mixtape (reddie)

Chapter 39

No matter how many times he reads, the words will never make sense.

They did at first, a long, long time ago when the feelings put on these pages were something that he could comprehend, something he understood, something he reciprocated.

But... things change. Years go by. Feelings fade.

Richie Tozier closes the worn out leather journal, his thumb tracing over the initials etched into the soft cover. The author of these confessions are the last thing on Richie's mind, especially when there's so much happening today.

"Richard!" Madame calls up the stairs, her voice as abrasive and anxiety-inducing as always. Her boom echoes throughout the house, the boys he shares a room with exchanging nervous glances with one another. "Come wait in the foyer, they're going to be here any minute now!"

Richie blinks a few more times, remembering exactly who is coming. He's excited, he'll admit. The stale air of the attic bedroom he's been stuffed in with four other boys doesn't exactly allow changes in facial expression, but those who have spent the past three years with Richie can read it in his stiff body language.

"You excited?" Tim asks, the first of the roommates to mention the big day.

Richie lifts his eyes, looking at the familiar thirteen year old through his cracked glasses. They've acquired more and more splinters in the lenses over the years, but Richie has learned to adapt. He's learned to adapt to everything, he didn't have any other choice.

"Sure," Richie shrugs, stuffing the journal into the front pocket of his backpack. There's a hole in the side, he's worried about water damage. All his belongings are inside this bag, if it were to be soaked, Rich would truly be left with nothing else.

"Come ooon, man. You're gettin' out of this hellhole!" Martin exclaims, coming over and slinging an arm around Richie's shoulders. He laughs loud enough to shake the loose floorboards of their cramped room, so Tim reaches over to give Martin the usual daily slap.

"Mhm," Richie hums, shrugging Martin's arm off of his body so that he can replace it with the bookbag.

"A family," Tim says dreamily.

Tim has been there the longest. Nobody really knows exactly when he arrived, nor does he. Richie's learned all their backstories over the course of three years, and Timmy's is objectively the saddest. Some time when he was little, he's not sure, his family had been the targets of a home invasion. His father was shot, his mother raped and killed, his siblings all slaughtered. Tim survived off of sheer dumb luck, the invaders not thinking to check the pantry for any stray children. He's been in Madame's home ever since.
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Everyone else is pretty simple, though. Martin was a teenage pregnancy, and his mother didn't want to give up her social life by having a baby. James was taken from his parents after his mother suffered from a psychosis and simply couldn't take care of him or herself. In the far corner, the residential weirdo, is Twiggy. His real name is Daniel, but he's bone thin and freakishly long. Richie is thankful that his own growth spurts never caused him to get stuck with a nickname like that.

He looks at his brothers, the closest thing he's had to a family, but he doesn't... feel remorse. He doesn't feel anything. It's not his fault, any single one of them would be bouncing off the walls on their adoption day. The fact that Richie is so calm is suspicious on its own.

"Well, you better get going," James says from his bed. He's sat on it, watching Richie intently. "Can I have your spot at the dinner table? I want to sit next to Cindy."

Richie shrugs, looking down at the floor. "Go for it, kid."

A lot of things separated Richie from the rest of his roommates. For example, when they would all stay up and talk about the girls downstairs past lights out, discussing which one is the prettiest and who kissed who out in the garden, Richie would lie awake and tap the beats to his favorite songs against the wooden headboard attached to his bed. He was aware he was the social outcast of the attic room, and even the whole house. But... that's partially his fault. Richie never attempted to make friends, never bonded over childhood trauma the way they all seemed to. Some of the more empathetic girls tried to get him to let his walls down, but there were no successes. Richie guarded himself heavily. The only things he let others know were of his hometown and when his birthday is. Those were both mandatory facts that he had to share on his arrival day.