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CHAPTER SEVEN.Will The Wise NOVEMBER 2. 1984
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EDDIE MUNSON HAD A LOT OF SECRETS. Things he kept from his friends, his band mates, the normies at school, even his uncle, Wayne. He was like everyone else in Hawkins. A little broken. A little mystery.
But he never had a secret like the one sitting in his trailer.
By morning, the news had already heard about Indigo running away. Someone had leaked it. Again. Vinny Monroe was ready to raise hell on his team and figure out who the fuck was spreading the word on Indigo's condition. Was it Red? Who had been coming in and out of town for days due to other jobs? No...Red hates the media. Once he got charged with assault for beating up an interviewer for asking another celebrity unnecessary questions. Was it one of his assistants? The other agents? Someone from the label? Vinny had to figure it out. He'd fire everyone on the team if he has to.
But Eddie didn't know that. He was skipping school, watching the news religiously, and anxiously looking at the blond sitting on his couch.
Indigo wasn't exactly sober...not yet, anyways. Eddie knew she had a limited amount of time, and so did she. But she was taking her last remaining hours and using them to her advantage. Snorting the last bit of whatever Eddie had hours ago. Smoking, drinking, dancing in his bedroom to his cassettes. She forgot who she was the first twelve hours. Now, on hour fourteen, maybe fifteen, she was slumped on the couch, nodding her head as she hummed to herself.
Eddie had changed into new clothes. He even showered. He was still in a band tee and jeans, but he added on an old denim jacket someone left at the Hideout at one of his first shows. Indigo was still in her same clothes. Eddie's clothes. Part of him couldn't believe he had Indigo: Pop-star Gone Bad sitting in his shirt.
Indigo was smoking a cigarette. The house reeked of smoke anyways, Wayne wouldn't notice one more. She rested her arm on the back of the couch, her hand in her hair. She took a deep drag, exhaling. She batted her lashes. Maybe Eddie was crazy, but he could've sworn that her lashes were so much darker than the average person. They contrasted against her pale skin in a way that he hadn't noticed much before.
"Do you have a guitar?" She blurted out. Eddie looked at her in confusion. Indigo flicked part of cigarette into the ash tray on the arm of the couch. She stared at Eddie. "Do you?"
The teenage boy stuttered. "I have my mom's old guitar, and my Uncle Wayne got me one—" Indigo suddenly stood up, walking away. Eddie blanket stared after her, before rushing to follow the blond.
By the time he got into his room, Indigo was sitting on his bed, legs crossed under her, and his mom's acoustic on her lap. She was strumming. She had a vision. The cigarette hung between her lips. The guitar wasn't tuned, but that didn't bother the teenage singer.
