𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡.

𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐚 | 𝐫

[ INT. FLASHBACK: NOVEMBER 2016. PORTLAND, MAINE. 9:32 PM.]

TW: brief assault implications 

"Yeah... I know." Richie said. His breath faltered - he'd forgotten to breathe the entire duration as the girl was in his arms.

Alayna's tight grip gradually loosened from its place on Richie's back, but in return, he hugged her tighter so she could be reassured that her reaction was fine. Hugging Richie smelt like putting out a cigarette in an ash trash filled with leftover rainwater, but Alayna was so used to the scent that it never bothered her quite as much as the first couple of times. Her eyes burned from the same tears that were now on Richie's t-shirt.

She released from the hug, and Richie's hands still rested on her shoulders. "Everyone knows."

Richie noticed the tears on her eyes almost seemed to glow under the flickering light of the shabby public bathroom. Her curly black hair framed her face in a way that could almost make someone miss the subtle glimmer of her eyes. Her dark skin and deep eyes used to remind Richie of a topaz, with its brilliant glow meant for mineralogy museums, but now he barely recognized the eyes he once saw run deep with an enigmatic sense of life and purpose.

Now, they were tear-filled and bloodshot. As were Richie's.

"My girlfriend thinks I cheated on her, and everyone thinks I'm the one who tried to fuck him." She continued. Her voice was shaking, and she couldn't look Richie in the eyes anymore.

Richie's teeth clenched. He wished Alayna could have told him the story first. No one wants to hear their friend's trauma being told as second-hand gossip from someone they hardly know. "It's not your fault." He managed to get out. He couldn't cry, he couldn't break down. This was his time to grow up. It's all fun and games until it's not.

"I'll take care of it. He's my boyfriend, and-and the fact that he thinks he can treat you like garbage when he knows what really happened is just..." Richie put his hands on his hand, trying to figure out what he could possibly say to make it better.

"Richie, you know me." Alayna began, with heavier breathing. She was starting to cry. "You know I wouldn't cheat. You know I wouldn't try anything with River, I swear to fuck-"

"Hey, I know you. Like you said." Richie said, trying to get her to calm down. "And you know me. I wouldn't believe you'd try anything like that even if you told me yourself. It's not about you." He said, appalled at the idea of believing she was the one at fault.

"He forced you. That's the story, and I know that to be true. I believe you." He moved her hair back and wiped the tears streaming down her face.

...

"What are we gonna do?" She whispered. She knew that if she talked any louder she'd completely break down.

Her eyes met Richie in complete devastation. Richie wanted to give her a simple answer, and just say everything would be alright. There were so many times in his life where he wanted to do that, but most times, nothing was that easy. Things rarely went according to plan, and even the "plan" was usually a defeatist idea of a plan.

What Richie really wanted was that rush. That feeling of pure adrenaline that was extremely reminiscent of his childhood. Even then, times weren't the best, but god, did he know how to make them feel like the best. He chased that feeling, but he knew his idea of childhood was repulsively sweetened by nostalgia and an over-romanticization of what it really was. The more he ran after that feeling, the more he realized it was like sending love letters to the mailbox of an abandoned estate.

"He's gonna go home for the holidays," Richie replied.

He'd never get that feeling back, and the feeling haunted him. He always had trouble with simply letting go. Some nights were spent recounting every detail of the past, everywhere he went wrong, searching for every moment where he could have just done better. Reminding himself of the person he used to be - or rather, tried to be - not the hollowed-out shell of a person he felt he was today. He couldn't tell if he'd lost his feeling, or had too much of it to realize he possessed it.

He continued, "Then I'm gonna fucking kill him."