Lover | Richie Tozier

Chapter 29.

Elle
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"I'll see you tomorrow," Richie smiled, stuffing his bruised knuckles into his jean pockets.

I pulled a notebook out of my locker carefully, sliding a pen inside of it and looking up at him. "I'm counting on it, Trashmouth."

With wildflowers blooming in his cheeks blushingly, he quickly turned around and started down the corridor before he had the chance to utter out a stupid joke and ruin what he perceived to be a great exchange.

The hallway fell increasingly silent as everybody made their way to their designated classes, leaving the atmosphere thick with loneliness. I licked my lips in concentration, assuring I had each one of my required notebooks for the next half of the day. The wire binding the books together dug into my hands while I looked down on them.

Chemistry? Uh-huh.
American History? I think so.
Psychology-

"Richie Tozier, huh? Jesus Christ. I never thought you'd stoop that low."

My attention shifted from my notebooks to the voice in front of me. I came in contact with a familiar face, immediately feeling my body unconsciously straighten as my heart picked up rapidly.

"Beverly, hi. We haven't talked in a week."

Her eyes were rigid and hard, ruthlessly blowing on any warmth around her, trying diligently to burn it out. I took a step back.

My lips twitched. "Is there uh... is there something you need help with? I'm happy to help, you just stopped coming around," I continued after being met by her deafening silence. It almost rang through my ears.

She kicked her leather boot into the ground. "Richie God damn Tozier. What the fuck, Elowynn, that's who you replaced me with?"

The warmth evaporated from my eyes. The fire burned again, but it wasn't a pleasant one this time. It was comprised of embers of hot rage and unassailable anger.

"Replaced?" I asked quietly in disbelief. "What are you talking about? I offered for you to join time after time and you continuously-"

She scorned the ashes of her lit cigarette against the cold lockers, putting it out. "You're going to blame me for not wanting to hang around Trashmouth and the rest of those Losers? Really? I really thought you were worth more than that, Lowe," she shook her head. "I guess I was wrong. Dead fucking wrong."

My stare narrowed, concentrating itself in the center of her red face. "You know, Bill Denbrough is one of them. The Bill Denbrough you talk so much about."

"God, I don't care about Bill Denbrough," she spat, catching me in an arctic blow of surprise. "I don't give a shit about him. However, I do care that you're a shitty enough person to abandoned your best friend. I thought you were better than that. Sweeter than that."

Every time she opened her mouth I grew heavier and heavier with anger. Each word that slipped through her red lips flew through the air, formed a cloud, and dampened my mood. "Christ, Beverly. You don't even know these people."

She rolled her neck, laughed, and prepared to say something else. I cut her off.

"You know," I slammed my locker. "Maybe you should think about the fact that maybe you're not the only fucking person on this earth that needs a friend. The entirety of the past 2 weeks has consisted of you running on about how badly everybody hates Richie Tozier including yourself and how fuckin' weird Eddie Kaspbrak is but I'm the asshole? I'm the one who's a bitch because I decided to care about them when NOBODY else is?"

Angry tears climbed to brim of my lash line, but I refused to let them fall and shine on my face. "You don't know a thing about either of those boys but still try and convince me that they're not worth being around just because you don't want me being around anybody but yourself!" I poked a stiff finger into her shoulder.

"I love you, Beverly, I always have, but trying to confine that love is just pure selfishness. And if you can't handle that, then that's something you need to find help sorting out. Believe me when say that I want you to be okay. Our friendship is all I want, but not like this."

The crimson drained from her face. She now looked at me with a pale, glacial expression. The anger budded into her fists as they clenched by her sides, her fingernails that we had painted just one weekend ago digging into her palms. She wanted to speak, but couldn't bring herself to.

"The world doesn't revolve around you," I mumbled, pivoting on my feet and turning my back towards her. The presence behind me seemed to vanish.