Eclipse ✧ Reddie

VII. to hurt

Trigger Warning: Abuse

hurt - to suffer pain or grief

"Richard, where do you think your going?"

Richard- Correction-Richie Tozier currently had one converse-clad foot out the door, which had been cracked open just enough so that his skin and bones and corrupted mind could slip away, out of his hell hole house, when the menace of his father's voice reached his ears and stopped his tall physique short. This was not just the I've been drinking  voice, the most familiar, or the second down on the list, the I want nothing to do with you, you fucking piece of shit, voice. This was the I'm about to kick your ass voice, the one that no one else ever heard besides his mother. And it meant business with serious consequences. 

"The quarry around here..to see friends," he uttered out, soft and low. That was one thing about his dad that he almost hated more than anything else, even the pain; there was no joking around with his father, no using impressions to convince himself that the words about to be spoken, or more so yelled, during their conversation were false. 

"Oh, so you have some sort of excuse for friends now?" Wentworth questioned, although it ended up sounding more like a statement than anything else.

Richie had his forehead pressed right up against the door-frame, sweat that very often accompanied his nerves sitting like dew on his skin as he stood frozen in place. "Yeah." 

"Well, I don't think you'll be seeing them today, not looking like that." This was not in reference to the band tee, a favorite of his, that fit loosely around his chest or the black, worn, ripped jeans that concealed the miles of pale skin of his legs. At least he was pretty sure; he was never really able to tell anymore. 

The taller boy gulped. He didn't even have to look up because he could hear his father's footsteps closing the space in between them, suddenly incredibly deafening, feel the rough hands on his shoulders prying him away from the door and shutting it abruptly behind them.

"Do you know what you did this time?"

Richie shook his head.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID THIS TIME?" His father's voiced raised, but this was nothing, nothing at all. He knew it could, and would, only get louder from there. 

"No." 

"YOU STOLE MY LAST FUCKING PACK OF CIGARETTES, YOU PRICK!" 

The deep, immersive pools that illustrated Richie's brown eyes seemed to be locked in a staring contest with the wooden flooring. He cursed himself in his mind because, indeed, he had done that, but he had forgotten, going against what he had originally planned, to replace said pack.  He was always forgetting. How had he even gotten himself to believe that he could afford making up the difference? The fact that he couldn't pay for cigarettes was the whole reason he had gotten himself into this sick hazard of a mess in the first place. Stupid, stupid, dumbass idiot who shouldn't even try-

"Yes." 

"YOU DON'T EVEN DENY IT. I GUESS YOU KNEW FROM THE START THAT YOUR OLD MAN WOULD BE TEACHING YOU A LESSON!"

And with that, one of the dry-skinned hands that been perched tightly on his shoulders released and curled into an intimidating fist, making hard contact with his jaw before he could even get out an innocent plea of, "Please-" It wouldn't have done anything.

"YOU ARE A SORRY EXCUSE FOR A SON, RICHARD. ALL YOU DO IS LISTEN TO THAT FUCKING USELESS MUSIC ALL THE TIME AND GET YOUR ASS IN TROUBLE!" As the number of words being spat out from the pair of foul lips increased, so did the hits. Once, twice, three times, and then Richie lost count. His head felt as if it was spinning off of a track that it would never be able to return to again. And it hurt. It hurt so bad that he couldn't even make an attempt at stopping the rolling drops of tears that poured terribly out from his eyes and mingled with the metallic tasting blood collecting at the peak of his chin and on his chapped lips. It was no wonder he thought about dying so frequently when he was already suffering through a living hell most of the time. His so called "home" was an after life that left him with deliberate scars, no matter where they moved.

"YOU'RE A PIECE OF SHIT, YOU HEAR ME? DON'T YOU FORGET IT! ABSOLUTE SHIT! AND I HOPE YOU'VE CHANGED THAT FUCKED UP MIND OF YOURS ABOUT TOUCHING MY FUCKING STUFF!" After what seemed like an eternity, Richie's father backed away and off of him, dark, bloodied knuckles just barely noticeable in the boy's disrupted field of vision before the man disappeared into the kitchen. Richie could hear the common household noise of a beer being retrieved from their mostly-empty fridge, the rattle of the few items dispersed inside. Somehow the sound granted him a bit of clarity, enough so that he was able to fish around for his glasses on the floor and place them back atop of the bridge of his nose where they seemingly belonged, shattered or not. He didn't even bother cleaning himself up before he practically scrambled out the door, not that he had the time to anyway. There was an annoying nagging feeling in his gut that was repeatedly messaging his brain in an effort of rubbing in just how late he truly was. It was obvious enough when his earlier attempt at leaving the house hadn't even been remotely on time anyway. 

With a great deal of a struggle, he managed to climb onto the slender seat of his bike and will his lanky legs and feet to work together and pedal, following the directions to the quarry that Bill had mapped out for him to the best of his ability a few days ago, even though Eddie was the true person for that job. Boy, at this rate, it almost felt like years had passed since then for him. Upon arriving at the location of the cliff that Bill had made so much of a lofty fuss about, he pushed his bike to the side and, more or less stumbled, into the group's current conversation. Or maybe, argument? It didn't take him very long to put the pieces of the puzzle together and realize that he was the highlighted topic of discussion. 

"Yeah, you like him alright. Well, I hate him!" The words that the smaller package of a boy; Eddie, he soon remembered, exclaimed echoed like the beat of a drum in his already majorly throbbing head. 

"Nice to know," Richie then cut in, adjusting the glasses that now poorly suited his face because they were broken, and yet went with his whole get-up for the same exact reasoning. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but shoot the group a toothy grin when they all turned to look at him in shock. He thought about asking, "Wait, you've never seen a kid beat up by his asshole excuse of a dad before?" but, having a good sense of the kind of the reaction it would cause, decided that what he had first interjected with had been the more proper opening line. Not to mention, he didn't really want to make any other humans aware of his father's...treatment of him. It wasn't necessary in his, now dark-lidded, eyes. He had previously had a grueling enough time convincing himself that it wasn't that big of a deal, still did occasionally, so he objectified that it would be better to keep his possible newfound friends out of it before they unintentionally somehow worsened the disaster that he had been swimming, and sometimes drowning, in for such a long time now. The waters were murky and unpleasant, but not so much so that he hadn't gotten used to them. Plus, the look on Eddie Kaspbrak's face was priceless. 

Author's Note-

Alright, so here's a super spontaneous update for you lovelies because my writer's block decided to suddenly clear up for a bit. Thank you,for 1K!! Also, this is super irrelevant, but I've been wanting to proclaim it to the whole world recently, so, drum-roll please, I met the fucking Ezra Miller! He was so lovely, I can't even explain it. Anywayyy, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 

- Sophia <3