eddie kaspbrak, no longer the sickly child he once was, is on a rollercoaster that only goes up... but not without a few bumps along the way.
**lowercase intended**
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"why the hell are you always with that slut?!" his father yells, grabbing richie by the arm and yanking him inside. "she's not a slut." richie speaks, barely audible over the way too loud tv in the front room. "what did you say to me boy?!" his father grabs both of his arms, squeezing way too hard. richie cowers, not wanting to fight with his father right now. "i just.. i just said she's not a slut" he replies, barely louder than the last, but his father hears him. "oh she's not?! running around with a group of boys, probably fucking every single one of you!"
wentworth tozier use to be a good man.. that was until his wife died three years ago. when maggie died, all of the happiness that once surrounded the small family was gone. richie didn't know why his father decided it was richies fault, his mother died from cancer for god sake, but wentworth blamed him.. there was no escaping his fathers wrath when he was upset, which just so happened to be all of the time. wentworth did nothing around the house, he works, that's it. richie is the one who does all of the cooking, cleaning, and generally anything that needed done, while also being a high school student. he hasn't told his father, that the day after graduation, he's leaving. moving all the way to new york city.. he hasn't decided yet if he even will tell him. he's eighteen for god sake, he doesn't need permission. he's just afraid of what will happen if his father does find out..
"she doesn't.." richie says softly, not looking his father in the eye. "i'm done talking about that slut. go clean the fucking garage." went growls, pushing richie towards the garage door, making him hit the doorframe on his way out.
richie closes the garage door behind him, looking over the insane mess. he doesn't even come in here.. he's never once used this garage.. yet here he is, cleaning up his fathers mess, as usual. he rolls his eyes, trying to figure out where to begin. there are tools everywhere, which is surprising, because his father doesn't even use the damn things. there are also empty beer cans and bottles, littering the entirety of the floor. richie let's out a loud sigh, beginning to clean up the beer cans.
he hums softly to the tune of "teenage dirtbag" as he continues to clean. once the floor is empty of the litter, he moves on to the tools, placing them in spots he knows they should go, but also knows his father will be livid at him for moving them. but if he didn't move them, his father would still be livid. he can't win.
once the garage is basically clean, he grabs the broom and dustpan to gather the little bit of trash left on the ground, before gathering the trash bags and hauling them out to the dumpster.
it's already dark, meaning it's probably around eight pm, before he makes his way back into the main house. his father is asleep in his recliner, the tv playing some random war movie. richie thanks whatever higher power is out there, as he makes his way upstairs to shower. he walks into his messy room, gathering his clothes, before making his way into the dinghy old bathroom. no matter how hard richie scrubbed the bathtub, it still looked as though there was a layer of dirt in the bottom of it, causing him to wish he lived somewhere like the denbroughs, beautiful, unpealing wall paper, actual window shades, instead of dirty old sheets and pillowcases, a house that when you clean it, it actually looks clean.. but he wasn't destined for that life. so he lives here, with the peeling wallpaper, dirty old pillowcases, and the filthy house.. but one could only dream. "god damnit.." richie breathes, rolling his eyes before undressing and climbing into the almost too warm shower.
