She should be phenomenally uncomfortable, half-dressed in Eddie Munson's apartment. Until earlier today, by her count, they'd spoken only once before, a good six years ago or so, back in middle school when everything was just a little simpler. She was already popular, he was already a supposed freak, but even though she's been unhappy for about as long as she can remember, at least she wasn't yet throwing up every meal or being haunted by terrifying hallucinations, and he wasn't facing accusations of murdering her as part of some satanic ritual.

In all fairness, though, that sets the bar pretty low for what could be considered simpler. When things got bad, they got really, really bad.

Despite every reason she would have to be unsettled, though, Chrissy feels about as relaxed as she thinks it's possible to under the circumstances. He doesn't leer at her or look at her in disgust or some combination of the two, which is about what she would expect from anyone else. He seems just to be trying to put her at ease, and it's working, at least as much as anything could right now. "God, it's not like I'll even need these anymore," she says, half to herself, as she leaves the little pile of clothes on a chair before returning to the couch. "Hard to be a Hawkins High cheerleader when you're not even in Hawkins."