𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡.

𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 | 𝐞 & 𝐫

R

    Richie slammed the door harshly and loudly, the noise making his ears feeling as if they were buzzing. He pulled out a cigarette from his pockets, feeling the comforting energy radiating from it. He felt as if his fingers were made for it, the shape of his hands forming to configure it.

He felt as if he constantly had to be on something to be liked. As if he wasn't likable or funny enough on his own. Part of him thought that the reason he reacted so horribly this morning was because he'd been sober, but the other part of him knew that wasn't true. He didn't react horribly solely because he was sober, that was just his excuse to be on something and victimize himself, which was something he found himself usually doing.

While Richie was one to victimize himself and always trying to get out of situations by pinning the blame on something else, he also felt in his soul that everything was his fault, after the fact. And Richie was feeling similar to this today - he felt angry that Eddie could say something as cruel to him as that, but he knew that it was mainly his own fault. He'd said some awful things as well, and didn't know how he was going to get Eddie to ever accept his apology.

Richie lit the cigarette he was holding, replaying Eddie's words mentally. Maybe you should have died in that bathroom stall. He'd think about the same thing a lot, if he should have died in the bathroom stall after all. It was his fault, after all. No matter the amount of things that built up to it, the amount of pressure and emotional damage: it was still his fault.

Sometimes he'd wonder deep down if it was an accident at all. After all this time, he still wasn't sure.

He sighed, lighting the lighter in his hand. His grip adjusted to it, flicking it on to see the bronze flame flicker as his eyes focused on it. It's movements were natural and unrestrained, simply following the gentle wind currents blowing it. Free and untethered.

Richie looked down to the cigarette in his hand, the end of it still having an amber glow from being lit. Fuck it. He threw it down to the ground, stepping on it to make sure it wouldn't ignite the pear colored grass beneath it.

He watched the glistening, fresh dew upon the grass slowly drop down each blade of grass in an almost rhythmic motion. He inhaled, smelling the smell of the wet grass and the morning breeze that came tumbling gracefully his way. He observed the sun's morning position as it shined down on him with rich luminescence. He stared at the cigarette, feeling as if it were a disturbance in the utter peace of the scene, much how he felt. Richie realized what an interruption he'd been in Eddie's life - Eddie, seemingly having everything going for him was unexpectedly reminded of an almost scabbed over wound. A bother. A burden. 'Fuck. What am I even doing here?' He thought to himself in disgust.

E

    Eddie stood there, standing in the room after hearing Richie loudly slam the front door and walk out. Christ. Eddie stood there in shock for a couple of seconds, not believing that he could bring himself to say something like that. He took a deep breath, looking out of the window to see Richie.

    Richie had been nothing but nice to him, despite all of their arguing and bickering. Eddie just felt so, incredibly... hurt. He'd experienced rejection and torment before, but nothing like this. Nothing could excuse Eddie's own words, but he felt torn inside. He knew what he said to Richie before the argument ended wasn't true, but he said it with such conviction that he wondered where this anger came from. Fuck.

    Eddie didn't know how to apologize. He wasn't one for apologies, especially after the accident happened. He wasn't used to people apologizing to him, so he never really had any good examples.

    Eddie sat down, the subtle sun shining through the windows and resting upon his skin. He felt awful.

    Not knowing what to do, Eddie walked back into his room and out of Richie's. He knelt down to his backpack which was in a corner of the room, and pulled out a notepad and a pen. He put the pen to the paper, writing whatever he had to get off his chest.

    When he was finished, he put the papers on Richie's bedside table, atop of the Crime and Punishment novel.