self-acceptance // reddie

one

Richie sighed as he closed his bedroom door; he was ready to stop pretending to be happy. He collapsed into his memory foam mattress as tears cascaded down his face. He shoved his face into his pillow, screaming at himself for being so stupid.

Why am I crying? Why am I so fucking stupid? Why can't I just shut up? They don't give a shit about anything I have to say! Richie's bad thoughts scattered throughout his mind, reminding him of the feelings he tried so hard to push away. Jesus, Richie! Pull yourself together! Richie raised his open palm and facepalmed himself with such force that he instantly felt a handprint form.

Richie continued to clutch his pillow, silently scolding himself for being emotional. There was nothing worse to Richie than showing emotion; it showed that he cared too much. When he was at school, he appeared so confident and carefree; when he was at home, it was a whole different story. To others, the fact that Richie had no filter was the best part about him. To Richie, it was the worst. He constantly regretted everything he said, yet he felt that he could never stop talking. Richie was choking on his sobs from trying to hold them back, making it harder for him to breathe. He muttered profanities under his breath as he realized what was happening: a panic attack. They weren't uncommon at all for him, but he hated them more than anything. Why couldn't he just be a normal teenager? He tried to steady his breath, but he was making it worse. Richie was hyperventilating and he really felt as though he was dying. He clutched his curly hair with nearly enough force to rip it out of his head, rocking himself back and forth. He needed help, but he didn't want it. He needed to do things on his own; he didn't want to rely on anyone else – he didn't want to bother them.

"Richie, baby! Are you home?" His mother, Maggie, shuffled down the hallway, stopping as she knocked on Richie's bedroom door. She instantly recognized his sobs and barged her way into the room. "Oh, my sweet baby!" She hurried over to his bed as he fell into her arms, fully sobbing. "Richie, it's okay. Don't worry, baby, you're okay. It's all going to be over soon. I'm right here, and I promise that I'm not going anywhere. Take as long as you need, I've got you." Maggie's words made Richie cry even harder, because he felt as though he was taking away time from his mother's life that she could use to do something more important than comfort him.

Richie's panic attack slowly died down as his sobs became small sniffles. He hugged his mom as tight as he could, thanking her for being there.

"Mama," Richie croaked, avoiding eye contact with her. "I'm sorry for being like this."

Maggie's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Like what, baby?" She played with his curls to comfort him.

"For being so fucking emotional, I guess. I know that you never wanted a kid with this many issues. I wish I could be better for you, Mama. You and Dad deserve better than me." Maggie's mouth dropped at what she heard. She engulfed Richie in a hug as her own tears decided it was their time to shine. She pulled away from her son and gave him a look of assurance.

"We love you so much, baby. We wouldn't change a thing about you, because we like you just the way you are. Don't ever forget that, baby."

They sat together on his bed for a while, talking about life in the past, present, and future. Richie hated that he felt so sad when he knew that he had the best parents he could ask for. He felt selfish for still feeling like that wasn't enough at times; some kids didn't even have one parent, let alone two.

***

Richie set his tray down at the lunch table he shared with his friends and cracked a goofy grin. "Hello, my good sirs – and ma'am – I could never forget you, Ms. Marsh! Lovely weather we're having, don't you agree?" He sat down in between Stan and Ben, slinging his arms around both of them. "Why, hello there, chaps!" Stan rolled his eyes, removing Richie's hand off his shoulder. "Oh, Stanny, I see! You want us to save the touching for later tonight, huh?"

"B-beep beep, Richie!" Bill chuckled, playfully slapping his cheek.

As soon as Richie heard those words, he forced his head down to stare at his food. He said too much. He was being too annoying. His hand started to shake under the table, which Stan noticed. He linked his pinky with Richie's, silently telling him, "I got you." Richie felt his heartrate slow as he felt Stan's skin against his. If he needed to, Richie would die for his best friend; Stan was a lifesaver in all the best ways. They had been friends for seemingly forever, and they knew everything about each other. Stan was the only one out of the Loser's Club that knew about Richie's inner thoughts and issues. When he had first seen cuts on Richie's thighs, he was shocked, but not mad at him for not saying anything. He had just wrapped his arms around him, not having to say a word, and bandaged the bloody display of the words "fuck up."

Richie looked up, making eye contact with Beverly. She smirked at him, and, before Richie could realize what was happening, he was pelted in the eye by a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

"Bev!" Richie shrieked, attempting to wipe the mushy food off his eyelids. "What was that for?" Beverly shrugged and raised her eyebrow; Richie grinned and opened his carton of chocolate milk, trapping some in his straw. He raised the straw to his mouth and pointed the other end at Beverly. He blew through it, spraying her with the sticky residue. Soon enough, the whole lunch table joined their mini food fight while they could before Mr. Grazer, the principal of Derry High, told them to "knock it off" or they would "get detention for a week."

***

Richie groaned to himself as he checked the time on his phone; he still had twenty-five minutes left of work. Around sixth months prior, he had been offered a job at his local pharmacy; Maggie was good friends with Mr. Keene, the owner. Richie was planning on stopping at the coffee shop next door after his shift. He knew he had a lot of homework to get done, and he decided that caffeine would keep him awake.

Richie continued to stock the tissues on the highest shelf, reaching them easily. He heard the lock on the door click and Betty, his coworker, sighed in relief.

"Alright, Rich," Betty cooed, giving him a soft smile. "You're lookin' a little rough. Are you tired? How about I close for the night and you can head on home?"

"Wow, Betty," Richie grinned, causing her to blush uncontrollably. "You're the best! Thanks, girl." He gave her a side hug and kissed atop her head. As he went to clock out, he heard her squealing. Richie exited the building through the employee area as he pulled out his wallet. Coffee time, he thought.

As Richie pushed open the door to the coffee shop, his eyes were directed straight to the barista. He felt his heartbeat speed up, but he could not understand why. He turned around quickly, feeling embarrassed. If he would have stayed facing the boy, perhaps he would have seen the boy's cherry cheeks as well. Richie procrastinated going to order his coffee for a few minutes, but finally came to his senses. Come on, dude, he thought. It's just a boy.

"Hello," the barista smiled, making Richie's heart melt. "What can I get for you?" The way he smiled could brighten any dark room.

"Uh," Richie felt himself get nervous. "Can I have, uh, one medium, uh, um, hot vanilla latte, please?" Why was he nervous? This was the same thing he had ordered nearly two times every week for almost a year. As the barista wrote on the cup, Richie eyed his cursive letters. The way he spelled "Richie" made him happy that that was his name.

"Uh, sorry, um," Richie looked puzzled. "How did you know my name?"

"Oh," The nameless boy giggled, once again sending Richie's heart into a frenzy. "Your nametag! I go to that pharmacy a lot, ya know."

"Oh, really?" Richie felt himself getting calmer. "I work there."

"Yeah, I can tell. I work here."

"Hey, I go here a lot, too! It's one of my favorite places."

"Well hey, that's cool! I guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, then!" The barista grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at Richie.

"Yeah," Richie felt blood rush to his cheeks. "Wait, I don't think I got your name."

"Oh," he situated his apron so that his name tag was visible. "It's Eddie."

Eddie, Richie thought. I think Eddie and I could become good friends – best friends, even.