𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐢 | 𝐞 & 𝐫

R

Richie's eyes opened, greeted by the unsettling sight of absolutely nothing. Darkness penetrated his senses, and it was not just the lingering feeling of dejection that was set so prominently upon Richie's chest. He blinked again, trying to make sure that the darkness was truly there and that his vision was not flayed from his contacts still being in. After opening his eyes the second time, he still saw absolutely nothing. Richie realised he was not in his bed, rather on the ground, slumped over against an object, likely a door. He felt the ground and it's texture, a sting of disquietude and severe anxiety shooting up to his chest. He was on the bathroom floor.

Richie's brain did not immediately connect that it could be any other bathroom floor, but he was rather brought back to his night at the gas station on the bathroom floor. It was much like the moment - it was dim, and the atmosphere felt cold. Richie brought his hand to his face, feeling dried tears. When he realised he could move, he felt a bit more grounded. His memories from earlier came rushing back to him - Eddie kissing him, them almost - But no. It was all fake. For absolutely nothing. Eddie clearly didn't mean it, he was just drunk and acting stupid.

Richie should have felt relieved that he woke up on the bathroom floor at the cabin rather than the gas station that night. Instead, part of him wished he had woken up in that state rather than this.

Richie stood up, his legs feeling weak, even wobbling a bit after he stood up. He waited for a feeling. Any feeling at all. Some triumphant rush of emotion that would bring his mood up, or a spark that could ignite anything in him to do nothing else than sit down and stare into space. He didn't feel it. That was how he knew he was sober. 'God, no.'

He opened the door, seeing that it wasn't just the bathroom that was dark. He directed his gaze up to the overhead windows. It was night time. It surely could have been five hours that Richie had been asleep. Surprisingly enough, the sleep was... refreshing. It was like a remote escape from feeling whatever darkness Richie knew he would be enclosed in when he woke up. How he wished he could go back to sleep. He didn't want to feel this way, but he didn't want to feel happy. It was the kind of feeling he knew he'd have to bask in for a while to get over.

Richie looked down, looking over to the clock. It was ten thirty PM. The house was silent, Richie's ears hearing nothing other than the loud cicadas outside and the occasional heavy gust of wind that seemed to be begging to come indoors. The silence should have been relaxing for Richie, but he only felt like he was forgetting something. As he walked to the bedroom, he remembered what, or rather who, he was forgetting - Eddie.

E

Eddie was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He seemed to be examining every speck in the ceiling, hyper fixating on anything that could ease him from the foggy yet embarrassing memories from earlier that came rushing back to him like a wave breaking and running freely over the sand.

After he left Richie in the bathroom, he'd had a lot of time to think. While trying to conjure up a way to describe how he was feeling to himself, he noticed that the 'ink blots' were 'coming back'. He then realised the ink blots weren't fading before, they were just being covered. By new ones. This time, in color. More intense, more vibrant, more real. They felt stronger - the happier ones brighter than before in an array of colors that even the rainbow could not do justice. The angrier ones the fiercest scorching red to be thought of. The saddest ones a color deeper and darker than black, leaving an even bigger blot.

Eddie had so many of those that they could almost fill an entire canvas on their own.

Eddie kept trying to 'erase' the blots, but what he didn't realise was something: ink can't be erased. It was something so incredibly obvious but to Eddie, the realization didn't come as easily as he thought it could be. He thought ignoring it could help it go away, but it wasn't going to 'go away'. A more sinister thought came over Eddie that he tried to push far away from his psyche, but he wasn't in the right enough headspace to avoid it: 'I'm honestly just as bad as Richie. If I'm still scared of him for some reason, then I should be scared of myself.' He sat up in his bed, waiting for the thought to leave. It didn't until he heard a knock on the door that somehow simultaneously made his worries melt away, then come back stronger than before. "Yes?" Eddie said, in a voice a slightly higher pitch. He didn't mean to, but the sickness in his stomach was persisting and the anxious feelings began to consume him.