Lover | Richie Tozier

Chapter 5.

Elle
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"F-uck," I spat to myself, feeling a small body crash against my upper-arm. The words trembled through my lips as a black lunchbox slid to the ground, compliments of the force from whoever I had just checked. "That's the second fucking time today."

I bent to my knees, picking up the bag with careful fingers. The letters 'E.K.' were written neatly on the top in silver Sharpie, contrasting vibrantly with the black fabric to assure that this couldn't be easily mistaken as somebody else's lunchbox other than whoever 'E.K.' was.

I pushed myself up on my knees, lunchbox in hand, ready to apologize and return it to its rightful owner. "I'm so sorry, it was an accident," I turned to the victim: a small, fresh eyed boy.

"It's fine," he insisted gracefully. "It was just as much my fault, I wasn't looking at where I was going."

I held the bag out to him, waiting patiently for him to take it and reclaim what was his. "Are you kidding?" He looked at the bag in hostile disgust. A grimace sliced across his radiant complexion and he took a quick step back. "I can't take that now! It's been on the floor. Do you have absolutely any idea how much bacteria harbors on the ground? Scientists say there's like... billions of particles of Escherichia coli and Staphylococcus aureus on the floor. You can get the flu from those, you know. And then if the flu spreads to your brain, it can eat away at it and you can die and..."

His irrepressible assertion confused me at first, taking the look on my face and contouring it to make it look a little extra baffling. I took a second glance at the lunchbox, and this time, the silver initials stuck out like the unlit wick of a candle. The pieces of the strange mantra clicked together like the trigger on his inhaler.

"Oh, that's right," my chin lifted, nodding my head with it in effortless understanding. "You're Eddie Kaspbrak, right? You've got the... what's it called? That purse thing."

His anxious rambling came to a dead-end and his eyebrow raised cautiously on his honey face. "How'd you know my name?" He asked, unzipping his ink-black carrier and taking out a travel-sized package of Purell. He mounted some onto his hand, not caring that he had just done the same thing 2 minutes ago.

"Not too many kids walk around here with a fannypack around their waist," I answered subjectively, keeping my eyes planted on the object at hand.

He took the lunch bag once he had applied what he deemed to be the necessary amount of antibacterial gel. He smelled timidly of NyQuil and vapor rub; an airy, pharmaceutical smell.

Jesus Christ, how much medicine was this boy taking?

"I need it," he patted the package buckled around his petite waist.

The innocence that found a home in his words expanded my heart at least twice, decreasing in size once I remembered how awfully cruel people had been towards him. "I know you do, kid. I'm not making fun of you for it. You're prepared. It's a very admirable quality, and also a very recognizable one," I grinned, hoping to assure him that I wasn't one of those sinister people.

His strawberry pink lips spread into a smile like fresh jam against warm bread on summer mornings. "Thanks. Thanks a lot, actually. Lots of people... they like to pick at me for it. Which is so fucking dumb because like, what if there's an apocalypse or something? Then you're screwed," he began, embarking on another fast-talking declaim. "Anyways, want some hand sanitizer? Since you had to touch that God-awful lunchbox," he sympathetically offered.

I took a minute to process his inquisition, eventually letting my smile grow a little larger once I did. "Actually... yeah. I'd love some, if that's okay." I held my hand out and he took it with grace, sticking his rouge tongue out in concentration as he conjured up the perfect serving.