Richie and Cassie

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"Have you seen Eddie?" I yell, pulling Bill slightly away from Beverly.

He was so drunk, but I had become completely sober. Bill didn't even look like he comprehended what I had asked him seconds ago, so I continue walking. I had absolutely no time to waist for intoxicated replies from anyone at this atrocious party. Eddie seemed to be nowhere in the entire house, and I checked everywhere.

I walk outside, just to be granted with the exact same luck. He had to have gone home by now, and I couldn't disturb him there. He didn't want to even hear from me, so showing up at his house would be incredibly disrespectful. Although at this point, can I even get any worse? I couldn't go home and face my father, not tonight. Any night but tonight.

I don't stop walking north until I pass a very familiar and nostalgic location. It makes my head spin with familiarity. I smell the scent of the many trees and sap. I find myself inching closer into it, as if I were doing it unconsciously. As if I were floating. Each step brings me to a different, mostly pleasant, flashback. Baking cookies on Christmas Eve, my first kiss when I was seven, running these streets in the middle of the night to save myself from suicide. I pause, and even though it's dark I know what is to my left. A place I spent doing everything in, from play pretend, to smoking weed for the very first time. The sky always looked so much nicer when I stared at it from here.

I slowly drift inside of it and go straight to my favorite bench. I finally allow myself to cry. Only, I don't just cry, I bawl my entire soul out. I loud-cry with a volume so intense it could be heard from miles away. Seconds after, I hear footsteps slowly approach and I try to clear away any sign that I had been weeping. The figure is almost unrecognizable, until it creeps close. The eerily familiar voice calls out,

"Richie?"

It was Cassie. My already mutilated heart breaks even more. I hadn't heard that voice in months, and God was it a comforting one. She stood as angelic as I remembered, wearing the same dumb red boxers she stole from someone she had hooked-up with in ninth grade. She still wore a plain white tank top at night. If there was anyone with a figure so beautiful they'd be illegal. Her hair was almost silver now and I could only think about the one time she promised me to keep it dark until prom, she wanted to be blonde for prom. Her face and body still looked just the same.

I couldn't speak, I was mute. Her presence casted a spell on me. I watch carefully as she takes a seat next to me, our skin brushes together for a second and it sparks. I can't help but to stare at her in shock.

"I know why you're crying. I actually just got done with talking to Eddie," she explains to me.

She was helping Eddie? They were that close? At least I know he was in good hands, they were hers. I wanted to swallow everything down, she didn't care to hear my voice. She despises me above anything in this world. I hurt her when she was nothing but perfect, I should just leave now. But I can't. Instead, I poor out,

"I love him, Cassie."

The tears start up again, and I choke on them. She was now blurry, but I can still recognize her expression. It was the same warm, trustworthy one she's always possessed. I felt as if I were in a dream, so much so I wanted to pinch myself. The tears don't let up for a second, everything in me hurts.

"Richie, he loves you and you hurt him. You can't keep doing this to yourself."

I breath more and am able to let out without tears, "I fucked up, I always fuck up. I hurt him, and I hurt Henry Bowers, and I fucking hurt myself!"

She asks, "What do you mean you hurt yourself?"

"Mentally. Just, mentally now," I nod.

She exhales sharply, "Okay, good. Bowers was an asshole, you can't put his weight on your chest, you know that."

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