mixtape (reddie)

December 7th, 1988 (evening)

You,

I have made you cry.

I, Eddie Kaspbrak, have caused tears to fall from the most gorgeous creation to ever fall from Michelangelo's hands. I deserve the death penalty, I wish that I could turn myself in and be put on death row with no court hearing. This is the most criminal of crimes, the most morally wrong, the most lawfully evil, the most repulsive of decisions. I made you cry.

I don't think you know that I know, but you might. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I feel like I'm being drowned in a sensory deprivation tank, my whole world is falling apart around me and the void is just slowly consuming everything into a mass of blackness. Will has told me about sensory deprivation tanks, he has a friend who says they're terrifying. I think I'm going to drown in one, but rightfully so. After making such a beautiful creature cry, I deserve every ounce of liquid to fill my lungs.

I didn't mean it, Richie. I know saying it over and over again isn't going to change the fact that I said it, but I truly didn't mean any of the words that I said to you. This is eating me alive. I don't know what to do with myself knowing that I made you cry.

In case you don't remember this night, or maybe you don't recall shedding tears over my treason, I'll remind you.

After school, my palms itched with anxiety. I needed to see you, to apologize, or to at least just... just hear your voice. I needed to be in contact with you somehow, I felt like I was going insane. I told Bill all of this when I was at his house getting the chemistry notes, so he encouraged me to just call you and talk things through. Bill doesn't blame me for what I said, but... I don't know. I blame myself, and that's something I just can't shake from my head.

So I called you from Bill's phone. I have the Tozier's residence phone number memorized, and dialing those numbers felt like pressing tiny little elevator buttons that would direct me straight up into heaven. The phone rang only twice, and then I heard the most Earth-shattering sound to ever fall upon my ears.

I heard a sniffle, and I heard the tightness in your throat, and I heard the sob that had died down just seconds before you answered the phone, and I heard you absolutely break as you greeted the call. I didn't say anything, I was too paralyzed by the fact that I was here, with you, on the phone, listening to you cry. Nothing has ever hurt me that bad before, Richie. Not a single fucking thing.

My chest felt like it was going to collapse as soon as I heard you talk. I felt as if my lungs had been taken out of my body, and I desperately needed something to replace them. I fumbled for my aspirator, and as soon as I pressed the trigger to inhale, the line went dead. That's why I think you knew it was me, and it just fucking hurts to know that I'm the reason you cried.

I'm laying in bed writing this. Part of me hopes you'll crawl through my window and just joke it off with your infamous Richie Tozier smile and things will be okay. The shirt you gave me when I showered at your house is resting on my chest, but it doesn't smell like you anymore, and that breaks my heart. That breaks my fucking heart, Richie. There isn't even a spot of you still lingering in this room, and I've never felt more trapped in a prison than I do between these four walls.

I'm sorry for what I've done. I don't think that will ever fix things, but I'm sorry for what I've done. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

I'm starting to cry, so that's why the ink is smearing a little. Sorry if these words are becoming too bleary to read, but I cannot contain all of this inside of me knowing that you're across town feeling this exact same way.

I'm sorry, Richie Tozier.

I'm sorry for coming into your life like a fucking hurricane and destroying every rose in your garden.

Apologies,
Me.