Stranger Arms

10:06 PM

It's another one of those weird dreams, those that are easy to get sucked into but hard to get out of. It's impossible to know where they start.

Richie's not even dreaming. He's in thoughts. Rather pleasant ones, at that. 

No wonder people can't remember their dreams, he thinks. 

Then, noises enter his ears that don't belong in the realm of his dreams.

A gentle humming sound. The refrigerators.

Then, violent yelling.

It's at that sound that Richie reacts.

The first thing he feels is the pain in the back of his head. Not a sharp pain, like a cut. This is more of an overthinking migraine, one that hurts the back of his eyes.

Then, it's his biceps. Richie's only worked out twice in his life, but this doesn't feel like a sprain. It's more of a painful discomfort, the kind he'd get all the time when he's stay over at Luke's and had to sleep on the floor.

He tries touching his temples, but as he lifts his hands, be feels the tug of duct tape around his wrists, peeling away a layer of arm hairs.

He doesn't have to think for too long to remember what happened.

He caught himself daydreaming about his best friend, and how he'd replaced him with a better friend. Better, because this new friend, he could have sex with.

And it had hit him, right as the redhead walked towards the candy aisle that he would never have that kind of luck. That despite being young, he was falling apart. That the only reason he was working inside a convenient store was because his stepdad threw him a bone. 

Then what? Oh, right.

And then, when the guy in the hoodie came in and threw him a bag, calling him names and demanding money, in the barrel of the gun that faced him, he found his answer.

He was just tired of living.

Or perhaps he wanted to feel superior to this low-life criminal, just for a second. There were no girls around, no one to impress besides an old lady who was on the other side of the counter. He was better than her, too. At least he didn't smoke cigarettes. 

But it was too little, too late. He ended up with his hands tied behind his back and duct tape in his mouth. 

He blinks his eyes open, and he sees the lady from before.

For some reason, she appears calm for someone who's just been taken hostage.

"But what difference does it make, huh? I already know I'm going back to jail!"

Richie jumps at the yelling.

He tries to turn, but his shoulders hurt and he can only turn his neck enough to see the robber on the other side of the store, where the chips are. 

Is that what all criminals do? Stay away from their hostages so they can procrastinate in peace, like I do with my laundry?

Richie shutters. Man, is this was Stockholm Syndrome is?

Meanwhile, the old lady, who's wearing matching duct tape cuffs and lip sealent, locks eyes with him. 

Richie freezes. 

She has every reason to be upset with him. If he had just given the robber the money, they wouldn't be in the situation that they're in. 

But her eyes are tender, like she's babysitting him and he just woke up from a long nap.