Are You Sick of Me? ||Richie Tozier angst

Do What You Want To Do...

[TW: (theres a few) Bullying, abuse, self harm (graphic yet again), slurs, a lot of swearing, suicidal thoughts, almost attempted suicide, emetophobia.]

Richie Tozier is a loser.

School was shit. It always was, but today was especially fucked. Bowers and his damn goons made sure of that, bloody assholes. Lunch period was when it happened. Richie had just been to social studies, in which Mr Wood gave him an after school detention for 'vulgar language to a staff member', if you ask me that's bullshit. He was already in a shit mood.

"Where the fuck do you think your going you pathetic little fag." Henry scoffed as he pushed his way through the crowd of people, standing tall above Richie.

"Getting my fucking lunch, are you blind?" Immediately he regretted even opening his trashmouth, trying to move away before he was stopped by none other than Patrick Hockstetter, the co-director of Henry's mob.

"Not so fast, faggot, we aren't done with you." he smiled creepily, craziness in his eyes. Henry came up behind him, dragging him back and throwing him to the ground. As they made contact with the ground, a crack struck through the lens of his glasses, the kickback forcing his head to flop back up. A whipping pain coursed through his body as a shoe came in contact with his diaphragm and lower ribs. Whimpering in pain, he pushed himself up, forcing himself against a wall and pulling his knees to his chest in a defensive pose. Trembling, another kick blew at his shins, before his leg was dragged forward, yanking him off the wall. The abruptive movement smacked his head into the floor, causing a ringing in his head, and everything blurred. Sharp pain sliced his side, as Henry had crouched down to him. Glasses now strewn from his face, he lay in pain on the ground as the older boys walked away. Beginning to sweep the floor for his glasses, he felt all over the floor in self pity. Eventually, he managed to locate them, shoving them onto his face and leaving for the unisex bathrooms, no one ever uses them 

. Hot tears were streaming down his face, it was as if he were a water balloon with two holes poked in it. Feeling chunks form in the back of his throat, he knelt down beside the toilet. The smell of sickness engulfed him, and he chucked up whatever food was still in his system, he could still taste it in the back of his throat as he separated from the bowl. Oh shit. He really wanted to. After all, today was a shit day... it couldn't hurt. Last night's blade was still in his back pocket, and he slid it out, rolling up his shorts a bit. Digging the blade into his skin, he dragged it along, leaving a deep indent, deeper than before. Sinking it in the same cut again, he slit once more, making the cut a worse injury. A dark shade of red tainted his skin, he watched as the blood seeped out, a tear dropping from his face to mix in with it. The boy snatched some toilet paper and pressed hard into the cut, attempting to stop it from leaking. His efforts were in vain, the wound bled out for a full 23 minutes. 

Finally being able to push himself up using the toilet, he limped out of the stall. Facing the mirror, he could see his eyes all puffy, tear stains down his face. How pathetic. When he went to turn, the sharp pain in his side returned, he shrieked in pain. Lifting up his shirt to look at his injury, he made note of what was paining him so badly... FAG was engraved and underlined in his ribs, blood had been dripping, but by now had dried. His eyes began to wet again, as he realized Henry was right. Maybe he had been right all along. Maybe he should have ended it. Maybe... he still had time. He glared into the mirror, you worthless little fag. There was actually something wrong with him. Gasping for air as he collapsed to the hard tiled floor, his leg giving out due to the massive wound deep within his skin. He crawled into a nearby cubicle to clean up, where he stayed until detention.

"Richard, good to see you present somewhere today." Mr Coleson was taking detention today, and for some reason he didn't really like Richie that much.

"It's Richie." he grumbled.

"What was that Mr Tozier?"

"I said, it's Richie, not Richard." he spoke up, plunking himself down on a chair at the back, staggering the whole way. For the whole hour, he sat picking at his dry skin and lips, until finally being let go.

Opening the door as quietly as he can manage, he snuck into his house. Turning around, he understood quickly that there was no point.

"Hello Richard." the raspy drunken voice of Went Tozier berated his ears, "Have fun in detention?" his voice became more harsh.

"The fuck do you think." the boy mumbled.

"Don't you DARE talk to your father like that!" the bottle in the hand of his father smacked against his left arm, leaving him with a shriek of agonizing pain. "Stop whining, you pathetic nuisance" he pushed the boy to the ground, hitting him with a blow in the chest, leaving the boy at a loss for breath as he turned to walk away.

"If you hate me so much, why didn't you just use a fucking condom." the smaller boy choked. This stopped the larger man in his tracks. Slowly, he turned to face the boy.

"I suggest you stop fucking talking if you want to be able to walk tomorrow." the boy ignored his threat,

"I hope you fall down a flight of stairs and break your neck." A look of shock came over Wents face.

"What did you just say to me?"

"I mean, a balcony works too." The older man walked menacingly towards his son, unbuckling his belt as he hobbled over. Only just registering the consequence to his words, the boy prepared to see God himself. A crack sounded through the room, as the belt (buckle side out) smacked against the boy's side. Another blow was made to the opposite side, where the engravement sat. Tears rolled uncontrollably down his cheeks, biting into his wrist to choke them back. Leaving deep grooves into his wrist with his teeth, he put his right arm up in a defensive position. More whips slapped against the boy's back and legs, before Wentworth fastened his belt and stumbled off,

"Bloody faggot." Rich lay in a wilted ball in the living room for around an hour, before peeling his remains off of the carpet and stumbling into his room. A cupboard from his desk was slightly ajar, and Rich hesitantly opened it. The bottle of pills seemed to actually call out to him, convincing him they were his escape. Reaching cautiously for the bottle, he tipped out a small handful of lexapro pills. Realizing this was the only way these 'antidepressants' would ever make him happy, he took a deep breath.

"R-richie?" Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, fucking fuck. Dropping the pills, they scattered everywhere, and Richie looked up to see who his companion was. Fuck. Midway through climbing in the window, sat Eddie Kaspbrak.

"Uhm, hi Eds– Eddie." he smeared the tears off of his face with his left arm, wincing in pain. "What are you doing here?"

"You weren't answering my texts, I got worried. Clearly I should've been." a quick glance towards the pills on the floor was made.

"I was just seeing how much I had left... you scared me"

"You scared me." Eddie looked at the pills once more. "You should pick those up, you won't be able to use them if they sit down there for too long." Richie rolled his eyes "I'm serious Rich, have you ever heard of tuberculosis? Or strep throat?" a smile covered Richie's face, a genuine one. "Are you gonna pick them up or do I have to do it for you?" rolling his eyes, Richie bent down to pick up his lexapro.

"You can go now, I'm fine" he shot a smile toward his best friend, who gave him a worried look.

"If you say so, if you're not at school tomorrow I'm sending a S.W.A.T team... and the hospital." the small boy gave a small smile and clambered back out the window.

[A/N: WOW we went from 500 words last time to like 1,500 this time haha. Sorry about the graphics. Snap - user_unknown247   discord -  imtootired.lol #8920 (venting server is in the comments ml). Also I'm gonna go and murder Went , Henry, and Patrick, who's driving?]