ethereal : it oneshots

waste a few years of my life

pairing: stozier

a/n: yeah dunno sorry very angsty 

stanley's pov

december 4th, 2001

richie and i broke up yesterday, in tears and flame and oil and disillusion and guilt, spread over a tablecloth like spilt wine dripping into the floorboards. i'd wanted to tell him that i hoped to never see him again, but the fact that i still loved him kept the sick in my throat, blocking any form of confrontation i ever had.

still, i have no money to leave, and i don't get paid for another week, and i have no friends here. when he'd asked me if i was going to stay someplace else, we both knew the answer as i went grey with silence. i wanted to say more. i knew it would be a lie. we'd crossed the river.

i am not afraid of richie. i am not afraid of sharing richie's bed with him—because i'm the one leaving, aren't i? it's richie's apartment, now. my books are meaningless and the scatterings of me littered within richie's personality is only scraps of paper, forgotten in the rush to throw everything away. it's possible he forgot to throw away the right emotions, because he hugged me from behind at the kitchen counter while i cut peaches. i said nothing, letting the sin of our continuous love take my hand and use it to feed richie peach slices over my shoulder. the juice made a mess, on his face, my shirt, and my hands. we laughed about it gently as we washed up.

i think that the two of us messed something up. i really want him to be happy, but why isn't this enough? why isn't this enough for me? when i dried my hands he kissed me on the neck and whispered apologies. we know what we've done. i have run away from everything that has ever scared me except for richie; we've let go but i don't yet leave his side.

instead, i am going to get into bed tonight, feeling like i'm bleeding out from my side as richie chooses whether to accept that we are no longer together or to remain in the illusion. i have absolutely no idea which one he will choose. i have an idea of which i want him to.

december 7th, 2001

in another world, one where me and him are allowed to stand under the chuppah while we let the creator in on just how much we love each other, maybe this is a love story. maybe the name of marriage saved us. it's also possible, though, that they (us in that world) are facing the same fate that we are, but with paperwork, and the newfound title of divorce. i wonder if we got any further.

i doubt it. i woke up this morning to him mumbling directly in my ear, my name as he slept with his arms and legs locked around me. i am beginning to think that i will always lose to temptation. he will always win me over, his laughter at my hurt as we both suffer in each others warmth.

i don't think he's realized we've broken up. to be completely honest, i'm not sure i have either. i still make two cups of tea in the morning: this is the healthiest we've felt in months. the world likes to play tricks, making you feel good about your hair the week before you get it cut, and here it was dangling all the reasons i fell in love with richie right under my nose. i know it's not real. i know that this right here, what i'm holding, is the reason we both suffered.

i am happy right now. but things are not good. on my laptop is a bookmark of a rental on the other side of town. it's far from work. it's far from richie. last night i messaged the seller, knowing it's not what i want. knowing it's for the better. richie was already in bed. maybe we weren't as similar as we thought.

it's unfair, that part of me hates him, and that the same part of me goes to bed next to him every night. i know he let go of me but i promised i'd never leave, i'm staying true on that much, right? i think i'm someone else. i think i've become someone else. i'm not that sure; maybe i was always someone else. maybe we were doomed from the start. maybe i'm doomed to suffer through all of it again. the worst part—i realized it as he poured me wine yesterday, my heart a deep red as he passed me a glass—is that i think i want to.

i think that if/when/if/when/if i leave, i will for the first time truly discover what it feels like to be hungry. i don't want that. life without him is no real way of living. i know him too well. he knows me too well. 

december 9th, 2001

he is stronger than i. this morning he told me to find a place to go by tuesday. that he couldn't keep doing this. that i need to go. he's right, i know, and i tell myself, over and over again, he's right. but i am pathetic for him. i love him the way that the runt of the litter does. i know i'm damaged, and i know i will never be what anyone could want, but i know i will forever be his, if he wants.

it's demeaning. it's pathetic. i said in reply, i love you. he told me to stop. i hid in the bathroom, and i wanted to break that stupid fucking mirror. i know i will always be begging for him back. i just wanted him to say it back. say i love you, and it would all be okay. i could fix this. i can fix this. i know i can—he is the closest i have ever felt to home. i'm preemptively homesick. i threw up.

 i think i'm going crazy. 

i did everything for him. i love him and i know that love is not enough but he stayed beside me when everyone left, and i don't understand why he would have done that if he hadn't loved me. am i weak for still wanting him? i could have fixed us. i could have saved us. i just wanted him to fight for us. but every day richie tozier wakes up he gambles the dice of fate, and i wish he wouldn't; i wish he would just kiss me. but he's addicted.

i know nothing stays forever but i thought this would last a little longer. maybe a lifetime or two. i think maybe he has finally started to see me the way i see myself. a desperate, clawing dog. sit, boy. sit. 

there was always an expiration date. my time will come. i just hope it's soon.