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It’s been a month, and Eddie should be happy he’s finally getting some sleep after hours of sitting in front of the laptop. But still, when he lays on his bed, dread fills his body, knowing he will not hear Venom’s voice first thing tomorrow morning.
How long is it gonna take for it to get better. How long before he can get used to this constant hollow feeling in his heart like something is missing, like he doesn’t feel whole, like Venom took away a part of him when he-
Eddie sucks in a deep shivery breath, he can’t bring himself to even say that word out loud in his head, and he tries not to recall memories of that night.
Maybe I should see a therapist.
Mrs. Chen told them to see one when he came to the store looking like absolute shit to say goodbye before going to new york and also to apologize for running her holiday. She assumed they fought again, and Eddie just went with it, because he couldn’t bear to tell her that Venom is gone, that lady adored him so much, and also because he didn’t want to admit it out loud.
She meant couples therapy, and Eddie thinks he needs grief counseling instead for losing a loved one.
Loved one. Eddie repeats it in his mind again. He hears his own raced heartbeat and feels the numbing pain that comes with it. I''ve lost my lover.
He really should see one but he wants the pain. He feels like he’s betraying Venom if he tries to move on, to feel happier, and not feel like walking dead every day. He wanted me to remember him, I can't do this to him.
Eddie knows humans forget things quickly; the brain won’t allow you to hold onto painful memories for too long. He’s terrified of the idea that one day, he will go on his day without thinking of Venom for a single moment. He doesn’t want that. He will cling to every moment they shared even if it costs him everything.
He misses hearing Venom’s voice booming enthusiastically in his head when he wakes up– or gets woken up in the morning. How is he always so happy and full of energy in the morning anyway? He’d choose Venom’s intrusive and unbearably incessant wake-up calls a million times over the awful pin-drop silence he’s been waking up to for the past month.
“’Night, buddy.” He still whispers to the air like he does every night. He wills hearing the deep voice bid him goodnight too, but nothing came.
Bad Venom. He thinks to himself. He recalls how Venom calls him “Bad Eddie!” when he doesn’t let him eat too much chocolate, or too many heads. Very bad Venom… how can you do this to me.
No argument in his head follows, only silence.