The can slipped out of my hand, dropping with a dull clank and rolling down the aisle a way. I sighed heavily, going to retrieve it. The monotony was becoming tiring. The static humdrum of stocking shelves and serving customers was beginning to no longer make me feel accomplished, but it made me feel bored.  I picked up the now dented can, sighing again. What was I doing with my life?

"Oh shit...if I'd known you were here, I wouldn't have come," a voice that made the irritation in me rise to the surface said from behind me. I ignored him, placing the dented can on the shelf and reaching for another. He scoffed, grabbing the can I had just shelved.

"Fuck off, Munson."

He scoffed again.

"Man, the customer service here sucks balls. Maybe I should report that to the manager?" He remarked slyly, and I knew from the tone of his voice he was smirking. I thought about not dignifying him with a response, I really did, but I just couldn't let him get away with his sly remarks.

I finally turned to him, crossing my arms over my chest and levelling him with a glare. He was obviously amused.

"You are the most annoying person I've ever crossed paths with. And don't even get me started on the sound of your irritating voice."

He huffed out a laugh.

"You'll love me one of these days," he said almost offhandedly. I narrowed my eyes at the man, who backed away with his hands up in surrender.  Finally, he turned away and went down another aisle. I breathed out in relief. God, he was always so frustrating!

My "rivalry" with Eddie began in our freshman year of highschool.

"Mmm I don't know about that...it would probably be bad luck to let a girl in our DND club," the then short-haired boy said, looking to the other members, who collectively agreed with him, because he was the leader and they had no brains of their own to use.

I sighed, having realized prior my being a girl would probably be the deciding factor of my joining the club. I was right. These stupid boys of course discriminated against me because I wasn't a boy.

"Fine. If you won't let me join your club, I'll start my own." 

The boys started laughing obnoxiously. Obviously, it wasn't funny to me. I meant what I'd said. Since they wouldn't let me into their club simply because I was a girl, I would start my own club.

"Yeah, well you can try, but you'd be the only one in your club. No other girls would play DND."

"Well watch me, Munson. I'll start my own club, and I won't allow any boys!"

True to my words, I set out the next day to find club members. Unfortunately, only one other girl displayed an ounce of interest. She didn't know how to play, and I had to explain everything to her. I used up all my patience to help her learn, but she just didn't understand.

It didn't help that Munson popped in, watching us from the corner of the room.

"This is a great club, Johnson," he said with a smirk after I let the girl leave. I sighed heavily, the pang of disappointment ringing within me. I really thought I could do something, make a point, but obviously, nothing I did ever worked out.

"Can it, Munson," I murmured dejectedly as I began to pick up all the character pieces. He silently moved to help me, and one by one, we had the game cleaned up. When I was sure I had everything packed up, I headed out the door of the classroom, the brown-eyed boy following me.

We walked in silence to the doors leading out of the building, and I spotted my mom's car.

Turning to the boy, I sighed again. His eyes looked at me with expectancy.

"You were right. No other girls want to play DND. Now thanks for you help, but leave me alone."

I walked away from him, heading to my mom's car.

I shook my head to rid myself of thoughts of the past.

Picking up another can, I placed it on the shelf.

——

I smiled at the woman, and as she walked away, my smile slowly morphed into a scowl.

I swear, old people were the only people to ever seem to have a problem with anything. Surely, if a young person could walk in and find what they were looking for, even with a new label, an older person could do it too! Yes, the label is slightly different. Yes, it's the same product. No, it's not going to taste different! No, it didn't taste different last time you ate it, you've just convinced your stubborn self it tasted different because you can't accept change!

I sighed, clearing my head. Plastering a fake smile on my face as I turned to the next customer, I began to ring up his items.

"Leave the milk out. I'll be needing it as soon as I get home."

I obliged, leaving the milk on the counter to my left and scanning the next few items. As I picked up a pack of bacon to scan, the man sucked in a breath and held up his finger.

"Actually, can you bag the milk? It's cold and wet, and I don't want condensation all over my shirt."

Reluctantly, I set the bacon back on the conveyor belt to bag the milk. Once the milk was settled in the paper bag, I returned to the scanner, scanning and bagging the bacon and next few items. The man hummed, pointing his finger again.

"I hate to be this way, but could you actually take the milk back out?" He asked, an apologetic smile on his lips. Frustration began to burn within me, and with a sarcastic smile, I took the milk out of the bag and roughly plopped it on the counter. The man's eyes widened only slightly at my abrasiveness, but he said nothing.

Silently, I scanned the last of his items—a tube of sunblock and a tea jug—and bagged them. The irritating man held up his finger one more time, clearing his throat.

"Actually, can you—"

I lifted up the milk and dropped it into the bag with his eggs roughly, the cardboard carton flattening down as yellow yolk spurted out the sides.

The man gasped, outraged by my act of frustration. He wasn't able to speak due to my manger calling my name angrily. It was clear he'd seen my little stunt.

"Get your ass in my office right now!"

I abandoned the register, and I obliged to my manager, a sense of relief welling up inside me. I didn't feel remorseful for what I'd done. The man was well deserving of it. How could he expect me to remain so calm when he kept changing his mind, when I had to deal with people like him all the time, when I—

"Close the fucking door."

I obeyed silently, my relief vanishing. Slowly, I moved to sit across from my manager, watching as he balled his hands into fists on his desk.

"Your...display was childish. Very childish. And it was extremely humiliating for me, your manager, to brag on you to my fucking boss about you being such a wonderful employee, then you fucking smash a customer's eggs all because he kept changing his mind! Are you stupid?"

My stomach ached as guilt began to well up in me. My cheeks grew hot with shame.

"I didn't—"

"What? You didn't know he was here? So you would've done it if he wasn't here?" His eyes flashed angrily at me as he slammed his palms on his desk. His face grew redder and his chest began to heave with anger.

Meanwhile, my breaths became shorter as I felt the familiar sting of remorse in my chest. My eyes grew wet, and my cheeks got hotter. Suddenly, I felt lightheaded.

"I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have done it," I apologized, hanging my head. My eyes settled on my fingers in my lap, which were slowly becoming tingly due to my lack of breath control.

The office was silent for a moment. My breath hitched, and I clutched the hem of my shirt tightly, trying to regain its control.

"Get the fuck out. You're fired."

I stood up right away, my legs becoming wobbly. The tingles ran from my fingertips to my forearms now, and I still couldn't breathe properly. But I left the office as quickly as I could. I barely noticed the wet tears streaking down my face as I gathered my things from the break room and hurried out the automatic doors of the store.

It was then I remembered something. My car was all the way in the back of the parking lot. I looked around frantically, small sparks of white beginning to dot my vision. I still felt lightheaded, and now my cheeks were growing tingly. My breathing was becoming wheezy, and I—

"Are you okay?"

I shook my head frantically, feeling even more lightheaded. The voice was familiar, but I couldn't comprehend anything really. My vision was like static at this point, I could barely see in front of me. My ears were ringing. My legs collapsed.

Vaguely, I felt an arm go around my waist, gently pulling me into their side. The person led me to a bench, helping me sit down. They grabbed my face with both hands, forcing me to look into their eyes. I was vaguely aware of something cool—maybe a ring or two?—settled on my hot face.

"You need to breathe. Come on, follow my lead. Deep breath in..." I obeyed, "...and out. Breathe in through your nose and out with your mouth." He repeated the breathing a few times, and I slowly felt the tingles rescind and my vision clear.

Those brown eyes were so comforting.

"Just a few more breaths and you should be okay," he said, leading me in breaths again. After a few breaths, I felt relatively better. I was still crying, but I could see, the tingles were gone, and I was breathing better.

The man removed his hands from my face, and then the recognition hit me. My cheeks grew red again, and I scooted over slightly, clearing my throat.

"Thanks, Munson," I spoke quietly, looking at him, but not meeting his eyes. He sighed, a strange look in his brown eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked hesitantly, putting his hands up in surrender when I narrowed my eyes at him. "Okay, okay, I get it. But listen, I know we're not friends or anything, but if you ever need someone to...you know, talk to...or anything...I'm here for you."

I cleared my throat, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeve.

"Thanks again, Munson," I said simply, standing up. Eddie reached out a hand almost as if to catch me, but quickly returned his hand to his side.

——

Dinner was never a dull spectacle in my household. From the time I was small, my parents sat down—at first in silence—to eat, then, upon finding a topic of discussion, would begin a screaming match either toward one another or toward me.

It seemed tonight's screaming match would be toward me, as dad had already heard about my stunt at work.

He entered the house just as mom put dinner on the table. I filled everyone's glasses with freshly made lemonade and seated myself, waiting for my parents to join. Mom quickly followed suit, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. Dad eyed me sharply as he stepped carefully into the dining room.

As usual, dinner began silently. We took our first bites, chewed, and swallowed. I stabbed a sautéed onion on my plate and lifted it to my mouth, chewing it quickly, before swallowing it.

"Mom, you did really well tonight, thank you," I said, watching as the woman blushed at my praise. Dad stilled at my words, fisting his fork and knife on the table.

"You're welcome," mom replied simply, a small smile forming as she was obviously glad her cooking was enjoyable.

Dad bristled in his seat, turning his reddening face to glare at me. Noticing his movement, I put my fork down. My stomach began to tighten into knots. He knew.

"Explain to your mother and I what exactly possessed you to create such a humiliatingly childish display of anger that resulted in you losing your job."

Mom's fork clanged as she dropped it onto her plate in shock. She whipped her head to me, wide-eyed.

"What did you do?" Mom asked, and I knew she was silently begging for dad's words to be a lie.

I swallowed nervously, clutching the white tablecloth in my fingers. Oh God, I could see it now; dad was about to let me have it. Mom raised an eyebrow, hesitantly awaiting my answer. I moved my eyes to the sautéed onions on my plate, not wanting to look into my parents' faces.

"I was ringing up this guy at work, and he wanted me to leave the milk out because he was going to use it when he got home," I began, cheeks growing hot from the attention placed on me, "so I put the milk on the counter and kept scanning his stuff. Then he told me he changed his mind and wanted me to bag the milk. So I did. Apparently, he decided he didn't want it bagged again, so I took it out again and kept scanning. Finally, I was almost finished ringing him up, and he asked me to bag the milk again. I'd had enough of his flippancy, so I dropped the milk into the bag with his eggs. The eggs broke, and my manager saw me do it, and his manager was there, and I didn't know that, and I was fired."

I took a deep breath in preparation for the tongue lashing I was about to get. But there was silence.

Hesitantly, I peeked at mom. Her head was in her hands on the table, and she was crying, silent sobs wracking her body.

I cleared my throat, turning my attention to dad.

Instantly, I regretted my decision. His jaw was clenched so tightly, it seemed his muscles would pop out of place. The veins in his forehead were bulging, on the verge of bursting. Dad's face was bright red, and his knuckles were ghost white around his silverware. Suddenly, my irrational mind went to murder. Would he actually murder me? I swallowed thickly, suddenly fearful.

"Pack a single bag and get the fuck out of my house."

"But dad, I—"

He stood from his chair abruptly, clutching his silverware so tightly his hands were shaking. My words died in my throat.

"As our only child, we expected so much from you. We expected you to be gone by now. Moved out. Got a good job or a husband with one and kids. But no, we were damned with you!! A fucking disappointment!! You have humiliated your mother and I! We can't even go anywhere now without being ashamed to have you as our daughter. So, I'll only tell you one more time, PACK ONE BAG AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!!"

I quickly ran into my bedroom and closed the door, my chest heaving for breath. The familiar sting of guilt and fear entangled my stomach and lungs like thorns, gripping my organs tightly and snatching the life from them.

I closed my eyes, quickly using the breathing technique Eddie had taught me. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the—

"You have five minutes!!"

Fuck breathing.

I scrambled around my room, picking up my old backpack, ripping clothes out my closet, and shoving them into the bag. I shoved underwear, bras and socks, basic personal hygiene items, and a few of my favorite cassettes into the bag. Glancing around frantically, my eyes landed on my grandpa's record player and my shelf of records. I sighed. Maybe another day, I thought to myself.

When I was satisfied I had packed basic necessities, I opened my bedroom door. Mom stood beside the door, chewing her thumb nail anxiously. When I opened the door, she pulled me into a hug, and I felt her wet tears drop onto my shoulder.

"I love you so much," she sniffled quietly, then she released me, her hands on my shoulders with a straight faced stare into my eyes, "Call my office tomorrow and let me know if you're okay and where you're staying. Now go before he comes to investigate."

——

I pulled into the yard, nearly backing out and driving away. Into the Fire by Dokken played softly on my radio.

When I got in my car to drive, I had no particular destination in mind, it seemed. Obviously, I did have a destination in mind, I was simply too overwhelmed with thoughts to realize it.

I listened to the song for a few seconds before deciding to just be brave. Sighing, I turned the car off and grabbed my bag.

I really was pathetic. I was going to the front door of a guy who hated my guts, and I was going to ask if I could stay with him. It said a lot about me that the closest thing I had to a friend was a guy who more than likely was only nice to me because he felt like he had to be, but he secretly resented me beyond all measures of hate.

Nevertheless, I knocked on the door.

"Coming!"

My heart rate picked up, and I swallowed thickly. This was a bad idea. This was a really bad idea.

The door opened, revealing an older man with a goatee and a lack of hair on his head. Not who I was expecting. I clearly wasn't who he was expecting. He eyed me warily, but turned his head to call Eddie.

"Your girlfriend's here!"

My chest tightened at his words, but I tried to act like they didn't affect me. Eddie sauntered into the room, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"I don't have a...oh! My girlfriend! Hey, sweetheart! Come on in!" Eddie exclaimed, his eyes screaming,"What the fuck are you doing here??"

I passed a small smile to Eddie's Uncle as I stepped inside, and immediately, I was ushered into Eddie's room. He closed his door, whirling around to me.

I stood awkwardly, clutching my bag in my hands, its weight suddenly occurring to me. Eddie quickly grasped it, placing it on the floor beside his bed, and he started picking up dirty laundry and...other things, tossing them in a pile in the corner. When he was satisfied, Eddie stood in front of me, obvious confusion filtering in his eyes.

"I'm really sorry, Eddie, I—I didn't know where else to go," I began, feeling the sniffles coming on. As if sensing the oncoming wave of tears, Eddie's inquisitive gaze softened.

"You can sit on my bed, just...I don't know what the stains are," he said quietly. I glanced around, carefully choosing a spot on his bed to sit. My vision began to blur as tears filled my eyes again. Eddie slowly sat on the edge of his bed, and he carefully placed a hand on my knee.

For some reason, the gesture had my chest tightening up again.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't want to bother you, but...well, there's just a lot going on right now, and you said if I needed anything..." I trailed off, unable to meet his brown eyes that seemed to shine with concern. Eddie gently squeezed my knee.

"Hey, hey, I did say that. And you know what? I meant it too. I know we've never ever been friends, but I've always liked you, and whatever's going on with you, you can tell me."

Finally, I gazed into his big brown eyes.

I told him everything. I told him about my job—to which he had to smother chuckling— but he reigned it in when I told him about what happened with my parents. When I had finished telling him about everything, he was looking at his wall, eyebrows knitted together.

Silence blanketed us for a moment, and I briefly wondered if he would make me leave like everyone else.

I slowly slipped off the edge of his bed, going to gather my bag. Eddie snapped his head toward me, standing up and taking my arm in his hand. His cool rings sent the slightest shiver down my spine. I paused, looking hesitantly into his eyes, before looking at his hand on my arm and studying the rings on his fingers.

"Look at me," he said, and I snapped my head to meet his determined eyes, "You're not going anywhere. You're going to stay here. I'm just going to go talk to Wayne, and he'll be cool with you sticking around. Stay here."

Eddie removed his hand from my arm, slowly leaving his room, shutting his door behind him.

I could vaguely hear the two males talking—mostly Eddie—in the other room. I took this time to look around Eddie's room, being extra careful not to touch anything.

I especially didn't want to touch his guitar, which looked as if it were well taken care of. I admired the strings, which glistened slightly in the dim lighting of Eddie's room, and I admired the guitar's color, a bright red that made it stand out. It was immaculate.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a small paper with my handwriting sticking out of a drawer. Out of curiosity, I pulled the drawer open gently, and papers upon papers with my handwriting were inside.

I picked up the first paper that caught my eye, reading the scratchy scrawl that was mine. It was a note Eddie passed to me in English one day. It read:

"I like you, Johnson."

"Lying's a sin, Munson."

"I'm usually a sinner, but I'm no liar, Johnson. I really like you."

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls."

"No, just to the ones I think are pretty."

I could remember I was so flustered—with anger, I thought then—I gave him the note back, and I stormed out of the classroom. At the time, I thought he'd been making fun of me, but now, I realized he'd probably liked me all along. That occurred during our freshman year together! Had Eddie really liked me all this time?

Well, that explained why he was always doing things to distract me or arouse my attention. It also explained why he suddenly decided he could be the shoulder I cried on, why, when I was always down, he never said anything to aggravate me—after my failed DND club all those years ago, he even helped me clean up my stuff. And eventually,—after seeking me out, because I avoided him for a week— he did apologize to me.

"Oh God, you found them."

My eyes went wide as I turned to Eddie, who was wide-eyed himself, although most likely because he was embarrassed.

"Allow me to get this over with; yes, I collected all the notes I ever passed to you. Yes, I've had a crush on you since freshman year. Yes, I'm obsessive, but I'm not as creepy as Johnathan Byers— have you heard what that guy pulled on Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington?" Eddie made a disgusted face, shivering at the thought of whatever Johnathan Byers did. Then, remembering our situation, he scratched the back of his neck, his brown eyes turning to his shoes.

Well, how was I going to respond to that? While I didn't quite understand the Johnathan Byers reference, I assumed whatever Johnathan Byers had done was not...ideal...but I couldn't figure out what to say. What was I supposed to say? I couldn't exactly tell Eddie that I liked him too, I was still a little shocked that he'd liked me, and for so long. And I couldn't tell him that I didn't like him because he definitely attracted me. I didn't know what to say.

"I hope you don't think I was snooping," I began, a meek smile on my face, "I saw the paper hanging out of the drawer and it had my handwriting on it, so naturally, I was curious."

Eddie nodded his head, letting out a breath.

"As long as you don't think I'm a freak," he said softly, then clearing his throat, "Wayne said it was cool for you to stay. If you want, you can take my bed." Eddie began to move around the room, finding a spare blanket and pillow and dropping them in the—still a tad messy—floor.

I shook my head, resting my hand on his arm to stop him. Eddie paused, a slight gleam in his brown eyes.

"Look, I've already imposed enough. You keep your bed, and I'll sleep in the floor." Eddie shook his head with a smile.

"Not happening, Johnson. You're my guest. I'll take the floor." 

"Eddie, I insist. I'll be fine on the floor."

Eddie's eyes shone with amusement.

"If you're so insistent that I sleep in the bed, why don't we sleep together then?" He asked, and I considered it hesitantly. "I won't pull anything...unless you ask me to, of course."

I gave in with a nod, and Eddie flashed me a bright grin.

"You know, that's the first time you've actually used my first name. Usually, you're like 'Munson'." He pointed out, deepening his voice when saying his last name. I laughed softly, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"You know, I may not like you the way you like me right now, but I think I will soon enough," I admitted quietly as Eddie sat down beside me.

"And that's fine. Until you fall in love with me, we can just be friends," Eddie said, then in a deeper voice, he added, "And that, kids, is how I met your mother!"

I swatted his arm with a grin, causing Eddie to laugh.

I did like him, I realized. But I wouldn't say anything just yet.