𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐀 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 - 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞

Fuck Sonia Kaspbrak (An Essay)

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Richie was the first to spot Sonia Kaspbrak's car pulling down the road.

He leaped from the brick steps leading up to the porch and watched the vehicle veer into the driveway; he could see Eddie's figure in the passenger seat, and it made his heart ache.

Sonia threw the car door open, glaring daggers into Richie with steam jetting out of her ears, and careened around the front of the car to Eddie's side. As soon as the door was open, Richie was being drawn to Eddie by an invisible force.

"Get back!" Sonia barked as she gripped Eddie's good arm so tightly a fresh storm of tears flooded his eyes and yanked him away from Richie—who only wanted to care for Eddie the way he should be cared for, not by trying to fix his arm, not by nearly breaking his other arm to try to keep his friends away from him, but by being gentle. Gentle and understanding and uplifting, not belittling him or making him seem weaker than he is, because Eddie Kaspbrak was not weak. He just needed to be cared for sometimes, like everyone else, but Sonia didn't do it right.

Sonia continued growling at Richie and the group of teens behind him despite not one of them listening, all of them far too focused on the white cast restraining Eddie's arm and the way she was holding him just too tightly. "You did this to him," she snarled, her grip on Eddie riling Richie up with even more rage as his focus adhered to his best friend.

The expression on his face was heart-wrenching; Eddie's eyes, in spite of the tears, were blank and emotionless. It tortured Richie to see, but he had to be there even if Eddie wasn't—no, he had to be there because Eddie wasn't there entirely.

"It's okay," he mouthed to Eddie when Sonia wasn't focused on him. "You're going to be okay."

The smile Eddie gave was short-lived and spurious, and Richie couldn't help wondering what drugs she had him on, how many drugs she had him on. He didn't even want to think about Eddie not smiling at him because he thought it was Richie's fault; he couldn't handle Eddie being mad at him or thinking he hurt him.

"Don't ever come near my son again!" she was yowling, and then she was forcing Eddie into the house, and the door slammed and locked on Richie's heart so hard that it shattered.

He never really got to say goodbye. He wasn't sure how he would say it to begin with; he never planned on Eddie leaving. He supposed he should have seen it coming, though; he was always going to end up hurting Eddie—never intentionally, he couldn't do that to his best friend, to Eddie—but he always seemed to hurt, be it himself or others. Explains his parents' relationship, he thought to himself.

He bit his lip as tears set fires in his eyes and the fire in his heart burnt out; with each teardrop that slipped down his cheek, his heart's warmth diminished. Eddie had left a warm imprint on his very soul, with his brilliant smile and his freckled face that almost always seemed to be blushing for one reason or another. But he was gone, and the imprint grew colder and more hollow without him there to fill the void. Richie should've known he was too good, should've built his walls thicker and prepared for the war that would wage between his heart and his head when Eddie was out of his life. He shouldn't have relied on his friend so much in such a short time, if at all. He needed to take better care of himself, because not only would Eddie not always be there to patch him up, but him not being there would tear Richie apart even more.

Richie chewed on his lip to try to keep his pain in. If anyone else with a heart as gold and warm as Eddie's (although he seriously doubted there was someone else as good as that boy in this world, much less this wretched town) heard his agony and decided to try to help, he might latch onto them, too, and he couldn't do that anymore. He couldn't rely on people and expect them to fix all of his problems, or any of his problems, because if anything, they would probably just create more. He gnawed on his quivering lip in such a determinedly self-loathing manner that he could soon taste the iron in his blood.