𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡.

'𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝' | 𝐫

R

    After mustering up the courage and dwelling in introspection, Richie walked back into the cabin, closing the door softly this time to ensure that Eddie wouldn't hear him coming in. The floorboards were opposed to this idea clearly, as they creaked just as loud as before with each step the boy took. Nervously, Richie scanned the room to discover that Eddie was nowhere to be found. He must be in his room. Trying to avoid him, Richie quietly walked into his own bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

    He sighed, sitting down on his bed, still unmade from the preceding events of the morning. Glancing over to his night stand to reach for his phone, he noticed a few neatly torn out sheets of notebook paper sitting there, seemingly awaiting his reading of them. He reached to them, picking them up with care in confusion. The papers were titled simply titled: Richie. The boy latched on to the papers tightly, but making sure to not bend them. With a release of a nervous, unsteady breath, Richie began to read over the papers.

Richie.

I don't even know where to start, Rich. I fucked up, obviously. You were the one good thing I had going for me. Well, not the one good thing, but the one real thing. The one genuine thing. I put too much trust in you. I let you get too close. That's what I do. I let people get just close enough, within an arm's reach, and somehow always manage to do something to fuck it up. That... question may have been too soon for you, all of it may have been too soon. Coming here with you, talking to you again, kissing you... But I had to be sure. I just had to. I guess I just didn't believe you could genuinely love me or even like me, and I guess I was right.

I think I'd resented you and other people, including myself, for so long that I forgot what it was like to actually love. Especially in an unconditional way, like you. You were right about what you said, you know. I have been leading you on, but not for the reasons you think. I'm just not ready. I'm childish, I'm selfish, I'm insensitive... and you don't deserve that. Not after all the shit you've been through.

Honestly, I've just been so focused on myself that I couldn't concentrate on us. On rebuilding my relationship with you. You were right. I know that I'm gay, as much as I'd hate to admit it for some sick reason. I haven't been 'using you' just to figure that out, though. I've known it for years. It's been one of my biggest insecurities, which is so stupid in hindsight. When you get older, you slowly begin to realise how much no one really cares. It's ridiculous. Sometimes we are our own biggest downfalls, as it goes. It's hard to stop our own internal dialogue, but it gets easier. Atleast, blocking it out gets easier.

How is it even possible for me to have become such a hypocrite? It's being my belief how I can say that someone as selfless and patient as you could possibly be selfish. Meanwhile, I'm here being as egotistical to think that you could still want me, even after all the shit I've put you through.

What I told you wasn't from a place of truth, and you know that. I was just so, so incredibly angry with you. Part of my anger was unjustly directed towards you. I was just mad at myself and taking it out on you. It's my fault. And no, I'm not trying to get sympathy or anything else. You've already given me enough. Too much, even.

You have to understand that the way I am isn't because of you. As many times as I've told you it was, and how much i hated you, I know deep inside that it's not all your fault. I guess I've just been trying to find someone to blame for how I am besides pinning the blame on the person who it's due towards - myself. I wish I could see myself the way that you do, but I can't. I'm not the person you think that I am, which I've clearly shown to you over a series of actions these past 2-3 days that I'm not proud of.

What I said, about the fact that you deserved to overdose. [REDACTED]. Imagining you there, in that position physically makes me feel sick. I think I can't cleverly come up with anything to say about this because I'm just utterly disgusted with myself. My brain can't wrap itself around to grasp the complete idea of that, and I'm partially glad. I think I'd slip from reality just thinking about it.

God Richie, I just need you to quit. That's a lot to ask for, I know. But I care about you too much to think about the idea of losing you. I can't imagine being alive in a world where you're not. I can't think about living without knowing you're out there telling your lame jokes. Where you aren't laughing your ass off at my freakouts. Where I don't know where you are, or even if you were alive. And I lived in that world for too long. Five years, Rich. I don't know how I survived that long without you. A monochrome, bland world. A dark one. So dark that it'd get hard to block it out. Impossible, sometimes.

Everything you've done for me - all you've opened up to me about, all the times you've cheered me up and made me laugh so hard that I felt tears streaming down my cheeks, all the times you've accidently hit on me and I didn't even notice, and all the times you've annoyed the hell out of me. And here I am, treating you like shit.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry; I'm sorry for the way I've been. I'm sorry for being an idiot. I'm sorry for being blinded by my own sick thoughts. I'm sorry for being such an immature child. I'm understanding now that you were the first person I've ever liked in such an intense, consuming way. No one has ever, EVER made me feel the way that you do. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me and I'm not being dramatic. For once.

- 'That word',

Eddie K.