming affection and absolute terror, back and forth. The feelings are both too much to be shared, you feel the intensity of each fully, filling you completely. You want to stay in this chair and never leave it, Eddie singing barely above a whisper, as if the volume of his voice may make time speed up.

The *tap, tap* at your door reminds you that time is, in fact, moving forward, and now you must leave. You haven’t even opened the door yet, but your brain is 10 steps ahead. The moment is broken, and you feel bricks being laid in your head, building a wall to separate yourself from everything and everyone around you. You manage a little smile at Eddie when he pulls you in for a hug before you leave the room and make your way down, down, down the stairs and into the front seat of your mom’s little rust bucket.

For all you know, Eddie stays in that exact spot for the rest of the day, although he’s meant to go to school and get a status report at lunch time from your mom. It had been a, well not a fight, but a disagreement between Eddie and yourself about whether he should drive to the hospital before the surgery. You had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not to sit in that waiting room all day with your parents. It would be pointless. Besides, you reminded him that he had an exam study day in one of his classes, and he needed the help since you’d be out of commission for a while. It wasn’t until your mom assured Eddie that he could call the hospital, even going as far as to get the direct line for the waiting area your parents would be in before he relented and agreed to wait until he knew you were in your own room before trying to come down and visit.

At least, that was the plan. The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray.

It takes a lifetime and no time at all to get from sitting in the front seat of your mom’s car to lying on the cold metal table of the operating room. From what you can tell, there are about a half a dozen people scooting around the room. It’s hard to know with everyone in caps on their heads and masks over their faces. The one sitting behind your head, somewhere your eyes can’t reach, is the anesthesiologist. You met him in pre-op, and he said several times that you probably won’t even remember meeting him. You will. They always say this, and you always remember.

The smell in the hospital is all too familiar. The disinfectant used within these walls permeates everything. It will be the only thing you smell until you leave in two days, with the exception of –

“Alright, let’s get some happy gas in you. Once you’re feeling good, we’ll get your IVs in, ok?” A mask with a rubber seal around it is placed over your mouth and nose. Your initial reaction is too feel panic, because it’s unnatural to take deep breaths of something that smells like this. But you do it, you let the happy gas fill your mouth and then travel down to your lungs. A couple of mouthfuls and the panic, as well as the worry, starts to fade to black.

“There she goes. Y/n, how are we feeling? Good?” You nod in answer, and it feels as if your head weighs 50 pounds and is also weightless at the same time. You don’t feel the pinch of the needle piercing your skin, but you know it’s in because they’ve got you counting backwards now. 100, 99, 98, 97, 96, “y/n, what comes after 96? Can you tell me?” 95… 94… Everything is black.

“Y/n, I need you to answer me.” An unfamiliar voice is saying your name, and you can’t move. You can’t even open your eyelids. Everything is heavy and, oh god, your mouth is so dry.

“Water.” It’s barely a whisper when it leaves your mouth, a plea, you felt like you might die without a drink.

“No, dear, no water right now,” a hand is fiddling around under your blanket. Yes, a blanket, you’re in a bed, “maybe some ice chips in a little while, alright?”

Not alright, “I’m so thirsty.” Your voice sounds strange, and your throat is so sore. What happened to you? As you wrack your brain for an answer, the beeping sounds from the machines in the recovery room start to bring you back. You were in the hospital. You had surgery.

“Mom?” If you’re in the recovery room, she must be here too somewhere. Your eyes are open now, but you can’t see. The world is blur and you can’t sharpen your focus. You feel panic setting in, but when you try to move you find you’re legs are completely without feeling.

“Your mom ran out to get your dad since you’re waking up. It’s been a long day for everyone, and they’re anxious to see you.” The nurse, you can see her blue scrubs, but still can’t make out any defining facial features, pats you on the arm. It’s supposed to be reassuring, but you’re desperate now.

“Please, water.” You’re minding your manners, but you still need that drink. You need something to calm the fire in your throat. Your tongue is sticky, and you can’t form the words correctly in your mouth. It hurts.

The nurse isn’t answering you anymore, she’s pretending she can’t hear your desperate plea for the most essential need you have. It’s all you can think of. A drink. A drop. Anything. This is when your mom and dad walk into your line of vision. Still blurry, but you know their forms.

“Water,” it’s all you can say, all you can think of, “please.” Your mom is rubbing the top of your head, and you hear a catch in her breath. Is she crying?

“Are you ok, baby?” Her voice is hoarse, and you know she’s been crying now.

“I’m ok,” the words are sticky, your tongue thick in your mouth, “what’s wrong?” Your fuzzy brain tries to focus on her words. Your eyes are starting to focus finally, and you see your dad’s face is full of concern. He’s standing at the end of your bed. Above his head you see the big red numbers of the clock at the nurse’s station. It’s 7:00. Your surgery should have ended 5 hours ago.

Another hour passes and you’re finally in your room. 5 days in the hospital, at least, is what you’re told. Something went wrong, and no one’s really clear about what it was. The surgery went hours longer than it should have, and you ended up having a blood transfusion. You lost a lot of blood, apparently, and most of it was on the surgical gown when your doctor left the OR to update your family on the situation. Your mom was hysterical, according to your dad. She thought you were going to die. But you didn’t, because now you’re staring at the faces of your parents. They look terrified, like you might just disappear if they take their eyes off of you.

Eddie had come to see you after school, expecting to find you in your room already. He stayed with your parents for those few hours. Your mom sent him home, insisted on it, once she found out you were out of surgery and not on the verge of bleeding to death anymore. She said he didn’t argue, but he looked wrecked.

Hearing Eddie’s name sends a pang through your chest, but your thirst and the slowly growing ache in your leg overtakes any thought about anyone else. The ice chips your mom snuck to you without the nurse noticing came right back up, and now your focus was on your thirst and your fear of throwing up any liquid you might try to drink.

In and out of consciousness, that’s how night one post hip replacement goes. People come and go. Your dad and Sun leave after a while. It’s just your mom sleeping in the recliner set in the corner with a hospital blanket draped over her legs. Every hour. Every hour a nurse came in to check your vitals. You drift to sleep only to be awoken by the ice cold hands of the night nurse touching you, putting the blood pressure cuff on your arm, messing with the many tubes that are inserted into different areas of your body.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” It’s 3:30 in the morning when you feel it. The sneaking urge to piss. You knew that it didn’t make sense logically, but it was something that always happened. You had to pee, but you have a catheter inserted into your urethra.

“Oh, do you need to have a bowel movement already?” A bowel movement? No, I don’t need to take a shit. The nurse is moving stuff around, likely looking for a bed pan for you.

“No, I have to pee.” You have to pee. The pressure is incredible, and it hurts.

Your mom is stirring, she’s been listening to the interaction, not intervening until she knew she had to. “y/n, sweetie, you have a catheter, remember? You don’t have to pee, it just feels weird.”

You hate this, you hate feeling like you have to be handled.

“Then take it out. I have to pee.” You know they won’t take it out.

“Here, don’t forget you can use this when you start to hurt.” Your mom puts the morphine pump into your hand. The monitor for the pump is facing away from your bed, she had turned it hours ago when she realized you could tell when it cut you off. Anything to try to keep you on an even keel.

You press the button on the pump over and over. Until you fade again.

You wake up scratching at your arms. Everything itches. Head to toe. It’s the morphine, you know. This is another thing you know that happens. When the itching starts to get intense like this, your desire to get the IV out of your arm starts to drive you crazy.

The next time you wake up enough to register what’s happening around you, the sun is up. Your mom is also up and she’s digging around in her purse. A nurse, a new one now that the morning shift started, is putting a blood pressure cuff on your arm again.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Your mom glides over to you. Your pain is manageable, but your brain is so fuzzy. “I’m running home for a quick shower. Dr. Greene will be coming down in a couple of hours to see you.”

She’s gone, and you’re alone. The sounds and scents of the hospital are all around you. The only solace you take in the morning is the fact that water is sitting fine now. You’ve been able to eat some jello, but it roils in your stomach. You have a plastic bin on the table next to your ice water “just in case”.

In the hospital, time is meaningless. Every moment is the same and it’s never ending. You rationally know that things are happening, every moment spent there your body is healing. You know that your time spent here is short when viewed in the context of your life, but it’s also an eternity.

The morning shows come and go, and in the talk show hours you meet someone new. A woman, smaller than you, and she’s wearing a wide leather belt over her hospital scrubs. Shit. You thought maybe you’d get a reprieve since you almost died yesterday, but no, this is when the torture begins.

“Good morning, y/n! I’m Leslie, I’ll be with you every morning and afternoon while you’re here,” yep, you know this already. You can feel yourself aging backward in this moment, you’re going to be a problem for her, it’s already been decided, even if it is more of a punishment for yourself than anything else, “We’re gonna get you up, how’s that sound?”

“Get me up? Like standing?” This isn’t what you expected at all.

“Yes, standing and,” Leslie walks over to the curtain that closes you off from the door to your room to show you something, “we’re going up the stairs.” There’s a small platform with 3 steps and a railing on either side.

Without further conversation, she’s attempting to help you swing your legs over the edge of the bed to get you standing. You offer no help whatsoever. If she wants you up, she can figure it out herself. She mutters an “I see how it is” to herself before digging in her bag and retrieving a sling. She knows what she’s doing, and she’s not going to let your shit attitude get in the way of your recovery.

You never actively fight these things. You just don’t help. You let her situate the sling under your back with your aching legs hanging over the edge of the hospital bed. You let her hands get a good grip on the handles and pull. She’s strong, and she’s got you on your feet.

It’s grueling. The next 40 minutes is spent being dragged, literally at times, from bed to stairs until this pixie demon made you take at least one step up. The rage keeps you moving. Her comments about how ”maybe you just don’t want to get better”, or “is it really worse than being in that bed? Come on” pushed you to get her to shut up. It became your only thought, get this annoying bitch out of my face before I start swinging.

You know this is how it will go. If you thought that, due to the fact that you almost died yesterday, you’d get a small reprieve, you were mistaken. Your surgeon explains this to you when he stops in your room for 10 minutes to check on you that morning. You knew your mom would have a kitten knowing that she managed to miss him. He wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, and that was only if you were lucky.

“We need to encourage the bone to grow and heal through the hollow rod in your femur,” Dr. Greene is delivering this information, as if it will make anything easier, while he lifts your brand new hip joint high enough for your knee to be level with your face. You want to tell him to stop, because it scary and more painful than you want to admit, “See, it’s perfect. Give it a few weeks and you’ll be better than you’ve been in years.”

Time is funny in the hospital, because you fall asleep as soon as he leaves your room, exhausted from his prodding and the unexpected physical therapy visit. You sleep for what feels like hours only to wake up a half hour later when a nurse is at your bedside with a sight you were dreading.

She thinks you’re still sleeping. She probably has no idea that you’re as familiar with the urethral catheter removal kit as anyone not working in healthcare could be. She’s ripping open the sterile package and opening it up on the table that recently held your barely touch breakfast. She starts trying to rouse you while her back is turned and she’s moving the rolling table towards your bed. You can sleep anytime, but right now she has to do this extremely unpleasant task.

You open your eyes and answer in the affirmative to whatever she asks you. It doesn’t matter, you’re going somewhere else for a while. She can do what she needs while you close your eyes. The sun beats down on your face while you lay in the grass. You feel individual blades between your toes and fingers. It’s itchy, and you think you can even feel a stray ant on your arm. It’s fine, he can crawl around and explore the freckles scattered there while you let the sun’s rays lick across your skin.

A sharp pain brings you back to your hospital bed. The nurse seems unperturbed by your yelp, working diligently at your most private place while it’s laid bare in the cold room. You let yourself drift back to the open field where you hear a bumble bee buzz past your closed eyes. Something else is new, a warm hand entangled with your own. You feel cool rings against your warm skin and you know it’s Eddie there with you. You’ve never had anyone else visit this place with you, but it feels so right to have him here. He’s humming a tune while his fingers stroke your knuckles.

You stay there with Eddie, not realizing you have tears pricking at the corner of your eyes until you hear the nurse speaking to you, “sorry, sweetie, but we’re all done. I’ll get you a tissue,” you hear her crumpling up all of the pieces of the catheter that will go into the bin, and you quickly pull the sheet back over your exposed legs.

“Alright, I’ll be back in a minute with your meds, and we can order some lunch.” She leaves the tray next to your bed, now with a box of tissues to wipe away the tears you had shed at the thought of your boyfriend. You want him here, and you want him far away. You want his comfort, and you don’t want him to touch you. You want to be alone, and you need someone here holding your hand. It’s too much, feeling anything at this moment.

You know it’s the drugs, partially, that make you feel like this. You try not to think about needing it because your body was split open. The only thing holding the skin at your hip together being staples and internal stitches until it all heals back together. You try not think about the foreign materials inside replacing the useless dead bones that have to be incinerated. You try not to think about the upcoming pain. The humiliation you know you’ll have to endure. You just hope that being up and moving, despite being something you hate doing, maybe it will help your body re-learn how to have normal bowel movements and allow your bladder muscles to regain their strength.

Lunch comes and goes, and your mom comes back. You’re in and out of consciousness, waking for your regular meds and occasionally when the nurses come to prod and poke at you. You dream of walking barefoot through dewy grass. You dream of Mr. Willis’ classroom, the stench of him so thick you can see it in the air, a green fog filling your nose and throat. You wake up coughing and find your mouth full and chest covered in vomit, the half a turkey sandwich from a few hours ago too much for your aching stomach to handle.

“Eddie’s stopping by in an hour,” your mom is telling you this as she cleans bile out of your hair, “I know it’s not an ideal time, sweetie, but he’s been so persistent. He really loves you, ya know?” You’re too tired for this conversation. Your throat is raw. You want to tell her to make Eddie go home when he comes, but you’re too weak. Besides, your mom will clean you and make you smell nice. It’s not the first time she’s had to do to this type of work, it’s not the first time she’s had to cover up the ugly truth of you to make it easier for the people around you to be feel comfortable. She might even put some makeup on your face while your eyes are resting to give you the appearance of a healthful glow. That was fine. It’s all fine. It will all be fine.

When he gets there, your mom makes an excuse to leave. She stops next to Eddie and says something low that you can’t make out. Immediately, you feel angry and cough out the first words you’ve said in hours, “I’m not a child, you don’t need to whisper behind my back.”

“I was just telling Eddie that your stomach was upset,” your mom’s eyes are pleading for forgiveness while Eddie moves slowly to the chair positioned next to your bed. She sighs a little to herself, points at the little vomit catcher on the table next to you for Eddie to see, and steps around the privacy curtain.

“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?” Eddie is cautiously looking for a place to put his hand so it can touch you, you can see the cogs of his brain turning as his eyes scan the multiple IV spots on both hands. You have enough brain power to turn the hand closest to Eddie over, palm up so he knows he can hold it.

His touch is warm, you hand is icy from the IV fluids running continuously through your veins. No matter what you do, they’re always cold. It feels so nice to have his calloused thumb run along the length of your pointer finger, up and down, up and down. You know you’re going to fall asleep again. But he came to see you. You have to try.

“I don’t feel very good, Ed, and I’m so tired.” Your eyes are closed now and he’s brushing the hair away from your face. It’s still damp from the sponge bath your mom gave you moments before.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here, ok?”

A mercifully dreamless sleep takes over for a while. When you finally open your eyes, it’s dark in the room with only the light of a small lamp in the corner turned on. Eddie is sitting cross legged on the window sill with a notebook and pencil, your mom in the chair next to him, stealing as much light as possible so she can read her paperback. How long had you been allowed to sleep?

“What time is it?” Your voice is weak, and you’re suddenly very thirsty, very hungry, and your bladder is screaming at you. “Mom, I have to go to the bathroom,” you whisper out before either of them can move.

After a little struggle, and some lost modesty as the back of your gown was wide open, you’re mom gets you up on your feet. You know the rules, she’s supposed to get a nurse in to help me to the bathroom, but that could take a while. So, your mom and Eddie, poor unprepared Eddie, helped you up, and let you lean on them while you hobbled to the adjacent bathroom.

As you sit on the porcelain seat, willing your bladder muscles to work, taking deep breaths, begging your body to do a thing that most people will never know can be so incredibly complicated, you worry about Eddie. You know how this looks from your perspective, it’s misery. The first days after a surgery like this are always terrible, but the added stress your body has been through the last few years and the blood transfusion, it’s left you weak and helpless. You try to imagine what you must look like through his eyes.

A trickle of warmth leaks out of you, and you practically cry with joy. You knew if you couldn’t do it right now the nurse would have to come back and re-cath you to relieve your bladder. You can see from the back of you mom’s head in the corner of the small bathroom that she’s doing a little cheer to herself. She also understands, she might be the only one in your life that knows how bad it can get.

The room is still dark when you re-enter, your arm around your mom’s waist to steady you while you drag the IV pole behind you. The adrenaline of being able to use the bathroom is fading fast, and you’re ready to get back into your bed. You spot her, a nurse, in the corner talking to Eddie while arranging pillows around the big chair and you know what’s next.

Eddie’s quick to meet you and your mom, and to fill you in, “Hey, baby, the nurse said you should sit up for a while, ok?” You don’t like his tone, and you can’t help the frown on your face. You hate being talked to like a child, hate people making plans without your consent, even for something as simple as sitting in a chair.

“Fine.” You can feel Eddie tense up at your tone, while he guides you to the chair. You address the nurse as you lower yourself slowly, “how long do you want me here?” Everything hurts and is uncomfortable. You know the pain meds are strong, but they can’t reach every signal your body is throwing at you. Your nerves screaming that something is wrong with you. It was exhausting having to ignore it and do the work.

You had been warned before your surgery that it would be like this. Not like some of your other surgeries, a hip replacement requires immediate work and physical therapy. Too much rest was the enemy, you had to get yourself moving.

“Oh, I don’t know, let’s see if we can get at least 30 minutes. How’s that sound?” Her beaming smile puts you on edge, but you just nod and let Eddie put a stool under your feet, fussing with it to make sure it would be comfortable.

The three of you sat, Eddie back on the window sill and your mom at the edge of your bed, for an hour. If nothing else, you would stubbornly do more than they expected. It was in your nature to prove something, to be better than you need to be. Feel less pain, heal faster, get the fuck out of this hospital room as soon as you can.

When they help you back in the bed, finally, you don’t have anything to say to anyone. No words, despite the friendly conversation your mom and Eddie had carried on the whole time. The nurse brought your prescribed dinner, a gross chicken breast with mashed potatoes and green beans. It all smelled the same, like the disinfectant that covered every surface of the hospital. You manage the mashed potatoes, praying to a god you don’t believe in that it will stay in your stomach and not make a surprise reappearance in an hour.

When Eddie finally says goodbye, he’s been sitting next to you for a while stroking your hair. His eyebrows pinched in concern at your lack of response to him. You want to tell him you’re sorry. You want to tell him to pick you up and take you home. You don’t want to be here anymore. You hate it, and you hate that you can’t get yourself out of the darkness. You feel surrounded by pain and memories. The hospital always brings out the worst in you.

And this is how it goes. Every day for the next 4, each progressively better. Your recovery is going “exceptionally well” according to Dr. Greene. He can’t believe how fast it’s moving, but to you it’s like you’re stuck in molasses. Everything is hard. The first bowel movement you have on day 3 comes with the aid of suppositories. You have to insist that your mom come up with an excuse to keep Eddie away from your room that afternoon when you heard the nurse’s plan to get your intestines back on track. It’s also the same day that the IVs come out, which means you have more control over your meds. You can even get to the bathroom alone, with the help of a walker.

On day 4, Eddie doesn’t visit. He calls, apologizing profusely. And you feel like you know. This is what you expected. You tell him it’s fine, who wants to be sit and be bored at the hospital? You let him tell you about how excited he is for his new campaign. You let him tell you how much he misses you. If he misses me, why didn’t he come? You wish you could reach through the phone line to touch his face. You want to tell him that you’re sorry for anything bad he’s found out about who you are. You’re so sorry, you don’t want to lose him. You don’t want him to leave you. Please, don’t leave me. Please, I’ll be better soon. I’m so sorry.

He has no idea that you’re barely holding on, tears streaming down your face. Alone in your hospital room while he gives you latest gossip about Dustin and his imaginary girlfriend. You even manage to laugh a little. You tell him you miss him, clearing your throat so he can’t hear the break in your voice.

You fall asleep that night contemplating the end of your relationship with Eddie. He was too kind to do it while you laid in this fucking bed. He’ll wait until you’re home. He’ll wait until you’re back at school. He might even wait until after you both graduate. But you know he will. You can’t blame him. You tried to tell him, in the best way you knew how. Tomorrow you get to go home, but all you can think about is how alone you are. You told your mom to sleep in her own bed tonight, you’d be fine. And you are, but you’re not. Why can’t they see that you’re not ok?

“Good morning, baby.” Your eyes are so heavy, you feel like you’ve been asleep for days. You know it’s Eddie’s hand on your arm, it’s his voice ringing in your head. You wonder for a moment if you’re delusional or dreaming. He’s not the only one here, your mom, dad, and Sun are all in the room with you.

“What time is it?” It’s your first thought. Your eyes can’t focus on the clock positioned on the wall across the room. You’re realizing what this is, it’s Saturday morning, you’re supposed to be released. Don’t these people know it will be hours before that actually happens.

“It’s 8. I brought you some breakfast,” you can’t stop the little groan that leaves your mouth at the thought of another hospital meal, but you see Eddie’s holding up a brown bag, “don’t tell the nurse but I brought you sausage McMuffin.

“Oooooohhhh,” you grab the bag out of his hand, the thought of sinking your teeth into the greasy mess. The first bite is heaven, “oh my god, Eddie, I could fucking kiss you right now,” you can’t even care that your mouth is full when you practically moan the words to him. “Oh my god, did you get me a hashbrown too?”

“Who knew you were such a cheap date, Ilene?” Eddie’s practically glowing at your reaction to his little gift. “I figured you’d be sick of the shitty hospital food.”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming. You should go home, Eddie. It’s gonna be a while before I can get out of here.” His face falls a little, and you immediately regret suggesting he leave. “I’m sorry,” you reach out for his arm and smile at him, “I want you here, I just don’t want you to have to sit around all day with me.”

He waves it off, and pulls an extra chair next to the bed, “you look so good today,” his hand cups your face and it sends a wave of pleasure through your chest. His words make you laugh, though. You know how you look, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror when you took a piss at 5 am. You had been excited about getting to the bathroom on your own, but grimaced when you caught your reflection. Your eyes were hollow looking with dark purple circles surrounding them. Your cheeks looked thin and pale. Your hair was stringy. You knew the first thing you’d do when you got back home was take a shower, assuming you’d have the energy.

“I’m serious, you’ve got color in your cheeks,” Eddie looks back to make sure your parents aren’t listening and he leans in close to your ear, “I’ve been thinking about all the ways I can help bring that glow back to your face, as soon as you’re up for it.”

“Eddie, don’t be a pervert, my parents are in the room,” your giggle does bring the attention of your mom, and you give her a tight lipped look. You lower your voice so only he can hear you, “Listen here, loverboy, it’s gonna be a while. I’m sorry.”

“No, do not apologize,” Eddie puts his hand through his hair in exasperation at himself, “I’ve just been thinking about it because I’ve been doing a little research.”

“Research? On sex? I mean, what?” This entire absurd conversation was happening at whisper level while your parents and your stepmom were just out of earshot, but he couldn’t leave you hanging.

“Oh, uh, I hope it’s ok, but I asked one of the nurses for resources about post hip replacement, uh, intimacy. You wouldn’t believe how much information there is about this stuff.” His eyes go wide at the memory, and you laugh thinking about Eddie hunched over sex pamphlets geared towards geriatric sex.

It’s a whirlwind after he drops that bomb, but the joy of the moment shared between you and him stays with you through the rest of the morning. The nurses come in with a stack of paperwork for your parents to fill out while the evil physical therapist makes you take your new hip for one last spin before she sets you free. It’s shocking, but you’re taking steps without any walking aids 5 days post-surgery. Your stubbornness doesn’t allow you to thank her for her help, but your mom happily does. By 11, you’ve been told that they’re sending a wheelchair up for you.

Your dad and Sun kiss you goodbye at the passenger side door of your mom’s sedan. This is the first time leaving the hospital after surgery without being locked tight in a cast or cumbersome brace. You feel hopeful. It’s a shock. You think, maybe this is going to work out, as if you never expected it to.

This is the first moment you’ve allowed yourself to think that way. You feel the temptation to push back, to throw that hope away, but you stop yourself. You let it sit. You let it travel through your body. You let that hope move from the top of your head to the ends of your toes. You embrace it. You close your mind to the thoughts you entertained last night, because right now, your goofy boyfriend is sitting in the backseat of your mom’s car, fiddling the ends of your hair while The Bangels blares from the speakers. And Eddie doesn’t say a word about it.

“I know what you said, and I don’t care. I am not wearing that dress.” Your mom is standing just inside the doorway of your bedroom with a white linen dress in her hand. She picked it up especially for the occasion, even after you told her that you would walk down the aisle, but absolutely not in a white dress. Tradition be damned.

“You’ll be the only one dressed like,” she’s waving dramatically at your choice of black jeans and black boots with a Corroded Coffin t shirt, “that.”

“You know I won’t be.” You’re applying the cherry red lipstick you bought especially for today, especially for Eddie. “And it’s a surprise for him. When I take off the gown, he’ll probably pass out.” You pop you lips together on a piece of tissue, “Totally worth it.”

It’s been exactly 6 weeks since you left the hospital. Full release from your surgeon. The only restrictions, which are lifelong restrictions – no skiing, no running, and no pivoting on the hip. Everything else? Go for it. He even spoke to you privately about sex, telling you that you should have no problem having a perfectly normal sex life. You’d wanted to crawl under the exam table during the conversation, you could feel the heat in your face, but Dr. Greene didn’t seem bothered. It was important information to have. He was vested in your full recovery and successful return to all of the normal life stuff. You were his perfect example of how a hip replacement in a young adult should look. (Except for the almost dying in the operating room, which he’s made no mention of since you left the hospital.)

You’ve been working on your gait. To the absolute confusion of your doctor, your left leg is a full 2 inches shorter than your right, and the muscles are weak. He insists that there’s no reason for the difference in leg lengths, but it’s still there. His offer to prescribe shoes with added lifts was met with a scoff from you. You wouldn’t be limited in your footwear. Even if it means you’ll have to deal with the consequences of it down the line.

The boots you’re wearing today you bought a week ago when you started your new job at the Shoe Circus. It’s only 15 hours a week, and you were technically supposed to wait until Dr. Greene released you for work, but you felt good and ready to do some normal teenager stuff. Like, have a shitty part-time retail job and tromp around in the woods with your boyfriend.

Your cane, specially adapted by the man himself, is waiting for you by the front door. You know that Principal Higgins will have a stroke if he sees the skull’s head handle that Eddie picked up somewhere. He just laughs and tells you, “I have my ways, Ilene, don’t worry about it,” when you ask him. The cane, though, can stay in your mom’s car. You shouldn’t need it for the ceremony.

When you arrive at the school, the parking lot is full, but you immediately spot Eddie’s van parked in the back by the trail that heads into the woods. You don’t see him, though, and he usually sticks out in the Hawkins crowd.

It’s not until you’re sat on the stage in alphabetical order that you spot him. He’s racing to the steps on the side of the stage, cap in hand and gown flowing behind him. He has the appearance of someone that just barely made it in time, which is weird because his van was in the parking lot when you arrived a half an hour ago. He manages to sneak to his seat with minimal damage, although you catch him trip over someone’s foot.

The ceremony is long and boring, and you’re so ready to get out of the building you wonder why you agreed to come in the first place. Mom wants you here. Your mom earned this, seeing her daughter walk for graduation, get her diploma, throw her cap in the air. So, you sit still and let your mind go back to the field with Eddie, your special spot, a place where time is meaningless and all that matters is you and him. Except this time, you really get to have that. You get to feel that grass between your toes, Eddie’s hand in yours, the sun beating down on your face. You just have to get through this tiresome ordeal.

Your mom gets her moment, you see her camera flashing its bulb as you shake hands with Principal Higgins, despite the “no flash photography” rule written out on the programs at the auditorium entrance. Your mom also gets to see you goofy ass boyfriend snatch his diploma out of Higgins’ hand and flip him off before he runs out of one of the side doors. It’s so stupid and ridiculous, but what do you expect? It’s Eddie.

Eddie’s shenanigans earn a big laugh from the corner of the auditorium. The Hellfire Club let out hoots and hollers of joy, their leader finally getting the fuck out of this prison. The club wanted to immediately start partying after the ceremony, and you had to do a lot of begging for them to let you steal Ed away for a while. A party was happening in 2 nights. You expect you’ll be taking care of a very sick boyfriend that night.

You let your mom take pictures of you holding your diploma, just like all the other parents are doing. She kisses you, she hugs you, she looks like she’s going to cry – these are all things that make you desperately uncomfortable, but you let her do them. And when she leaves, you know she feel satisfied and proud, so it’s worth it.

You’ve got your cane, and you ditched your robe in the trunk of your mom’s car before she left. You reapplied your lipstick and grabbed your purse. Now all you needed to do is find Eddie. You spot him leaning against his van, cigarette in hand. He was waiting for you. The closer you get, the more you can focus on his frame. Tall and thin, his curls fluffy and framing his face. You swear he’s doing it on purpose, standing in a spot where the sun rays whisper through the tree canopy and make him practically glow.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for my boyfriend, have you seen him?” He catches you with his eyes, a wide smile that turns into wide eyes and a gaping mouth. You do a little twirl for him to catch sight of your very tight jeans. The corroded coffin shirt is cut into a crop top exposing a scandalous amount of skin.

“Holy shit, Ilene, were you wearing that during graduation?” As soon as you were within arm’s reach he pulled you into him, pressing your body against his. He feels like he’s on fire already, “Baby, baby, baby, mmmmm, come here, let me show you something.” He’s nuzzling at your neck like a cat, rubbing himself against you like he can’t control himself. You knew he’d like the outfit, but this is beyond what you could have expected.

Eddie was nervous about being with you. A part of the deal you made with each other was to be completely honest about any fear either of you might have about being intimate, no matter what the reason. Despite everything the doctor told you, what the pamphlets told him, and how using your hands on each other seemed to only fuel the fire you both felt, he kept telling you he wanted to be sure he wouldn’t hurt you.

“What do you want to show me, Ed? If it’s your cock, I’m fairly well acquainted with it already. Although I don’t mind getting to know it a little better,” Eddie’s groan in response is muffled by your hair, “but don’t we have plans?”

“Mmm, yeah, but let me show you first, ok?” Eddie breathes in the scent of your neck deeply before pulling himself away and taking your hand to lead you to the back of the van. When he opens the doors, his eyes are focused on your face. He wants to see your reaction to his surprise. To see the moment you take in the care he put into this.

Eddie has known since the first moments he spent with you that it was right. Everything about you made him feel. He embraced the feeling because he knew you couldn’t do that. You were so raw, an open wound moving around the school, oozing anger, sadness, and a kind of strength he couldn’t help but want to get close to. His initial goal was to get you to smile for him, and the first time he did, he was addicted. Everything he desired in life paled in comparison to the feeling he got when he heard you laugh, or when he heard you say his name. It sent a thrill through his body every time.

You are the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, and he wants to hold and protect you. He wants to laugh with you. He wants to be with you while he sees you unfurl your wings and fly away from all of the pain you’ve known for so long. He counts himself as extremely lucky to have been sent to Principal Higgins for detention all those weeks ago. He knows he never would have reached that graduation stage without you, and he can’t help but tear up at the thought of how much you’ve offered him in the short time you’ve known him.

Today, he wants to show you everything. Rip open his chest to hand over his still beating heart for you to hold. Because he knows you would protect it in the same way he knows he would protect yours. You gave him his future, he’s sure of it.

“Eddie, is that an air mattress?” You reach out to feel it underneath the soft bedding he has it made up with and you know the answer before he can speak it.

“No, baby, it’s a pillow top mattress, super soft, right?” The entire back of his van is made up like a makeshift bedroom, complete with extra soft looking pillows and a curtain between the front and the back for privacy. You see a foam wedge pillow set in the corner, and peep a picnic basket with a blanket folded underneath it, “I was thinking, since we don’t get a whole lot of private time, we could use this as a makeshift spot to, uh, mmmm,” you interrupt his train of thought backing yourself into him, letting your hips push against him. You reach your arm back and put your fingers in his hair, pulling his head down to your neck, “yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”

Eddie has to peel you off him to get you into the front seat of the van. You’re ready to test the bed in the high school parking lot, but he has other plans. His plans are better.

He doesn’t tell you where you’re going, just that he had already told your mom to not expect you back until tomorrow. The freedom of that information, something that only a month ago would have set your nerves alight, has you floating. The pain is real, it’s still there, but it feels more tangible. It feels like the pain that accompanies healing and growth, because it is. Your bones and muscles are literally growing stronger every day and the thought of spending the night in the back of Eddie’s van doesn’t terrify you. You can do that, and probably quite comfortably.

Especially because he made a space for you. He keeps doing that, making room, adjusting things without even realizing it. It makes your heart swell, seeing and feeling the care he takes in everything that comes with being your boy. He’s shined a light into all of your dark places and shrugged at the horrors, pushing them away from you and filling your life with an easy peace.

“Alright, so remember that, uh time we had out here a few weeks ago?” You’re pulling up to Lovers Lake, a secluded section you hadn’t realized even existed, “I was walking around out here contemplating life last week, and I found this little road and, well, no one comes out here.” He throws the van into park and wiggles his eyebrows at you, “Pretty, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, Ed. Real pretty.” You tell him while you gaze at his profile. He’s the most beautiful boy you’ve ever met. And you love him.

It’s hot dogs over a fire for dinner, with jello cups for dessert. He brought a bottle of wine, cheap gas station chardonnay that makes you giggly. You take your shoes and socks off to dip your toes in the cool lake water. Eddie fetches sticks to roast marshmallows. You decide camping is fun when you do it with him, especially when you know home is no more than a 20 minute drive away. For all it matters, you could be hours away from civilization with how brightly the moon light glows across the surface of the lake.

“You know, Eddie, I’ve got to tell you something very important,” it’s a reversal, Eddie’s got his head resting in your lap while you sit on a log bench at the lake edge. You’re running your hands through his hair while his eyes close. It smells like summer out here and the peepers are singing a song for you and your boy, “I love you, did you know that?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but a smirk starts playing on his lips at your words. “Oh, you love me?” He whispers it, like it’s a secret between you and the woods, “I love you too, Ilene. I love you so fucking much I feel like my heart’s gonna explode every time I think about you.”

“No, don’t do that, it sounds like it would hurt, Ed.” You stroke his cheek with the backs of your fingers, “Eddie, do you want to go to bed?” You let your hand slip down into his shirt running your finger along his collarbone where his skin is so incredibly soft. You lean down to whisper, again as if in secret, “I saw that piece of foam in the corner of your van, did you maybe have something else planned for us tonight.”

His eyes finally peek open while he giggles goofily, “Maybe, baby, what do you think about that, hmm?” One of his eyes is squinted shut and the other is watching for your reaction. “Want to consummate this thing finally? We’ve got all the time in the world, and no one to bother us.”

Hand in hand, you make your way to your room for the evening. It’s so much cozier than it should be, and you know it’s because Eddie is with you. It takes no time at all for you to get lost in him – surrounded by his scent and touch, he whispers against your skin. You feel so much by the time you’re both under the warm blankets, nude forms pressing against each other while your mouths move in sync.

“I want to try something,” the heat of his breath on your neck has every hair on your body standing on end, he’s stroking your side with whispered touches. “Tell me if you can’t, but I, uh, really want you to sit on my face.”

You’re groan at his words is almost a yelp. You’re throbbing, he’s worked you up with his gentle touching, and you’ve let him. You know it’s worth it, taking your time will ease any pains that might sneak up on you. I really want you to sit on my face. Your rocking hips tell you that you really want that too.

Eddie’s props his head up at an awkward angle. Much higher than could be comfortable, but his features are written with want as he watches you bring your leg over his face. You want to watch him as he strokes himself, but he’s insistent that you face the other way, at least at first. He’s so pretty, pale skin with scatters of ink. His perfect cock, pink and hard as his hand lazily works his length. You do what he asked, trusting him, and face the front of the van resting your hands on the back of the seat.

“Look how pretty she is, she’s crying for me Babe.” You’ve lost the chance to respond when his broad tongue licks against you, dipping inside. And now you know why he wanted it like this, because he pulls you gently down onto his face. His nose nudges at your sensitive and swollen clit while his tongue wastes no time fucking into you. Your hands are at your tits, playing with your nipples because you don’t need to brace yourself, Eddie’s fully got you. Any concern you have about him not being able to breathe is gone when you hear him moaning and his hand stroking his cock even faster.

You want to tell him not to cum, no you want him in your mouth, but your grinding so hard against his mouth and nose seeking your pleasure you don’t have the words. Your orgasm slams into you hard, every muscle in your body tenses, you can feel your thighs trap Eddie’s head even tighter than before. You’re panting and whining as white heat tears through your brain and you spasm around Eddie’s tongue. Wave after wave until you drop against the back of the bench seat. Eddie taps your outer thigh to remind you that you’re, in fact, still sitting on his face.

You waste no time in climbing off of him, a little stiff but the orgasm haze still has you loose. You feel wild with desire when you kiss him and find his face absolutely drenched in your arousal. Like an animal, you lick a stripe up his cheek, tongue rubbing against his stubble. “Please, Eddie, please. I need you inside of me now.”

Eddie looks blissed to the max, and you can see that he came while you were using him. He’s soft, so you climb down to work your mouth against him. You let your tongue pick up his spend, moving around his base to clean his mess.

“Oh, fuck,” he squeaks out at the feel of your mouth. He’s growing hard, his tip starting to weep again, “Baby, stop, I’ll cum again.”

“How do you want me, Eddie.” Your hand is wrapped around his length, and you look up at him through your eyelashes. He can’t believe his eyes. You look like a goddess, mascara smudged under your eyes, nipples hard and pressed against his thigh. It takes a little effort, but he remembers his research and pulls you to him.

The position he has you in is fail proof, and he has no desire to fuck this up. You both need this right now. You’re back pulled into his chest, his mouth has access to your neck. He brushes your hair away and attaches his mouth to your shoulder while shifts and maneuvers your hips to allow him better access. “Tell me if it hurts.”

He presses into you slowly, and his teeth sink into you shoulder. He groans into your skin, your cunt is clenching him with every inch he gives you. He’s grounding himself inside of you while running a hand down your outer thigh brushing against your scars. You rock back into him, you have no words to tell him what you need so you show him.

A hard and slow rhythm, moving together while he reaches deeper and deeper inside of you. A knot forming inside of you, he’s nudging spots you’ve never been able to reach before. You’re both whining out “I love yous”, his fingers against your clit and the bomb detonates. Your orgasm creates lights flashing against your eyelids, tears are running down your cheeks. Eddie’s sobs of pleasure at the feeling of you clamping onto him bring another wave of pleasure. Your third orgasm of the evening has you spent completely, and Eddie stills inside of you.

“Oh my god, Eddie,” you finish your thought with a groan that turns into a little yelp as he pull himself free of you.

“I love you so much,” you turn to find Eddie with tears in his eyes. You lay that way, face to face stroking your faces for an endless amount of time. Sloppy kisses, breath against lips, sweat cooling against your skin while you bask in the glow of your shared love.

Eddie hasn’t told you this yet, but he’s registered for classes at the local community college for the fall. An HVAC program, and he’s already got an apprenticeship lined up. He’ll wait a while to ask, but he’s already signed a lease on an apartment just outside of Hawkins. He needed to find a ground level unit with easy access to a parking lot. It has a little patio where you can put your herb garden.

You haven’t told him yet, either, that you’re ready for everything that comes next, because he’ll be with you.

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