The End Of Us || losers club ✔️

eighteen

eighteen - i never wanted to

Later that same day, long after the last two have woken up and checked out of the motel, Mike drives them all to the nearest diner. Only Richie goes inside.

His hands are slick when he pulls open the door. The bell above him rings out and makes him jump in his skin. His face gets hot and uncomfortably warm from under the mask. He walks in further, it being a sit yourself down diner, and can't help but feel the burning sensation of stares. He glances around the place, but doesn't see one person looking directly at him. He's nervous and uneasy, the hammering in his rib cage only getting harder when he takes a seat.

He tells himself to breathe, but his body won't calm.

With bouncing knees and racing thoughts, Richie sinks further into the booth and closes his eyes. Never did he ever think he'd be so dread-filled to see his own mother. This is what he wanted, right? To see her? To talk to her and explain himself? So why is he so terrified?

He's just grateful he seems to go undetected by waiters and waitresses. The diner seems a little busier than Richie thinks it should be for a Wednesday lunch. A part of him wishes he could get lunch, but he easily shrugs the hunger off. It's hard to let his mind stray when the seat in front of him is empty, moments away from being occupied.

His ears pick up on faint ringing of the bell and he twists around in his seat. His mind screams at him to stay facing forward, because a huge part of him isn't ready to face Maggie. He's just not. He's afraid of looking into broken hearted eyes. But, he places his gaze to the front entrance of the diner, only to see an elderly couple walking in. The man has his hand tightly wrapped around the ball of his cane, so tight his knuckles turn white. Richie turns back around.

He's isn't sure how long he's sat there for, but the people he's entered with are long gone and the waiters walking around stopped by his table less and less frequently until he's been left alone entirely. He wonders what the other three are doing, if they're still sitting in the parking lot or have left to stash the car away from curious eyes. Either way, he hopes they're not annoyed with him.

He hears the bell again. His bones become aflame with anxiety. This time, he knows.

The footsteps approaching his table are clear in his ears, sounding so crystal clear over the chatter of the diner. He feels the hovering of a presence before he feels the touch. It's soft, light, almost hesitant on his shoulder. He turns to look instantly.

And there she stands, dressed in a simple purple blouse and jeans. Her hair is messy; there's dark streaks from lack of sleep under her eyes. She's so obviously tired. Richie feels a pang of guilt because he knows he's the cause of his mother's appearance.

"Mom," Richie chokes out, standing so quickly he begins to feel lightheaded.

Maggie gathers Richie into her arms, his chin pressing into her shoulder. She squeezes tightly and it's as though Richie could feel the utter sadness dripping off of her. It engulfs him, pulling him close to tears and filling his chest with every breath.

"Richie," Maggie says, almost breathless. She then pulls away, much to Richie's dismay, and he reluctantly lifts his gaze to her eyes.

He wishes he hadn't.

Her hot eyes burn with tears and her chin wobbles. She studies Richie's face, taking in every aspect, every feature, every curve. "My son," she finishes. "Oh Richie, do you have any idea what you've done?"