FADE TO BLACK, PROLOGUE:

"TO MY PRETTY GIRL"

INDIANAPOLIS GAZETTE

A Tragic End for Hawkins Mother and Wife
Caitlin Schneiderhan, Gazette Staff

Late on the eve of last Wednesday, March 5, 1986, local artist Marissa Danlin, 39, tragically passed away in her home. She leaves behind Benji Danlin, husband to the late protege, and a single daughter, Olive Danlin.

Though her death was reported on in an earlier edition of our own paper, there is still little known surrounding the circumstances of Danlin's death. As Hawkins continues to mourn the loss of a bright young talent, Police Chief Calvin Powell is keen to investigate. Seemingly leaving no stone unturned, Powell is questioning anyone who may have information on these awful events.

Friends, family, and neighbors alike are all offering up anything that could be of use, though many blanks still remain. All that we have so far is an alleged scene that seems far-fetched for a small town such as Hawkins; suspected eye-witnesses claim to have heard multiple screams and saw flickering lights coming from the Danlin family home – things that residents say, at first, didn't raise alarm bells.

A neighbor of the home who wished to remain anonymous had the following to say:

"It woke me and my wife up," says the neighbor, "We thought nothing of it. Kids often play pranks around here, you can't blame us for not calling sooner –"

Eddie crumples the paper in a clenched fist.

There's a heavy feeling in his chest, like his heart is being compressed at every angle – squishing and squishing and squishing until it feels like he's almost choking on it. It sits high in his throat – the dread of it all.

The dread of what she's going through. How she must feel so alone – so empty. So drained.

And then some bullshit newspaper decides to publicize it like she's not a real person with fucking feelings. Like she's just some girl in a book that won't be able to read what's going on around her – just words on a page but no actual headspace to occupy it and understand the meaning. It's fucked. And it clenches his chest harder, knowing she might be reading these cruel words.

Because Olive's so much more than some girl with a tragic story.

She's Olive. His Olive. A girl with the biggest heart he's ever seen. One who brightens the day with a big smile and floats between the crowds of Hawkins High because no one could ever hate her. It's impossible to dislike Olive Danlin – he can't see that ever being a possibility for him.

And Eddie doesn't quite know why she decided to like him of all people either.

But no one has an answer to that question. Not really. And he doesn't ask.

He doesn't want to ruin what they have going.

If Eddie really thinks about it, he can't piece together his life before Olive popped in with a bright ray of sunshine following right behind her. It wouldn't be the same without her anymore; she's been a light in his dark life for so many months now. He'd just die without her.

And he often thinks, Please let me die first because I don't think I can die twice.

Because losing Olive Danlin would be like death. Like, a heart-stopping, soul crushing, emptiness that spreads throughout your whole body and sucks you right into the darkness. Without her, there's no sun, there's no light – it's all dark, and it rips the air from you.

The idea pulls and pulls and pulls at the air in his chest, sucking it right out of his body and –

There's a heavy knock on his front door, and it startles him, sending a shock down his spine. He twists the knob on his radio, turning the Black Sabbath song to a lower volume. He's a little surprised he even heard the knocking over the volume of the radio; he could even feel the heavy beat of the song in his chest before he had adjusted it.

He half expects it to be a neighbor telling him to turn the fucking music down!, but when he pulls the door open, he sees his Olive standing on the other side with a book snuggled tightly to her chest – The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkein. He'd let her borrow it. There's a frown on her face, and her brows are pulled together in deep thought.

"Hey," he decides to say. "I – uh – I didn't think I'd see you tonight."

Sunday used to be Olive's parents' date night; they'd go out, have a bunch of drinks, stay out all night if they could. They did it despite the change in her mom; her dad tried to keep the tradition together for the sake of the family. For the most part, it worked, and Olive would be left alone for a few hours every week.

And Sundays became their day as well; Olive would sneak out after her parents left, slipping into Eddie's place while his uncle was away and into his bed, shedding herself of her clothing, and the two would toss and turn for hours and listen to loud music before she had to leave again. They'd bounce around his room, screaming the lyrics to songs he didn't think she'd ever like, pausing between songs to mold their lips together, tugging at articles of clothing to restart what they'd just finished only minutes before. It was hard to breathe around each other — and that's what they craved.

It felt like heaven to him – a place of serenity. A place he could be himself entirely and not hide anything – somewhere to deeply bury his entire self over and over again. Somewhere to place soft kisses along her pretty, little neck – to feel the sunshine shooting through his body.

And looking at her now...He wants to grab her hands. Just because she has hands to grab. There's no particular reason for it, but they sit in front of him, hugging that book to her chest. He craves their feeling again – her soft hands against his calloused ones.

"Yeah," Olive says then. "Sorry I didn't call."

"Never apologize to me," Eddie immediately says. "You can come here anytime."

And she doesn't say anything after this. He can see the gears spinning rapidly in her head, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth anxiously.

She doesn't usually do that – get anxious around him. Not for many months, back when she was still nervous with him, when she cared if people saw them sneaking into empty classrooms and broom closets during the day. He's not sure when the switch happened – when she got excited to be opened like a book during school hours, to feel his lips hungrily press against hers, to wrap her legs around his waist and slide her hands along his bare back.

If Olive is the pretty, little book he cracks open whenever he pleases, Eddie must be the dark marker that annotates the favored pages – scribbles under the favorite lines. Where he traces his used hands through her unused pages, folding little corners over to remember his favorite parts.

The very first page of her pretty, little book is marked with his handwriting. In messy chicken scratch along her crevices are the words Property of Eddie Munson.

And as he looks at her now, he sees her scratching the same area he left his handwriting – right behind her left ear. Where he'll forever stay, a constant reminder of what they have.

"Oh – um," he says, and he steps to the side, holding the door open so she can come inside.

She does, stepping through the familiar threshold, and like always, they go right to his room. He picks up a few shirts he'd thrown messily onto the floor, tossing them into the laundry basket as she stops near his bed, twisting on her heel to look back at him.

Her brown eyes meet his own, and it's like they speak for themselves. He supposes there's a downfall to writing all over her pretty, little pages – and that's knowing exactly what she's thinking. Even the bad things – the things he doesn't really want to hear.

"Oh," he says softly.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Stop apologizing," he says again.

"Right – sorry," she says. "Sorry – I –"

Though there's a clench around his heart – a tight squeeze coming from her own hand – he's able to crack a teasing grin. Behind it is a layer of anguish, and he tries his best to hide it. "Ollie, seriously. Talk to me."

And she hands the book to him, setting it into his hands. It's warm between them, and for a second it feels like he's holding her own hands. Then, it fades away just as quickly. "I wanted to return this."

He knows it's not what she wants. It can't be. He's flipped through her pretty, little book dozens of times, written on each page, marking his favorite parts. He knows what this is.

So, he says, "You're ending this."

She furrows her brows together, shaking her head softly. "I don't want it to end."

Eddie reaches out, rubbing his thumb along the skin between her eyebrows, smoothing the crinkle she's made in deep thought. She relaxes beneath his touch. "But you have to."

"It's not forever," she says. "I just need a little time to deal with...everything."

"I get it," he whispers.

Her eyes gloss over, and he tosses the book on his bed, stepping closer to her. He grabs her face in his hands, wiping his calloused thumbs under her eyes to wipe the tears away. She wraps her hands around his wrists, holding on like her life depends on it – like he might suddenly slip away without warning.

"I don't want to," she says.

"You've gotta," he replies. "I'll still be here when you're ready."

She sniffles. "You swear?"

"I swear."

Olive and Eddie have never been official. They never declared anything – made each other more than what they really are. There was never a rush to do it, as long as they were still together. They craved to be around each other each and every day, like they needed to feel the other in order to sleep. Everyone knew it was Olive and Eddie. Eddie and Olive. Them. A pair no one thought would happen.

They didn't need to label anything.

And Eddie doesn't think they will for some time now.

Then he feels her lips press against his – soft and gentle. A goodbye of sorts.

He folds the page over. He wants to remember what she feels like when they're like this – holding each other like they are. He can taste her tears as they fall down her face.

And it's different for him – these kinds of tears. He knows what her tears taste like, how he can bring them out of her by writing little notes in her crevices while buried deep inside – where she's mewling softly in his ears, begging and begging and begging for him to keep going.

These are completely different. The tears spilling from her eyes aren't full of pleasure; they're filled with dread. Like a door that you're forcing closed, creating some sort of divide between what you want and what is reality.

When she pulls away, he sees the chain around her neck. It holds one of his old guitar picks – the one he used before he got his new one. He'd given it to her a few months ago – a way of telling people whose she was. She's Eddie's. She's his Olive. No one else's. Property of Eddie Munson.

But she doesn't take it off like he expects her to. She grabs it with her hand, holding it tightly as she inhales shakily, taking a step back from him. The warmth leaves his body immediately, and he's left empty. Like the sunshine has been ripped from his body.

That's when she finally breaks eye contact, her eyes falling on the crumpled paper on his floor. It's the newspaper article he'd been reading before she arrived. He curses to himself for leaving it lying on the floor just like that. "It's – uh –"

"It's bullshit," she says.

"Huh?"

"The story," she clarifies with a sniffle. "It's bullshit."

"I thought so," he says.

He wants to kiss her again – to hold her one more time, to feel her soft lips against his. If it's all he's going to get for a while, he wants to remember it. He wants chicken scratch on his own skin – a remnant of herself on his body. The words Property of Olive Danlin etched behind his own ear.

"I should – I should go," she says then.

When she steps around him, he feels his body involuntarily pull in her direction. He lulls towards her, swaying with a dizzying haze. "Um, hey," he says.

She turns back around, standing in his doorway. His pretty, pretty girl – completely vulnerable in front of him.

"I'm here, you know," he murmurs. "You can talk to me – or not. But I'm here either way."

"I know," she says. "I'll – uh – I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"School?"

She shrugs then. "I don't want to stay home forever. It sucks there."

"OK," he says. It makes sense to him – complete sense. Why would you want to be stuck at the same place your mom died? He doesn't know the story behind any of it, but he thinks Olive will tell him when she's ready. He knows she was home with her when it happened, and she was supposed to come to his concert that night. Obviously that didn't happen.

When she didn't show, he didn't think to worry. She'd accidentally missed concerts before, and it was usually because she'd fallen asleep.

He'd just assumed she'd been sleeping.

He was wrong. It was so much worse than that.

And Olive presses a kiss to his cheek then, and the skin burns where she touches it.

Then, she's gone. Just like that.

Eddie feels a knot in his throat at the emptiness of his room. He picks up the book left on his bed – the one he loaned her to read only two weeks earlier. He flips through the pages.

And there's a single page of the book torn out – the very first one. The one where Eddie had written:

To my pretty girl,

"It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life."

Eddie

And it's not there because she had kept it — ripped it right out and held it close to her own heart.

She'd torn the page from his book, cherishing it closely despite the fact that she was ending things that very night.

But it all clicks for him then. Olive isn't ending things – not really. She'd come as a courtesy; she'd come to tell him about the distance she'll be giving him for a little while. She'd kept the necklace, and she'd torn the handwritten page from the book he loves so dearly.

His Olive doesn't want him out of her life.

She just needs a little time.

And he'll give her that.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm not crying, you are

☠️ hey! how are we!!! i know this chapter is a little sad, but just remember that it isn't the end for them. olive is doing what she needs to do to heal and think through all the events that are going on in her life

☠️ I WILL cover what went in with her mom, but that'll come in bits and pieces throughout the story. it's a wild ride, but be patient with me as I reveal it all

☠️ everything I've said in this is a metaphor. I know it can easily come off as Eddie being possessive but it promise that is not the case. he is not possessive of olive, but he feels like the time he's spent with her has left a mark (which is true)

☠️ anyway, olive and Eddie supremacy. I love them with my whole heart and only want happiness for them (I say as I give a tragic ending hehehehehehe)

let me know what you all think!!! thank you so much for reading!!! xoxo :)