I'm just a phone call away- Reddie au

Someone who loves you wouldn't treat you like that

(TW, gore, we get a visual on Richie's wound, and mentions of rape)

Richie pov:

*I. Am. So. Stupid!!!! Why the hell did I kiss him?? I mean sure it was only on the forehead. But friends don't kiss their friends. Right?? And then he had to go and kiss me back!!? I. Am. So. Dead....*

I sit myself on the toilet seat while I'm having a crisis war in my head. I set my apple that I shoved into my pocket while me and Eddie were talking, onto the sink counter. Eddie goes over to the cabinet that had the first aid in it and pulls it out. He walks back over to me, avoiding my eyes. He kneels next to me on my left side and opens the kit. He pulls out a pair of little scissors and holds out his other hand, wanting me to give him my arm. I painfully place my hand/arm into his hand and he carefully cuts open the bandage. When it is finally off, I can see the damage.

A bruise in the shape of a hand is wrapped around my wrist. *Probably from Henry's friend forcing me to hold it out...* and the worst damage is more up the arm. Burn holes and streaks are all up my arm. Too many to count.

(((((🚩☢☢☣☣TW!! PHOTO TO REFERENCE WHAT THE BURN LOOKS LIKE!!!IF YOU DONT WANNA SEE IT SCROLL PAST WITH YO EYED CLOSED!!!🚩☢☢☣☣)))))

(Basically this but not on his hand, its from the wrist up to his elbow, all over the palce😢 and more bloody, pusy, and burnt. Fresh wounds yn?)

(Its safe now lol)

"He got me good I guess." I chuckle in pain. But Eddie only looks up at me with annoyance and worry.

"This isn't something to mess around with Rich. This could have been much worse." He says as he gets up to grab a cool and wet rag. He sits back down cupping his hand under the dripping rag. I hold my arm out again and he gently places it on my skin.

"Your right Eds, I'm sorry-owwwww!!!" I say as the cool but painful rag sits on my open skin. He immediately lifts up the rag off my skin and looks at me worried.

"I'm fine Eddie, just do it." I say looking away from him and holding my arm out again. He hesitantly places it back onto my skin, gently dabbing it up and down, cleaning the wounds of any dry, or new wet blood. The rag burns as its being moved up and down my arm, but I bite my tongue and pull through. I feel the taste of metal in my mouth as I bite down harder, keeping myself from screaming or cursing.

He is finally done cleaning it and places the dirtied rag on the sink. He then pulls out some latex gloves and puts them on. He pulls out the same yellow oil from last night and pours it into his hands, warming it up before it gets put on my wounds. He ever so gently places his oiled hands on my skin. It burns less for how careful he is, but still hurts none the less.