Summer of '93 - Stozier

28

Richie had been quiet for a while now, still staring blankly at the floor.

"..You okay?" Stan asked, breaking the silence. He placed his hand on top of Richies.

Richie gazed down at their hands. "Yeah.. I'm fine.." He breathed out.

"No you're not. Talk to me, Rich."

"I said, I'm fine." Richie pulled his hands away, turning his head to face the window, watching the rain bounce of of the pane.

"C'mon, Richie! I'm your best friend!-"

"You were my best friend!" Richie almost yelled, standing up now. "Until you went and pulled that shit!"

Stan stood up, biting his lip and sighing, a look of hurt over his face."Im sorry, I never should've come here." He mumbled turning to walk out.

Richie took a breath, closing his eyes. "No- Stan, wait.. please."

Stan turned back around. "No, its fine, doesn't matter." He whispered.

"No- I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to yell at you.. its just- Everything going wrong lately always seems to be my fault! And- and I don't know why but I just- I seem to cause trouble wherever I go nowadays." Richie explained, running a hand through his mop of hair.

"What? How'd you mean?"

"Just- Well- I kissed you.." Richie blushed a little. "And this happens, with Bowers, the asshole he is. Then- my mom is all stressed out because my dad hasn't been home for three fucking days and they've been fighting for weeks and its all my fault! Just because i'm fuckin' g-" Richie paused, looking to the side.

"You're what..?" Stan asked, stepping closer to Richie.

"Nothing. Doesn't matter. Its just- Everything is my fault! I'm like a bad luck charm." Richie said, the slurs Stan had called him swirling around in his brain. He knew Stan hadn't meant what he said, but what if he did?

"I- Richie.. I'm sure its not your fault that you're parents are fighting..?" Stan spoke kind of awkwardly, not really knowing how to help his friend here.

"It is, though! It fucking is!" Richie groaned, sitting back on his bed and burying his face i his hands.

Stan sat down close to Richie, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and pulling him close to his chest. "Why? What'd you do?"

Stan heard Richie sniffle, his heart hurting a little hearing his friend cry.

"Its not-.. Its not what I did," Richie sniffled again. "Its what I am.."

"A trashmouth?" Stan joked.

Richie shook his head. "No, it doesn't matter.. it doesn't matter, never mind." He lifted his head from his hands, wiping his tears. "Im sorry, never mind, its stupid."

"Richie, no." Stan frowned, wiping a tear from Richies cheek with his thumb, keeping his face cupped in his hand. "You can tell me, you know. You can tell me anything."

Richie opened his mouth to speak, Stans harsh words swimming in his mind again, and he snapped it closed, shaking his head. "No.. no I can't."

"Hey, no, It's okay! Does anyone else know?" Stan asked, gently caressing Richies blushing cheek with his thumb.

Richie nodded. "My mom knows.. so does my dad, cause its the reason they're fighting, obviously.. and um.. the rest of the losers know.." He whispered.

Stan furrowed his eyebrows, frowning. "And.. and you can't tell me?" He asked, a little hurt.

"No.. i'm sorry, Stan.. i'm- i'm just.. scared?" He said, more of a question than a statement.