Do Not Fucking Touch Me // Reddie

Forty Six

(Richie's POV)

Rehab was going well, considering it was my fifth day. It started off simple, with a group session on the first day introducing me to the others. It wasn't like school, where everyone begun at the same point all at once. I was thrown into the bunch. In rehab, some people need more intense treatment than others, and some need it faster than others. 

The center, called Harlow Sanitarium, was located in rural New York. People tend to forget about the area that outlays the big city. Harlow was no exception to that, being a town about the size of Derry. I felt comfortable with the fact that it wasn't a big city, but I also felt alone. I missed my home. I missed my Eddie.

They figured the shock of being in a new place with new people was enough for us kids. No one in the Sanitarium was over the age of 18, and hardly any were from the area. They all had lives cut short, paused, because of the things that took over them. After introducing ourselves and mealtimes, we were shown our rooms. We had roommates because we had to be careful and watch out for each other. It was kind of like the buddy system, but in a darker way. In this version, you had to make sure your buddy didn't kill himself. 

My buddy's name was Charles. Charles was a recluse, with social deficiency, and OCD. My first night was hard on me, not just because I was homesick, but also due to his need to get up and check if the closets had murderers every hour, and flicked the lights on and off fourteen times each time he got up. I fell asleep with the pillow pressed on my face, covering my eyes. I probably should have suffocated. 

I missed my bed. I missed the feeling it gave me. I missed the warm covers and the smell of pancakes in the morning, and the dull snoring of Eddie beside me. 

Fuck.

I really missed Eddie. It had only been five days. Five days. I had three months to do this. I wasn't even done with a whole week. Four weeks make a month, so I had twelve weeks until I saw my baby. I wanted it to go by in a blink of an eye, but every moment felt longer than the last. 

I laid awake while Charles finally went to bed, and the lights were off. I reached under my bed for the paper I had planned to use for writing Eddie. I turned on a flashlight by me and quickly wrote out my letter.

Dear Eds.

It's been five days. I got your letter back. I don't know why the letters are sending so strangely. I am sending each one the day after I write it. 

My roommate is driving me insane. I loved the idea of having a brother when I was younger, someone to hang out with around the house when your friends were all gone. Now I think I was bullshit crazy. This dude is getting on my last nerve, and it's only been five days. 

I can't imagine forming any kind of bond with these people over the span of the next three months. They're nothing like me. Tomorrow I meet with the anorexic/bulimic group, but I'm the only boy. I feel crazy here, Eds. I know it's for my own good, but I feel out of place, even here. 

I wish you were here with me. Not just in the sappy sense either. I was glad to hear that you were taking counseling sessions, but I think with just one familiar face, the path could be clearer for both of us. Maybe if you were here too, I could be reminded of what I'm doing this for. I'm doing this all for you, no matter how painful it will become. I ate today. Didn't throw up one bit. 

Are ya proud, Eds? I am. I want to hear everything about how your week has gone too. Tell me, tell me every stupid little detail. Write to me like it's a diary. I miss when you talked to me like that, like I was your best friend. You're my best friend. You always will be. It was never Bill, or Stan. It was always you. 

I miss you terribly. 

Love always,

Richie Tozier