Philophobia // Reddie

twelve

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains mentions of sexual assault. I'm not going to go into detail but still, if you are not comfortable with this subject, no one is forcing you to read it. Sorry, that sounded a little harsh but you know what I mean.

~

"it's not like you would know the feeling."

Those words echoed in Richie's head on repeat for the rest of the day, his head pounding with them so hard that he couldn't sleep. So many memories came flooding back into his brain, clouding all of his thoughts and making his heart pump at a million beats per minute.

And then there was a specific one.

He shut his eyes to get it out of his head, but it only made it more real. He was back in his freshman year of high school, sitting on a couch in the corner of a living room he wasn't familiar with. He remembered that he was surrounded by people he didn't know, watching them laugh and do stupid shit.

He'd never been invited to a party before, and when Bev suggested they go, he thought it could be a chance to get a fresh start, make some new friends. He figured he and Bev would go for a couple of hours, have some fun, and then go home.

Instead, Bev ran off with her best friend, Jane, and left Richie alone to fend for himself. He had filled a cup with some fruit punch, not knowing it was alcoholic, but nevertheless deciding he could sip on it throughout the night. He didn't have anyone to dance around or do stupid shit with, so he took a spot in the corner of the room, watching everyone from a distance.

He remembers James Dante coming up to him at the party and asking for a truce. Richie didn't think anything bad could come of it, so he let James guide him over to a group of kids on the football team, introduce them and walk off to get Richie a "better" drink.

Whatever that meant.

He remembers when James came back with his drink, and someone dared him to chug the whole thing. Some part of Richie thought it would be a good idea. He downed the bitter liquid quickly, wincing at the sting he could only guess was tequila and punch.

He remembers passing out mid-sentence, falling to the floor and hitting his head hard on the kitchen tile. He remembers being half-carried to a room, laid down on a bed and wanting to sleep.

He remembers being delusional but passing out seconds after laying down on the comfy surface. He remembers drifting in and out of consciousness, trying to push something off of him, but being too tired to really care.

He remembers waking up the next morning in pain.

He never needed clarification about what happened, because he knew. He'd heard about things like that, where a girl would get drugged at a party, he had just never heard about it happening to a guy. He walked home that morning, since he didn't have a car yet, and thought about how stupid he was.

Stupid to trust a guy who put him through hell. Stupid for chugging that drink, stupid for going to the party in the first place. He blamed it all on himself and pushed it deep down inside the pit of his stomach.

He didn't really have a soul anymore.

And even if he did, it had been drained of any real emotions. Like a black hole swirling around and eating him inside out.

But that was three years ago, and Richie had gotten good at bottling up his emotions.

But something about those words that Eddie had spoken, those eight words, nagged at the whole that had just begun to seal itself over. It tugged at the rims of his heart, causing it to drown all over again.

He knew what it was like, and for some reason, he needed to tell Eddie.

Maybe it was that he wanted Eddie to trust him, and maybe it was because he wanted to trust Eddie. Either way, it was important that Eddie knew what Richie had been through.

Richie jolted up in bed, throwing on a shirt with his sweats and chunky combat boots. He wrote a note to Stan, saying that if he wasn't back before morning, to take the car to school. He descended the stairs quietly, grabbing a book that was on top of the counter and scanning through it for a "Kaspbrak" residence.

1729 Walt Ave.

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Sorry that chapter was kind of short. It is important that you know, though, if you are struggling with anything, my PM box is open, and I'm here to talk if you need it.

I'm tired like always, so goodnight ma peeps.