"Do you ever think about the fish, Eddie?" Richie asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Eddie blinked, his brain whirring through the fog of cheap booze. "The ones in the sea, Richie?" Guest House Paradiso
Across the room, Eddie sat slumped in a chair, a bottle of something caustic cradled in his lap. Eddie was the mirror Richie refused to look into. He was the physical manifestation of their shared failure, his body a map of scars and poorly set bones from years of Richie’s "accidental" outbursts. Yet, he stayed. He stayed because, in the warped logic of their codependency, being punched by Richie was better than being seen by no one at all. "Do you ever think about the fish, Eddie
There was a quiet moment—a rarity in a house built on screams. Eddie was the mirror Richie refused to look into