2am | reddie

quatre

     smoke filled the void of his pitch black room, soft music playing in spaces where the smoke couldn't reach. the time was 9:34pm. richie hated this time of the day. it was the slowest time, for him at least. the time where everything that he thought was locked up comes out and beats him up worse than his parents do.

     9pm for richie tozier was the drawn out stretch of time that always stressed him out. nine was the time where it was too early to sleep, too late to do anything else. you're stuck in a forever loop of setting sunsets and numbing pains. nothing felt real at 9pm. 9pm was the smell of scented candles and unwanted nostalgia that drained out the screaming and yelling in the near distance. it was the time where you were drowned in sadness without reason, so you just stare up at the sky. it's the time where you associated songs with past lovers while staring blankly out your window like someone else will come back to save you from whatever it is you think you need saving from. not that you'd ever know what that thing was. 9pm is a time of forgotten sorrow and it's a long, miserable, and cold hour.

     "richie, get your ass down here!" he heard his step-dad yell from beyond the grimy white door he stayed locked behind.

     he could've chosen to ignore the obviously drunk man but he figured it was best not to unless he wanted a (not so) fair beating. richie's actions got the best of him this time as he dragged himself out of bed, feeling heavier than usual. he dug the butt of his cigarette into the dusty top of his night stand, tossing it into a small bowl as he stood up.

     his dad was always mad at him for some reason or another.  whether it be that he's pissed that he's out of cigarette or alcohol, or maybe he's finding a reason to hit the boy.  he was always mad over something, and it never mattered to him that it wasn't richie's fault.  richie lost count of the number of times he had to walk to the convenience and steal a pack of marlbro's for his dad just to stay on his good side.

     richie exhaled as he slowly walked down the stairs, his feet feeling heavy as he dropped them down each step, making a loud thud.  the stairs creaked under the small addition of weight, causing a small burst of insecurity in richie.  running his fingers through his hair, he grimaced at the stench that flooded the downstairs.  whiskey, blood, and cigarette smoke.  it smelled worse than his bedroom, which, by the way, just smelled of smoke and boy.  if boy had a smell.

     "where th'ell are my cigarettes goin' to," his dad slurred at him as he heard is footsteps lean closer.  the stench of shitty whiskey lingered onto his words.

     "i can go get you another pack," richie muttered, keeping his voice low as to not start a fued.  any sign of attitude and he wouldn't know what to expect.

     richie stepped back at the sudden jolt of movement from his dad.  probably the most exercise he's gotten in years.  he stumbled towards the taller boy, richie suddenly become aware of his every movement, word, and breath.

     "you better," his father snapped, grabbing richie by the shirt, "or else this drink isn't gon' be the only thing stainin' my carpet tonight."

     richie stumbled back as his dad let go of his shirt soon after, inhaling deeply to remain calm and collected.  if he'd get no repercussion, he'd have punched his dad by now.  so hard that he'd go running and leave richie be for the rest of his life.  just set some cash on the kitchen counter and food in the pantry and richie would be fine. instead of going with his head and punching his dad, richie simply nodded and walked back up to his room as fast as he could.

     he walked over to where his phone was connected to a speaker, softly playing Elvis, and unplugged it, slipping his phone into his back pocket. he pulled on his shoes and a flannel to cover him in the slight-cold front that sifted through derry, staring at himself in the mirror before he left, causing a frown to creep its way onto the boys face.