Richie's been struggling with his sexuality for years, unsure of what everyone would think of him when they found out his secret. After defeating Pennywise with the other losers, he's clueless as to where his life is leading him.
Little does Richie...
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Sun rays hit Richie's face just about as furiously as he had hit that clown in the face with a baseball bat. He grabbed his coke-bottle glasses off his bedside table and placed them on his face with very little precision.
Waking up in the morning seemed to be getting harder and harder everyday after what happened during the summer. The nightmares were the worst. Clowns were one thing, but his shame with who he was may have been worse. Richie was still quaking at the fact that all of the losers agreed that they would return to defeat Pennywise once and for all when they were older. He thought it was ridiculous that they'd have to endure the same bullshit all over again. Pennywise knew all of Richie's secrets before he did. He even knew about Richie's little crush.
Richie's crush was actually really little because his crush was Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie loved to mess with him about his height and his shorts and his adorable fanny pack. It was all just teasing though.
Rising out of his bed, he threw on a sweater and walked down the stairs, treating each step with delicate care. His parents should've been out, but he knew that they were the most unpredictable couple in the world.
If he wasn't quick on his feet before the clown, he definitely was now. The trauma of a stranger knowing everything about him was unbearable and knowing his friends were attacked too made his blood boil with rage. Peering around the corner, the coast seemed clear. He began to walk toward the kitchen-
"Richard."
Shit.
His breath caught in his throat upon seeing his father sitting on a stool and reading a newspaper. Wentworth was a mysterious man to most, but to Richie, he was a monster. On the days when he was home, he would be shaming Richie for everything he did. On the days when he wasn't home, it still made Richie feel like shit. He was surprised that his father hadn't murdered him yet.
Maggie, on the other hand, was very quiet. Her alcoholic tendencies were questionable, but at least she didn't voice her opinion about Richie constantly. The only times that she would be home were on late nights when she was drunk out of her mind.
"Wentworth." Richie was feeling brave and knew he would regret it. He hated his mouth that would never stop talking. Sometimes he wished he didn't have a voice at all.
"You call me father." Poison dripped off of Wentworth's voice, and Richie could feel it burning. Oh, how words could destroy him. Even when his friends would joke around and call him trashmouth, he would just smile through the pain as if it wasn't there. The pain never seemed to disappear.
"You don't deserve that title."
When Richie heard his father's coffee cup hit the counter with what could only be described as petty rage, he knew he'd stepped too far. Darn him and his trashmouth. He had a curse.
