Reddie For You [On Hiatus]

| Chapter 17 |

Things were going well. Well... sort of.

Ben and Beverly spent five days on their honeymoon, two days moving things around in their new LA house. And they still had a flight to Seattle to be there for Richie's special. Bill and Mike had a book signing and movie interview to do, and they also planned to be there for Richie's show.

Richie had eight days to get his shit together after the wedding, eight to swallow his anxiety so he could feel ready with his new and improved standup routine. He had two full days of driving from LA to Seattle, an entire road trip to hype himself up to some level of excitement. He should've felt ready, he should've been excited. He was going to be fine, he'd polished his routine a million times.

"Richie." Eddie rubbed up and down his back soothingly. "It's alright, let it all out. We're almost there." Richie was hunched over the side of the road fifteen minutes outside of Seattle, throwing up violently for the second time that morning. They had a hotel room booked for the night, giving them some time to settle in before Richie's show the next day. He wiped his mouth, standing up and breathing deeply through his nose, trying to ignore the acidic burn in the back of his throat and the rancid taste of his tongue.

"Thanks." He whispered, his throat raw, as he accepted the bottle of water that Eddie offered him. He took a few swigs before taking a bit into his cheeks to rinse his mouth. "I'm good now."

Eddie didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway and slid back into the driver's seat, watching Richie's every move carefully. He plopped himself back into the passenger seat, wiping some sweat off of his forehead and buckling the seatbelt back in. "Almost there." Eddie said again, softly as he gripped Richie's hand tightly. Then they were back on the road, heading to their hotel in Seattle.

Richie didn't develop anxiety nausea until he left Derry. He'd never been someone to shy away from attention or anything considered "gross." But when he left home, and especially when he started comedy, he discovered the dreaded feeling of bile simmering deep in his throat when he was nervous. And as someone whose career was centered around performing in front of people, it sucked.

There were days when he'd be hunched over the toilet before a set, either his managers or his mother over the phone trying to calm him. The thought of his parents being physically there to watch his new standup sent a swirl of nausea back into his stomach.

"You okay?" Eddie squeezed his hand, sensing another bout of anxiety enter the car.

"Do you think I'm rusty?" Richie asked, forehead leaning against the window as he examined the start of Seattle. It had been a while since he'd been in the area.

"Rusty?"

"Yeah, like out of practice. Out of my element."

"I think you're out of your mind if you think that." Eddie snorted. "Richie, you're funny. Okay? This is what you do, we've been over this. I hate it when you second guess yourself."

"I don't know why I'm so fucking scared."

"Because this material is yours." He reminded him. "It's yours and no one else's. That's why you're scared. Who gives a shit if people didn't like your old stuff? It was some hack's material. This is all you, and you're proud of it. Which you should be."

"Yeah." He huffed out a laugh. "If people hate it that's gonna really suck."

"There's always going to be haters." He scowled just thinking about all of the unnecessarily rude comments he'd seen on Twitter. All of the degrading and name-calling, even threats. He didn't understand how Richie could do it. "Myra, for one, is one hundred percent going to leave a bad review. Be ready for that."