"It's eleven in the morning Richie! He's probably asleep!" Bev said, rolling her eyes as Richie paced across Bill's basement, bothering all of the other people who were trying to sleep.
"He was up at nine yesterday, Bev. There's no way he's still asleep," Richie responded, flopping onto the couch.
"Full offense, Richard, you're fucking exhausting. I can understand why he's still asleep," Stan hissed from his spot on the floor, eyes still shut.
"He's not asleep!" Richie said throwing a pillow at his friend, who opened his tired eyes and glared.
"Maybe he's waiting for his mom to head to work."
"She works all day."
"Oh my god, just fucking call him!" Stan nearly yelled, tired of the back and forth conversation between Bev and Richie.
"I don't want to annoy him!" Richie exclaimed.
"You have no problem annoying us," Mike pointed out, sitting up and leaning against the wall.
"You guys are stuck with me. I want Eddie to like me, and he can still tell me to fuck off. I just thought he'd call me by now, that's all."
Bev rolled her eyes, walking over and grabbing Richie's arm. "Come on, Tozier. We're gonna go talk."
Bev wasn't stupid. She had seen Eddie's expressions and noticed how silent he was. She had gone through her fair share of abuse, and how Eddie acted were all signs. To say the very least, Bev was worried about him and him not calling Richie. She wanted answers about what was going on, and to protect the sweet, innocent boy that brought out a new light in her best friend.
Once they were seated on the Denbrough's porch, Bev looked over at her friend, who was biting his chapped lips in worry.
"What's his story?" Bev asked instantly, knowing Richie knew what Eddie's issue was.
"It's not mine to tell."
"Jesus Christ, Rich. You and I have both gotten abused before, and I can see that look in his eyes. You knew he was getting hurt before he ever said anything, I bet!"
"Drop it, Bev," Richie growled. He loved his friend, but hated how nosy she was and how pushy she could be.
"No. Tell me what's going on or I'll walk to that damn mansion and ask him myself!"
Richie groaned in annoyance, knowing that Bev would follow through on her threat. That's just who she was.
"His mom is fucking crazy and hurts him, okay?"
Bev nodded. "Okay, what else?"
"What?!"
"I'm not stupid, Tozier. I know that we both can mimic that fearful look he has, but his was so much worse. He barely spoke, he hid himself and tried to cover up as much as possible. He was embarrassed of the simplest shit. What's his issue, Rich?"
Richie sighed. He could trust Beverly. She was one of his best friends, and she would listen. He glanced up at her icy blue eyes, his own filled with angry tears. They weren't caused by Bev, but because he was worried about Eddie.
"He's not like us, Bev." Richie spoke in a quiet tone, feeling guilty. "He told me when I broke in that he'd never met anyone else before me. I thought he was being dramatic, but he had quite literally never met anyone before me."
"That's why he was so stressed?"
"Partially." Richie was crying at that point, angrily wiping away the tears that fell down his face. "His mom doesn't let him talk, Bev. He isn't allowed to say anything at home unless given direct permission. If he does, she beats him. He had cuts and blisters all over his back from getting beat because he wanted to talk! And she doesn't let him learn shit! He got in trouble because he wanted to write and he isn't allowed to read! He has to teach himself in secret or else he doesn't get to learn!"
Richie was well aware that he was yelling and that the other losers were probably listening. He was so scared for Eddie, so worried about him and felt so terrible for him. "He's treated like an animal. I think we're the only people who have ever treated him like he's a normal person, and have actually cared about him."
Bev pulled Richie into a side hug, and soon all of the other losers, who had been listening behind the door, joining into the hug, trying to comfort their friend.
"Call him, Rich," Stan said, his usual sarcastic tone full of concern.
Richie nodded, choking down a sob. He walked into Bill's kitchen and dialed the number to the mansion.
•••
Eddie heard the phone ring as he laid on the stairs. He knew Richie was probably calling him to ask why he hadn't called yet. As much as he wanted to talk to the boy, Eddie didn't want him to know.
The phone rang and stopped, signaling that he had waited too long. Then, it began to ring again, loud and clear, echoing through the mansion.
Groaning, Eddie stood up. His voice was heavy with sadness and grogginess from laying down so long.
"Hello?" he mumbled, feeling exhausted from all of the sadness in his body.
"Eds!" came Richie's voice, thick with worry.
"What's up, Rich?" Eddie asked, trying to sound completely okay.
"You never called, so I got worried. Are you alright?"
Eddie giggled into the phone. "Oh yeah, I'm doing amazing. How're you?"
Richie ignored the question. "Is your mom home?"
"Would I be talking if she was?" Eddie asked with another laugh.
"Can you come over to Bill's then?"
Eddie looked at the chain on his leg and bursted out laughing, loudly and obnoxiously.
"Eds?"
Eddie continued laughing hysterically, before breaking down in tears, overwhelmed by the whole situation. He felt himself running short of breath.
"Eddie?! Are you okay?!"
Eddie started coughing so hard that his throat hurt. He slammed the phone into its holder, ran up the stairs, and grabbed his inhaler.
He placed it in his mouth, inhaling deeply, allowing the cool air to fill his aching lungs. From there, shivering slightly and still crying, Eddie wrapped himself in all of his sheets and blankets, sitting on the floor.
He tugged the floorboard open, ignoring the stings from splinters lodging themselves in his hand. Eddie tugged out the journal and the pen, setting them both in front of him.
Tears dripped onto the open page as Eddie stared at them through half closed lids. He opened the pen and began to scribble down a poem.
Lonely are the nights
Lonely are the days
Lonely am I in so many ways
Lonely are the seasons
Lonely are the years
So lonely am I, that it brings tears
Lonely is this mansion
Lonely is my life
Lonely am I, that I reach for the knife
Lonely are the stars
Lonely is the clover
Soon, I pray my life will be over
(I didn't write this poem; I wrote the last two stanzas to make it about the story, but the first two I found online)
