Do Not Fucking Touch Me // Reddie

Twenty Seven

(Eddie's POV)

I stared over at the clock on my bedside table and watched the hands run around the edge. When was I going to die already?

"Shut the fuck up, drama queen," Richie says, walking in the room with a tray full of food. 

Oops. Did I say that last bit out loud? He placed the tray on my chest. The platter had a bowl of soup, saltine crackers, and a water. 

I smiled up at him. He was so thoughtful. 

"Thank you," I said. 

He sat on the beanbag chair next to my bed. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

I was feeling better already, just with his presence. I started to think it was all in my head, like it was before. I did have a temperature and was throwing up, but perhaps it was just because I had psychologically convinced myself I was sick. I took the spoon on the tray and dipped it into the soup, lifted it and sipped the warm concoction. It felt smooth going down my throat. 

"Richie," I said to get his attention. He looked up at me immediately.

"Yes?" he answered.

I pat the area of the bed next to me and tapped it with my hand. He got my nonverbal indication right away that I wanted him next to me. He climbed over my legs and sat where my hand just was. He lifted the covers' edge and put himself under it. He rest his head on his palm and stared at me lovingly, waiting for my next command. It was nice to have someone that wanted and was willing to do absolutely anything for you, but I felt guilty for it. He spent so much time and effort on me, and the least bit into himself. I wasn't the only one with problems. I could tell he was still getting skinnier. He hadn't gone to a doctor after all for his bulimic episodes.

"Baby, tell me the truth," I prefaced my intrusive comment, "Are you still making yourself throw up?" 

His smile faded and the pain in his eyes glistened. Touchy subject, I guess. I told him everything, I didn't understand why he wouldn't tell me about him. I loved him. I didn't want to see him in any kind of misery, and I knew he felt that way about me too. 

"Yeah. It's just hard to stop all of a sudden. It's like I'm addicted."

I understood, which just added to the powerful empathy I felt towards him. "I know how you feel. I felt the same way about cutting myself. It was like a routine whenever I was upset, whenever my mom would abuse me. But when you talked to me about it, something revealed itself inside me. It's like you showed me that I can stop and that I am strong. You made me that way," I said.

He smiled with his lips pressed together. He sighed. "I'm not as strong as you think," he said, "I'm getting weaker and weaker every day, actually."

I put the tray of soup on the bedside table and moved closer to him. I put my hand on my face too, resting it there. "I'm going to love you no matter how big or small you are. You are strong enough, Richie."

He hugged me. "I love you, Eddie."

"I love you more," I whispered in his ear, with his hair on my face, his head in-between my jaw and collarbones, arms around my ribs tightly.