Lover | Richie Tozier

Chapter 53.

No matter how many times Richie looked into Henry's eyes, they would never piece together. They almost looked pencil drawn -- gleaming the color of metallic lead but shaded with the darkness of additional pressure.

"What?" He finally asked, distance in his voice despite the question never leaving him.

Henry's head fell back, closing his eyes sharply. Richie could see how they rolled under his tired lids. "Don't make me repeat myself, man. You know better than that. You know what I asked," he asserted. Instead of placing them around Richie's neck, he crossed his arms over himself in what looked like insecurity. Christ, he was really asking Richie Tozier for advice right now. He was seriously inquiring. He couldn't get over that.

"You-" Richie paused, unhooking the stress in his shoulders. "You want to go out with Elle?"

There it was. That tone of voice; a vulnerable one. An insecure one. One that was apprehensive. One that feels like someone is trying to take something from him again.

Henry nodded, sliding his fingers into the tight pockets of his blue jeans. "Yeah. I really do. Thought I'd ask you because I've seen you two fucking around or something. You must know her well. You're friends, right?"

The familiar burn of frustration rose in Richie's throat. If frequency could be seen, it'd shatter his glasses and send the pieces flying into Henry's neurotic eyes. He fixed him with a glance, narrowing his line of vision. "If you've seen us fucking around, why would you ask me if you should go out with her?" He interrogated, the wounds on his knuckles splitting while he clutched them.

The dirty-blonde antagonist across from him shrugged. "Didn't think you two were anything special. No offense-"

No offense? Your whole existence has been an offense.

"-But I don't think Elowynn would ever... like... you any more than a friend would. It's nothing personal you're just... well, you're not her type," he bit slowly.

What Richie found the most perplexing about this whole thing was that Henry didn't even look cruel and grudging like he usually did. He looked at the glassed-in boy with such sympathy that it stung Richie's eyes. There was nothing to gain, Henry already hurt him physically, it was time to do it mentally by telling him the jarring truth that he never wanted to come to terms with.

The words weaved through Richie's mind like a switch had been flipped. Currents of sharp electricity stabbed every feature, limb, muscle, nerve, atom, and cell of his that there was. The words he wanted to say pounded on his pursed lips and eventually broke free in all of their glory. They just seemed to... float away from him, almost.

"And you are?" Richie spat. "You're her type? Really, Henry? Is that what you're telling me right now?"

Henry's mouth opened.

"Don't speak. Not until I get this cleared up: You're telling me that Elowynn-Lively would choose you over me? That you're her type and I'm not? What do you know about her type?"

Henry suited the action to the words, not daring to let a word slip through his lips. Richie continued.

"Let me say this real slow, just to be sure it'll get through that solid head of yours; You're insane. Out of your freakin' mind. Luckily Elle still has hers intact. I'll answer your question for you- yes I think it's too far-fetched to ask her out. Maybe as far out as your God-damn head, wherever that might be. I'd feel so sorry for her if she somehow got in your hands. You'd fucking... you'd kill her if she did one thing that you didn't like."

Henry swallowed painstakingly hard, feeling the weight of the weapon in his pocket grow heavier and heavier by the second. "That's not true. I'd never touch her. My old man taught me better than that," he protested, lacking the self-assurance he usually spoke with.

"Oh my GOD," Richie scoffed out a long, dry laugh. "Helpless. Absolutely helpless," he muttered to himself, snatching off his glasses and using his fingers to rub the bridge of his nose. When he composed himself a necessary amount, he turned to Henry again. "Do you remember what happened 3 months ago, Hen? Because it's been hard as hell for me to forget."

Henry opened his mouth again.

"You held a fucking knife to my throat while you pinned me against the school wall," Richie answered for him, unable to seize the flow of words that poured from his soul. "You dug your kneecap into my abdomen and watched me spit out blood repeatedly and you didn't even give a shit. And then you saw Elle turn the corner... and you didn't even care, did you?"

"Richie..." Henry began.

"Don't call me that! You don't get the right to use my name, asshole. Call me Toad or Trashmouth or whatever the fuck you like to call me, but don't use my name."

The taller boy shrugged, fixing the rings on his fingers. "Toaster."

"Don't call me that, either!" Richie seethed, not bearing to hear the sound of Elle's nickname cross paths with Henry's tongue. "And the fact that you said you'd never touch her? You somehow continue to shock me after all these years, Bowers. That knife in your hand and the threat in your throat said otherwise."

The brows on Henry's forehead creased deeply, giving him his signature look of cruel suggestion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Richie scoffed another laugh, but there was more amusement to this one. "Oh, you don't remember? Figures. You don't remember threatening to cut her throat out?"

"I did that to protect her," Henry muttered, stating his defense. "I didn't... I didn't want her to see how fucked I was," he dejected.  "I wanted her to run away." His head fell to the ground and insecurity clashed within him through the loud echoes of his mind.

Richie couldn't even find the words to speak back with an ice cold break like he wanted to. His mind fumbled over the word protect multiple times but never fully came to terms with understanding it. Finally, he parted his lips again. "Did you just tell me that you were trying to protect her?"

Henry nodded with indifference. He was completely unsure of the reaction he was going to get based off of Richie's tone.

Richie stayed mute. His eyes bemused around the area surrounding them and eventually sealed them onto Henry's face after a long stretch of silence. "You're an idiot. You know that?"

Henry suddenly jumped foreword, ready to attack and sink his fingers into his bruised skin again, but Richie backed away and missed the attack with precision.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Lunch ends in 2 minutes and you wouldn't want Elowynn to see you like that, would you, Hen? I didn't think so."

The attacker recoiled, snapping back into place. "God. You're a real asshole, Tozier. I came here, civil as fuck, ready to ask you for advice and you just- you fucking verbally abuse me?"

A real smirk crossed Richie's face this time. Irony burned in the grin. "Sucks, doesn't it? Doesn't feel so good I bet. It sucks when you're minding your own business and someone suddenly starts calling you every name under the sun when you've already had enough of that at home. It sucks," he repeated. "It also sucks that you have enough guts to claim that you were trying to protect Elle. You saw how scared she was and you just... you just kept hitting me. Like the sick bastard that you are. It got you off, you deranged fuck. I bet you jerk off to that look in her eyes."

Henry's words could no longer conform into sentences. He looked at the douchebag in front of him, amazed he had taken every quip and jeer and used it against him in such a dexterous manner. The taste of his own medicine was bitter and thick, leaving his mouth dry.

"So fuck you, you're an asshole. Go to hell, Henry." Richie began walking away, pulling himself towards the lunchroom again. He paused once more. "And hey, if I ever catch you near Elowynn, I won't hesitate to rock your shit like I did in the third grade. I'll never forget why you're after me in the first place."