Being with Richie was one of the worst things I'd ever done. He was heartless and cruel; with a 'love' that ruined me entirely.
"God knows what is hiding in those weak and drunken hearts. I guess the loneliness came knocking, no one needs to be alon...
"Wish I could replace, the part of me that you took away. Left me so dark and afraid. Hopelessly stuck in replay over again. Is anyone paying attention? Cause it's so obvious that something's different."
Chapter Theme Song: 'You Made' by Ria. (Please listen the above song!♡)
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••
Becca
The events that took place after that were a blur. It all felt like a dream. Richie lifted me into his arms while Colt got rid of the bloodied sheets for him. My eyes wouldn't close, but they wouldn't really open wide either. So, I just laid in his arms like I was dangling on the perimeter between life and death. Between being awake and asleep. Between feeling and unfeeling. Between knowing and unknowing.
He walked with me to somewhere, his chest beating fast, and each time the music from the deck was getting louder and louder and louder.
Then I heard Tee's voice breaking through the Hip Hop beat, sounding so near yet so far away. "Is she okay? What's wrong with her?"
"She's sleeping," Richie said softly, and I heard Winston's voice after:
"Tee, could you stop prying in their business? Fuck."
"I'm not prying, he took her upstairs and—"
"And obviously they fucked! Your girl is what, seventeen. She can take care of herself..."
Then there were no more voices, and I was being placed against warm leather. The slamming of a door, the start of an engine.
"Drive safe. Call me when you get home. I wouldn't call that rape. She's your girl." Colt.
"I'll call you when I get home..." Sniffles. Richie.
And my eyes finally gave up, slowly pulling me into a haunted darkness.
••
My eyes opened again moments later to Richie holding my hand, using the pad of my thumb to unlock my cellphone. It opened with a soft click, the screensaver of me with an arm around my mom on the phone display. Both of us smiling so bright it dazzled the screen. He opened messages, started a new compose, and tapped the keys a few times. Then he got up, placed the cell on the nightstand and went to the bathroom.
The pipe switched on, water splattering against tiles. His crystal ceiling fan spun in little circles, disturbing the papers piled on his dresser. The leaves flapped up then down then up again.
The room was dark, and the pale moonlight filtered in through his expensive white curtains.
He returned to the bedroom. I couldn't see him as my back was turned. His steps were soundless against the soft carpet but his scent was imprinted in my defected brain. Pine and sweat. I feared that pine and sweat would be the only thing I would be able to smell from then on.
