Stockholm Syndrome || Book Two || DISCONTINUED

|| The Beginning ||

New York, Saturday, December 16th, 1997

Richie sat on the couch, counting the money he and Dave had made from their latest, sales.

"Well?" Dave asked, obviously in a hurry. "Relax, princess. I'm almost done counting." Richie shot back, now finishing up. "Fifty...Seven. Fifty Seven bucks." He answers. "Only fifty seven?" He asked, sitting down beside Richie. "Dude, we need more than that. We-We can't live off of fifty seven bucks-"

"Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you sold someone 2 pounds of it for two bucks." Richie snapped, getting up and walking over to the fridge. He grabbed a beer from it and opened it, and taking a swig from it. "Dude, no one's going to buy coke and weed for twenty bucks. I'm just making it easier for ya'." He said. The taller boy rolled his eyes. "No. You're killing my business. Mess with the sales again and you'll be living on the streets." Richie threatened. He rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He mumbled, leaving the room for a moment. Richie then walk over to the balcony, opening the doors and stepping out into the cold, the cool December air hitting him and causing his body to go into shock for a moment. He leant his body up against the railing, taking another sip of the beer.

Suddenly, he noticed the tiny little snowflakes trickling down from the sky. Only this time, the snow didn't cause Richie the joy it use to, it upset him this time, bringing him back to a place that he never wanted to be in again. It reminded him of someone. Someone whose giggle still reminisces in the back of Richie's mind. His rosy red cheeks, his adorable little button nose, his kisses on Richie's lips and skin, his sweet, soft, heartwarming smile. God, Richie missed him so much. Not a day went by when he didn't think about him.

Richie sat the bottle on the railing, burying his face in his hands. "Please...Please..." he mumbled underneath his breath. "...come back. I-I'm sorry, I've changed. I've changed."

"Dude-" Richie practically jumped out of his own skin. "Jesus, Fuck, Dave." He sighed, rubbing his face and walking back inside, shutting the doors behind him. "Who were you talking to?" Dave questioned. "No one." Richie said, shoving past the other boy. "Pfft. What's your problem?" Asked Dave, scoffing and folding his arms across his chest. "None of your damn business." Richie hissed. "Oh my god. You're thinking about him again...aren't ya?" Dave questioned. Richie rolled his eyes. "Dude. You seriously need to stop obsessing over E-"

"Don't you dare say his fucking name." I deadpan, turning to face him. "Oh, please." He began, "You seriously need to move on. He obviously doesn't want you, considering he left  y-"

That caused Richie to snap, grabbing his beer bottle and throwing it at Dave. Luckily, for Dave, it missed, hitting the wall behind him and shattering against it, glass hitting the floor.

"What the fuck!" Dave exclaims. "Are you fucking crazy?!"

"You shut the hell up about him!" He hollered. "You-You don't know anything!"

"Oh, I don't?" Dave shot back, folding his arms across his chest. "Because you seemed to have told me a lot about you two's past." That stunned Richie, shutting him up. "What the fuck are you talking about? How-What do you know?" Richie questioned. "Well, I know about how you two met...you informed me when you were...uh...drunk." Dave said. Richie presses his lips together and began to internally panic. What-What the hell is the matter with me? He thought, what else have I told him?