𝙿𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜 & 𝓹𝓸𝓬𝓴𝔂𝓼: a Reddie fanfic

The Bridge

It had been a while since Richie went to the barrens alone. He shifted his kick stand as he came to a stop. He got off his bike and shoved his hands in his pockets. He already knew what he was here to do. He inhaled deeply and sighed. It's been going through his head for quite a while. Not wanting anyone to worry that something had happened, he called all the losers before he left the house and just said he was sick. Internally though, he was sick of himself. He knew he wasn't normal. Heck, everyone knew something was up with him and they didn't know what he knew. He was always being harassed. People assumed he was gay. He couldn't be. Could he? In this town; gayness was never apart from being an insult. Along with gay was it's synonyms of fairy, rainbow beaver, and the occasional fag.
       Richie pulled out his pocket knife and started to carve into the almost new wood of the bridge. He dragged the newly sharpened blade along the grain of the wood and fixed his glasses. Just as he got done with the "R", he heard a noise. He stood up so fast that he almost lost balance. He looked around. Nothing. He sighed.
     "Probably just another fucking deer." He thought to himself as he looked back down to the roughly engraved "R". Something started to trickle out of it. Richie rubbed his eyes and got closer. It was a scarlet red liquid. It had a familiar hue. Blood. His blood. This knife wasn't just a knife he carried for protection or carving into bridges; this was his cutting knife. But there was no blood on it, so how the hell was there blood in the wood? Richie looked up to the sky. A single red balloon was floating.
       "Fucking no! Not today, Bitch!" He fell back off his feet and onto his back. Something pulled off his glasses. Richie started to kick upwards. The thing grabbed his foot! "What do you want god dammit?!" He snarled under his frantic panic.
       "You're fear."
       "You're not real! You're not real! You're not re-"
       "If I'm not real, the why do I know... Your dirty, little secret?" The creature mocked. Richie, Stan and It were the only ones who knew that he was...a homosexual. But unlike Stan, It could tell anyone that Richie was like this. He knew Stan wouldn't do anything to hurt him. He knew that none of the losers would do anything to hurt him. Richie has always been afraid, but right now, he couldn't be.
       "Because you, you are a figment of my imagination. You're my fears as a physical entity. I hate you. We hate you. You. Hate. You. I know you do! So next time, write your own material you petty, ugly ass, sack of shit clown!" Richie kicked as hard as he could and ran when he found the right timing. "This isn't happening! It's not real! I'm seeing things!" He kicked up the kickstand of his bike and sped off, not looking back for a second. He could barely see. He'd had forgotten his glasses and his knife. He didn't care though. He just needed to find someone. Stan. He'd know just how to calm Richie down. He was also someone who Richie would talk to about everything, even his crush.