Exalted

Eddie strode quickly down the hall, tapping his thumb on the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder and trailing music behind him from the headphones around his neck. He took the stairs two at a time, his black boots clunking satisfyingly on each step, and skidded into his class just in time. 

“I prefer live music for concerts, Mr. Munson,” the professor said dryly, tapping his own collarbone to indicate where Eddie’s headphones hung. “I am sure Metallica will wait for you.”

Eddie grinned and turned the music off, pulling his sketch book out of his bag and picking up a pen that had clattered to the floor. One thing he liked about this class was that the professor actually liked decent music - Metallica for instance - and didn’t take himself too seriously. 

“We’re going to be watching some footage from Studio 54 today,” the professor addressed the class. “I want you to sketch as many looks as you can while the video plays. You’ll be using those sketches for your mock collection, so try for a variety of pieces and pay attention to patterns and fabric.” 

He pulled up the video and glanced at Eddie. “Apologies to Mr. Munson, but the music is going to be decidedly less metal than what you’re accustomed to.”

“Hey, I would never shade the immaculate Ms. Summer,” Eddie protested as ‘Hot Stuff’ began to play tinnily through the laptop speakers. 

“Just sketch, Eddie,” the professor laughed, and a giggle went around the room. 

Eddie bent to the task, his hand moving almost without him looking as faceless figures filled the page. He liked these exercises; the fast pace suited his always frenetic energy, and he enjoyed the challenge of fitting more each time around into the limit set by whatever video the professor used. Throughout the room there were shuffles and the scratching noise of pencils on paper, and someone on the other side of the room was definitely humming along, just a little off-key. The video stopped, and everyone stopped their sketching.

“Okay, now I want you to work on pulling some ideas out for your collections,” the professor said. “We’ll go over them on Wednesday, but if you have any questions I can help you for the rest of the period. And as a reminder, this is the last mock collection before studio starts, so I suggest you give it your all.”

That was another thing Eddie liked about this professor - he didn’t feel the need to fill the class with meaningless stuff, choosing instead to just let them get on with their work. Eddie slid the headphones back onto his head and turned his music on, fiddling with a sleeve on one sketch and the hem of another, transferring bits from some pages to a clean one, until he had the basis of a collection and the professor was rapping on his desk to alert him that class was over.

He pulled the headphones off one ear and thanked the professor. “Got a little lost in there,” he joked, stuffing his supplies back into this bag. 

The professor waved him off. “You were getting the work done,” he said as he leaned against a nearby desk. “How has it been going?”

“Oh, fine,” Eddie stood, adjusted his bag over his shoulder, and headed

 for the door. “You know how it goes.” He swooped a hand through the air like the curve of a rollercoaster. “Up and down, but still moving forward.”

“Well, come see me if you need anything,” the professor said kindly. “Don’t let yourself get stuck; I’ve done that to myself too many times.”

Eddie laughed and fled the classroom, replacing his headphones to drown out the chattering groups of students. He nodded to a few of the people in his program, heading out of the building and crossing the quad to the parking area. He swung up into his van and dropped his bag into the passenger seat, the upgraded stereo system syncing to his phone and blasting music as he turned the key. He nosed cautiously out of the parking spot - nobody in this school ever paid attention in the parking lot, and one too many close calls had made him vigilant and a level of cautious that nobody who’d known him in high school would ever believe - and mulled over whether his next upgrade should be a backup camera. He liked that nobody expected an old van like his to have anything modern, but between Wayne and the internet Eddie was able to figure out how to do just about anything he wanted, so the van was in better shape than it had any right to be, and had more amenities than had been dreamed of when it had rolled off the assembly line long before he was even born.

Except for that one creak, he thought, as the sound of metal rubbing on metal caught his ear. He’d never been able to track that annoying little gremlin down, and he’d replaced almost the whole interior. (He’d worn a respirator and one of those hazmat suits from Home Depot. Wayne hadn’t even laughed at him, just told him to scrub it down with bleach.) He pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, gravel crunching under the tires as the van jerked to a stop in the spot assigned to him - empty, for a change, as his crazy neighbor that insisted that all the spots were one place over from where they actually were (they are numbered, dude) was apparently not home.

Eddie closed the door of the van with a thunk and trotted up the echoing metal stairs to his apartment, jingling his keys. He could have stayed in the dorms on campus, but having that many people around all the time made him jumpy. He needed the drive home from school with nothing but the hum of the tires and the music pouring out of the speakers to change from school mode to home mode, or he’d never relax. He’d never be able to understand how some people could live and work in the same place; he knew he’d never get any sleep if he tried it.

He unlaced his boots and kicked them off in the entrance, dropping his bag on the table and slinging his jacket over the back of a chair before he headed into the kitchen. He filled his favorite metal cup with ice water and carried it into the living space with him, fiddling with his phone until he found a playlist and started it streaming through his home speakers. He’d tried using Alexa for awhile, but he’d had to stop when her constant questions just made it clear how much he talked to himself without noticing it. 

He settled on the couch and scrolled through his texts, answering a few (no, I’m not coming home this weekend and Samwise Gamgee was the best and I will not tolerate hobbit slander and if you paint it yellow we are no longer friends) and leaving a few on read to deal with later, which probably meant never - it’s amazing how popular you are on the weekends if you have a van or a truck. His ringtone blared out as he held the phone, and he almost flung it across the room, managing to fumble it back into his fingers before disaster struck. 

“Chrissy, I swear to god - you almost gave me a heart attack,” he said without bothering with a greeting, and was rewarded with a cheery giggle.

“Did you throw your phone again?” His friend asked, her voice full of mirth at his expense.

“No, I did not,” he huffed. “Okay, I almost did. It’s like you know when to call.” He leaned back against the couch cushions, grinning. Chrissy had gone through some rough times after high school, it was how they’d met and become friends, and it was good to hear her laughing, even if it almost cost him his phone. As long as it didn’t actually cost him his phone. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” She asked, then continued quickly when she heard him suck in a breath to start his rant. “I am not moving, I don’t need to borrow your van, no manual labor is involved, of course there will be food, driver picks the music-“

“Shotgun shuts his cake hole,” Eddie finished the quote, laughing. “Just tell me what it is, Chris. You already know I’m going to do it, but if it’s really bad you owe me one.”

“It’s not bad,” she protested. “I want to go to the movies.”

Eddie perked up. “Movies? What movie?” His rich voice was almost a purr - for all her good girl exterior, little Chrissy Cunningham had a secret taste in movies, and she always found the good stuff.

“The Box is doing a 70’s weekend, and tomorrow night they’re doing a double feature - Bloodsucking Freaks and The Gore Gore Girls,” Chrissy said with relish. “It’s that little place over in Wilton, the brick building with the speakeasy bar in the basement?”

“I know the place,” he agreed. “What time am I picking you up?”

“It starts at ten, but if you come over at seven we can order pizza and eat first,” she offered. 

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed easily, then paused. “How’s everything going? Sounds like you aren’t planning on going home this weekend.” He prodded gently.

She sighed so loud he swore it tickled his ear. “Don’t ask, Eddie, you know how it is.” He could hear her fiddling with something on the other end of the call, and waited her out. “It’s just - I told my parents I’m bisexual, but all they heard was the part where I also still like men, you know? So every time I go home somebody’s idiot son just happens to show up to drop something off or borrow something, and oh, you two should go do something while you’re both in town.” She snorted - an indelicate sound most people would never think she was capable of before they got to know her. “Even if I was straight I wouldn’t want to date a clone of Jason, and if I ever did it would be enough to swear me off men forever.”

“If you ever date another Jason, it might make me swear off men forever,” Eddie countered, and she laughed again.

“You practically have,” she shot back, and he winced.

“Right in the ribs with that knife, Ms. Cunningham,” he sniped, putting his feet up on the coffee table and knocking them together in an absent-minded rhythm. 

“It’s only fair,” she caroled back before sobering. “But, seriously - how long has it been since you had a date?”

“I will have you know that I am saving myself for my dream man,” Eddie said loftily. “He will be kind, intelligent, funny, and-“

“Built like Michael Phelps but thicker, yes, I know. I also know that you don’t do anything to find this mythical perfect guy. How long are you planning on ‘saving yourself’?” Chrissy was still giggling, enjoying teasing him for a change, so he just let it roll on. This is what having siblings would be like, he thought.

“Are you implying I have some sort of expiration date?” He gasped like an offended dowager virgin. “How misogynistic of you! I am so disappointed in you - you should know that people are more than just their youthful good looks,” he added sanctimoniously.

“I don’t think you can blame your barren sex life on the patriarchy, Eddie,” Chrissy sputtered through her laughter.

“I assure you that I can, and I will.” They hung up through more laughter, and Eddie drained his cup before checking the time and making another call.

“I have had dinner and taken my medicine,” a gruff voice sounded in his ear. “You don’t have to check up on me all the time; it’s just an ulcer. You’re like an old woman.”

“You are the second person tonight to accuse me of being past my prime,” Eddie complained. “I’m going to get a complex.”

“Wouldn’t be the only one,” the voice muttered, chuckling.

“Uncle Wayne,” Eddie chided. “I’m going to tell my therapist about you.”

“That makes it sound like you are going to your therapist, and we both know you aren’t,” Wayne shot back, and Eddie sighed, rubbing his forehead. “So what’s going on?” The voice softened. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie stood and padded into his kitchen, rattling the ice cubes in his cup. “I’m just feeling - frustrated I guess?” He filled his cup again, and pulled a take-out carton out of the refrigerator. “I’m doing fine, classes are going fine, everything is just - fine.” He dumped the noodles into a bowl and stuck it in the microwave, pressing the popcorn button and hoping for the best. 

“Well, that sounds boring as hell,” his uncle grunted, and Eddie smirked.

“It is, it is,” he leaned back against the counter, watching his bowl spin as the microwave hummed. “I know it’s nothing, and I just have to get through this prep stage and then I’ll have studio and really get to do things.” The microwave beeped, and he popped it open and reached for his bowl, scalding his fingers on the hot rim immediately. He pulled his hand back, shaking it to cool it down, and leaned back against the counter.

“Only one way to get there,” Wayne agreed. “Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself on the way.”

“I’m going out with Chrissy tomorrow,” Eddie said defensively. “And I’m probably going to head home next weekend or the weekend after, hang out with Gareth, maybe jam if the rest of the guys can make it.” Eddie grabbed his now cooler bowl and sat at the table. “I don’t know.” He poked at his noodles with his fork. “Maybe I’m just being impatient again.”

“Maybe,” his uncle agreed. “Maybe you just need to get out of your rut, try something different. I know you’re giving it your all at school, and I’m proud of you, but you don’t have to give everything else up for it.”

Eddie swallowed around the unexpected lump in his throat. “Thanks,” he managed. “I’ll try. I’m going to finish up my homework tonight and then take it easy for the weekend, get caught up on sleep.” He stirred his now cold noodles and smiled into the phone. “Don’t forget to take your medicine. Love you,” he told his uncle, who returned the sentiment in a suspiciously watery tone.

The noodles went back in the microwave for another quick spin, and he ate them over the sink before washing out the bowl and setting it in the drainer. He pulled his books and laptop out of his bag and set himself up at the table, turning up the music to just under the level that would piss off his neighbors, and got to work. Time passed without him even noticing, and he yawned and stretched out his stiff back when he finished, shocked to realize it was almost two a.m. 

He rose from his chair with a groan, turning off the music and scuffing down the narrow hall to to his bathroom. He relieved himself and washed his face and hands, pulling off his shirt and brushing his teeth. He leaned closer to the mirror, the dark circles under his brown eyes standing out in the harsh lighting, and stuck his tongue out at his reflection. I am sleeping forever,  he thought as he trailed down the hall to his bedroom and flopped on his bed, burrowing under the covers with a loud sigh.

The cold water stung his face and filled his nose and ears, and he flailed his arms, trying to push out of the tub but being held under until a boiling red crept up behind his eyelids and he was pulled out by the roots of his hair, choking and gasping. He could dimly hear the screaming through his own labored breathing and the water that still clogged his hearing, the venomous reminders that he was bad, that he was rotten, that he was full of sin and was dragging this family with him, that there was only one thing to do with such a rotten child, and he scrabbled for purchase on the arm holding him by the hair before he was shoved forward and the water closed over his head again. 

Eddie shot out of bed, his knees hitting the floor as he scrambled forward, gagging and retching, sobs racking his frame as he fumbled for the lights. He made it to the bathroom before his dinner came back up, and he leaned against the cold porcelain tub after he finished heaving and flushed it away. The early morning sunrise was already peaking through the blinds, and he blearily stared at the window, exhaustion and terror shaking their way out of his skin. I need to go back to sleep, he thought, it was just a stupid nightmare, I just need to go back to bed. 

He forced himself to his feet, pushing himself up against the edge of the tub, and made his way to the living room instead. He stretched out on the couch, rubbing his arms in the early-morning chill but not wanting to bother getting a blanket. The thought of going back to his bed right now made him shudder, but he’d slept in worse places than his couch. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep, but he drifted off quickly, his physical exhaustion overriding his mind as he listened to the morning sounds start up outside his window.