𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡.

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐫

tw: extremely graphic homicidal ideation, blood, abusive relationship, gun violence

[ INT. FLASHBACK: JANUARY 2017. PORTLAND, MAINE. 5 PM.]

Before he could say anything, River pulled out a gun.

Richie stood still as River raised his arm, aiming right in between Richie's eyes. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. His eyes fluttered a bit, but they stayed fixed, staring through the barrel of the gun. The sun caused a bright glint on the thick metal rims of the gun, obscuring the quality of Richie's eyesight and the contacts he wore. Nevertheless, his glare didn't falter. He didn't move, or maybe he just couldn't. He kept a stable facial expression - he couldn't let River know how terrified he was - he fed on it. The risk was what it was, for River. The excitement he got from seeing people scared - the way he could manipulate time with it, makes seconds feel like minutes, and minutes feeling like hours. Playing with people's lives like legos.

"What is this going to solve?" Richie said, his voice wavering a bit. He blinked, but quickly - he didn't want to miss anything, or look as if he were caught off guard. River's silence made Richie's anxieties rise.

River had an expressionless face, void of any emotion, as if he'd never felt it. It was just a scare tactic, and it worked. It was a common form of coercion, and one of the easiest forms, at that. If you don't show what you feel, it leaves it up to the other person's imagination, and people tend to think the worst.

"You aren't actually gonna to do anything." Richie said, trying to convince himself. His shoulders tensed up, and his face grew hot. "You aren't gonna to do anyth-"

"Stop talking." River interjected. Richie bit down on his teeth, grinding them until he felt the pressure get to his head.

"Look at me." River continued, forcefully. He took a step closer, and Richie's heart sank. He looked into River's eyes - he was all gone, it was clear. There was not a trace of what had been there before, the illusory warmth had reached its boiling point, and had frozen down.

"You wouldn't hurt me. I know you won't. Just stop and think for a second-" Richie said, but was interrupted once more.

"Shut the fuck up." River said. He put the gun directly under Richie's chin, and he took a hard breath. Richie suppressed tears - he was powerless. He didn't know what to do, or what he even could do. It was just a game to River, it didn't matter. His life could be discarded, tossed away like trash in a bin. Richie's breathing became heavy and shaky, and he felt a pit in his stomach. "Give me your wallet. Right now." River's eyes widened, and Richie quickly reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He didn't ask any questions - what did he have to lose? There was barely any money in there.

"Now give me your phone." He said, with a motioning movement. Richie followed suit.

River took the phone, and while watching Richie, he lowered the gun and turned his back for a moment.

Richie let out a sigh of relief, and his eyes scanned the room for something he could use to defend himself. A tear crept from his waterline, and his hands, still by his side, were shaking profusely. He looked at River, and noticed how sloppily he was handling the situation - his hands were shaking, though he tried to hide it. He scrolled through Richie's phone, and with trembling hands, went through his messages.

Richie needed to do something quickly. The gun was on the table. He couldn't reach it, it wasn't in a blindspot.

Richie looked under the couch, and saw a bottle of expensive bourbon - it wasn't his, it was a gift from River. Still wasn't his. None of the gifts were ever really his - or they didn't feel like it. Richie reached under the couch, closely monitoring him. He grabbed it, hiding it behind his back, but River turned, to his dismay.