Believe It Or Not (An Eddie Munson Story)

Medusa

Eddie's POV: 

"She hasn't been to school for a week, Robin," I say, my voice strained. "What am I supposed to do?" I had grabbed the curly-haired girl on her way to third period and pulled her off to the side of the hall. 

"I don't know, Eddie. Maybe don't kiss random women in alleyways?" she says bitterly and I flinch. 

"If I could go back and take it back I would," I say and she rolls her eyes, fidgeting with the books in her arms. "I just want to know she is alright and try to find a way to speak to her. Her phone isn't working and I don't have the number for the main line in her house."

"And I'm not going to give it to you," Robin says harshly, her eyes are cold when she looks up at me. 

"Steve said you would help me," I plea and she sighs. 

"Harrington isn't here everyday. He has already graduated and shouldn't meddle in high school bullshit." 

"Robin, I just want to make things right." 

"Then you are going to have to figure it out on your own," she sighs, pushing her hair from her face. "I'm not going to risk helping you and making this worse for her. You aren't the one trying to help her pick up the pieces you shattered. If you can't fix this on your own then you need to leave well enough alone and let her move on." 

The idea makes my stomach lurch and my breath catches in my throat. How could I have been so blind? Why was I buried so deeply in doubt that I couldn't see she is the girl of my dreams? Why did it take losing her to realize that I love her too? 

"Is she alright at least? Is she eating? Is she sleeping?" I choke out and Robin regards me sadly. 

"She's managing," she sighs. "Just like I can imagine you are."

With that she turns and walks away. I stand there, unsure what to do. I have been showing up to school every day in the hopes that she would walk through those doors and I could try to talk to her. I go to class just for a distraction, but it never works. I close my eyes at night and I see her face. I wake up crying, clinging to my sheets and shaking. I try to call her almost every half hour that I am home. I keep getting the same disconnected sound on the other line, but I try over and over anyway hoping eventually she will plug the phone back in. 

I leave the school and get into my van, deciding I'll just have to go to her. I drive to her house and as I'm pulling onto her street I see her walk down her driveway and head down the road in the opposite direction, her hands in the pockets of her pink coat. I stop the van and debate on what to do before I follow at a distance, making sure I stay far enough so she can't hear or see me, but I can still see her. She walks out of her development and heads down the street to the local convenience store. I park a distance away and wait until she comes out. 

Ripley walks out several minutes later, but she isn't alone. Beside her, Patrick McKinney is grinning down at her, dangling a bag from his fingertips. She looks down at her shoes as they talk and walk, heading back in the direction of her house and my chest clenches. I turn around and follow them back. Ripley leads Patrick inside of her house and then closes the door behind them and my head spins. I rest it against the steering wheel and I try to remember how to breath. She looks fine, in fact she looks more then fine. She isn't wearing any makeup and she's in casual clothes, but she still looks gorgeous and now she's alone in her house with a guy. A guy that has admitted he likes her. I punch the dashboard as hard as I can and I split my knuckle open in the process, blood gushing everywhere. 

"Fuck!" I scream as I grab a spare t-shirt from the passenger seat and wrap it around my hand. I pull away from her house and head to my trailer. A million thoughts are racing through my head. What is Patrick doing skipping school? Why hasn't Ripley been showing to school? Are they dating? How long have they been meeting like that? I step inside and yell loudly, all my frustration cascading through me and I go to my room. I pull out a joint from my tin box and light it, taking a drag and flopping back on my bed. I continue to take hit after hit until the joint is spent and I discard it. It isn't enough. I trudge to the fridge and open a beer, chugging it and tossing the can over my shoulder before pulling the entire pack out. I just don't want to think anymore. I don't want to feel anymore. I go back to my room and crack open another can and pull out another joint, settling in. .