A New Beginning

Chapter 11

         Trying to work out their routines was hard. They fought over the bathroom in the morning; Eddie wanting to brush his teeth while Richie was taking his time in the shower. Eddie had to get up and get ready early for his job, now that he was mainly back in shape. Richie, in the other hand, had more leisure time due to being a comedian after a recent tour.
         Eddie would make the bathroom his changing and grooming space whereas Richie got ready in his room. Eddie didn't have a room in Richie's apartment, just the couch as a bed. So once Richie scuffled out of his room, Eddie was awake at the man's groggy footsteps. Richie tried his best to not disturb the man, but Eddie tried to be up before Richie and out the door.
      Except today, Eddie had his day off so he was sitting on the couch in his pajamas, sipping coffee. It was about noon and Richie was pulling on a jacket as he looked back at the man, "Okay, I'm gunna head out to the store for groceries and I made sure to have your list of 'priorities' in my wallet."
        "You better," Eddie looked over at Richie, his large brown eyes half lidded due to being so tired, "I'll fucking kill you if you come back and you didn't get any of my shit."
        Richie snickered as he put on a hat, "Well, I'll make sure not to forget."
        "Good," Eddie commented and sipped his coffee once again.
        "Alright, I'll be back in a bit, Eds. Don't throw any parties while I'm gone."
       "I'll invite all your celebrity friends over like John Mulaney and Jeff Dunham."
       Richie chuckled and picked up the his keys before heading out the door "Have fun with the J boys then."
       "I will," Eddie exclaimed before the door closed.
        Now it was the quiet, small apartment and Eddie. He looked at the coffee table covered in papers from work and his computer. He also noted the jackets strewn across the living area. Maybe it was time for some cleaning.
       Steadily, Eddie brought himself up from the couch with his cup of coffee in had. He made his way over to his the bar to set his cup down and turn on the radio. Rock came blaring out of the speakers and Eddie flinched at the loud noise. He turned it down before switching the channel over to a Folk station. If he was still at home with Myra, he would've turned it to classical.
           With Myra, he was more concerned about not bothering her. Trying to play with the facade that they were a loving, gentle husband and wife. The sunlit, white, flowing-looking interior that felt almost like a grandparents house. It was a total illusion of their relationship. It wasn't gentle and loving.
        His phone buzzed of the coffee table and he turned his head quickly in response. He didn't even have to check the phone to know it was Myra. She was constantly calling him. Wanting him back. Crying for him to come home. He felt bad for her. He was always on the line on going back, but he never did. Richie helped him stick up for himself.
          Eddie picked up the scattered clothes across the living room as Rocky Mountain High played in the background. Cleaning was one of Eddie's favorite was to destress. Making his way into the bathroom, he put the clothes into the laundry basket before carrying the whole basket with him. He hobbled around the apartment, past Richie's room to the washer and dryer. He loaded the basket's contents into the washer before starting the cycle.
       He took the clothes that were left in the dryer and placed them in a separate basket. He returned the bathroom basket to its original spot before returning to the clean clothes basket. He brought it into Richie's room with little difficulty.
        He had been in Richie's room plenty of times to get his clothes but this time, he could truly sit down and take it in. It was dark and plain. The bed was unmade but he sat on it anyways so he could fold the laundry and sort it. Everything was monotonous brown and grays unlike Richie's eclectic wardrobe. It was different, but maybe it was because Richie didn't stay in the apartment so often. Maybe it was new. Eddie tried to focus on organizing the clothes.
        Once the piles were split, he walked over and grabbed his suitcases before returning to the bed. He placed his clothes in the suitcases and zipped them back up before placing it on the floor once again. He helped himself up to put Richie's pants away in his dresser. He wasn't too discomforted with doing Richie's laundry. He was his best friend and he's been through a lot with him.
         Eddie placed many pairs of oddly patterned boxers into a dresser drawer with others that complimented the stack. He wasn't surprised. Richie was the class clown and he hasn't outgrown it. He placed the man's pants into their own drawer as well. Richie was still some kind of jokester with his career that was a false advertisement of his true comedy skill. As Eddie went to go and put the man's themed button ups into the wardrobe, the washer alarmed from outside the room.
      Eddie set the shirts and jackets on the bed before hustling, with a limp, to the washer just outside. He changed the wet clothes to the dryer before starting it on it's cycle. Eddie sighed as he slightly panted. Even that much 'running' made him almost breathless. He was displeased with his body's limitations. He wanted to heal quicker, but it takes time. He sighed and started back to Richie's room when he noticed the coffee table covered in paper again.
       He decided to pick apart the papers and organize them. It wouldn't take too long, so he decided to take some time to fix up his mess. Work. Marriage. Work. News. Work. Divorce. Work. He tossed out the news, but made sure to make separate piles for 'work' and 'divorce'. He put the divorce pile on the computer, under the horizontal work pile in the opposite direction.
        He noticed the coffee cup he left on the counter and grumbled at the fact it is now cold. He picked it up and drained it in the sink, before washing it out as well. He set it in the dishwasher and closed the door, earning a beep from the device in response. He finally was able to return to putting Richie's clothes away.
       He reentered the dim room and picked up the discarded clothing. He opened the wardrobe and grabbed the empty hangers to place on the bed with the shirts and jackets. One at a time, he picked up a hanger and a shirt and clasped it onto the plastic hanger. He set them aside before he finished up with the last jacket. He picked up the hangers with clothing and hung it on his wrists before making his way back to the wardrobe.
        He placed the halve of shirts on the far left and the jackets on the far right. Then he organized the middle which was from from it. He picked out the shirts and placed them on the left as he pushed the jackets over. Pulling away the last shirt, his hand touched a familiar texture. He frowned at the jacket as he placed the shirt with the others. He pulled the jacket off of it's hanger and examined it. It was a black bomber jacket and stroked his thumbs against the fabric.
         It was then he noticed why it felt familiar. Richie was wearing this in Derry. Richie tried to stop his bleeding with this jacket. This jacket was one of the few things that provided him comfort in his almost dying moments. Eddie felt his legs grow weak. He went back over to the unmade bed and sat at the end of it, jacket still in his arms.
         It was stained with his blood. It darken some of the black in patches of brown-red. He decided to not focus on the blood, but on the texture instead. The satiny interior of the jacket that might've provided some warmth with the cotton padding behind it. His breathing had gone shaky once again and he patted himself down for his inhaler. Something to relieve him of this growing and quickening mental fear swirling in his mind.
       Eddie couldn't hear it through his panic that the door had opened. Richie had returned home from his grocery trip. He set the paper bags on the bar counter and noticed Eddie wasn't in the living room. He made his way to the bathroom but noticed the door ajar before he even reached it. He deduced that if he wasn't in the bathroom or the living area, he was probably in his room. He made his way to his room, mentally ignoring the music in the kitchen as he paced to his room.
          He didn't even make into the room before he saw Eddie hyperventilating on his bed. He rushed over to the couch, Eddie's living quarters, and searched for the man's inhaler. He found it sunken in between the cushions before running back to his room. Richie threw his hat across the room, not caring about what it hit because he only cared about Eddie at that moment. "Hey-Hey, Eds," Richie called and kneeled in front of Eddie, holding out his inhaler, "I got your inhaler. It's okay."
         Eddie snatched the inhaler quickly from his hands, shook it, then inserted it in his mouth to take a puff from it. Richie watched Eddie with worried eyes and examined Eddie's face. Eddie held the puff in his mouth for almost a minute for before letting out a deep breath. Eddie's breathing had gone down but his eyes still showed fear. Richie reached up and cupped Eddie's face with his hands, making sure they made eye contact. "Eddie, you're good. Everything's fine. You're here. You're alive." Richie reassured the man who took another puff from the inhaler.
         Richie waited until the man had let out his breath once again to ask, "What happened?"
         "The-uh-the jacket," Eddie muttered and pointed to his own lap.
      Richie finally let go of Eddie's face and looked at the coat sitting in Eddie's lap. It was the one he wore to Derry. He remembered it well. He couldn't forget this time. Richie took the coat from Eddie's lap and tossed it in the wardrobe without a care. "It's gone now," Richie closed the doors of the closet gently, "I'll get rid of it tonight, okay?"
      Eddie nodded with tears welling in his eyes before grunting, "I don't want to cry again."
     Richie chuckled and sat beside the smaller man, "it's okay to cry. You had an anxiety attack caused from your ptsd. Makes sense, spagh-Edward."
      Eddie groaned in disgust after wiping his eyes. He pushed Richie away as he side hugged him, "Don't patronize me, Richie. And especially with that nickname."
      Richie chuckled more and ruffled Eddie's hair, "oh you know you love it."
      "No I hate it," Eddie crosses his arms, unable to leave his grip, "I hate it, Richard."
      "Oh, full name. I'm so scared."
      "Shut up, Richie. I told you not to fucking patronize me."
       Richie chuckled once again and smiled at Eddie, "Yeah? But it worked, didn't it?"
       "What worked?" Eddie gave him a confused frown, "Patronizing me?"
       "Nah, nah. That's not what I'm talking about." Richie waved a dismissive hand at Eddie who only grew irritable.
       "Then what are you talking about?" Eddie exclaimed, frustrated, but Richie didn't respond.
        Eddie continued to bark at the man for answers, but Richie only laughed. They had returned to normal. What Richie has wanted, but Eddie didn't know. Eddie was fully distracted. No more anxiety attacks for the night.