Lover | Richie Tozier

Chapter 56.

The stairs leading away from Elle's house had never seemed so steep, twisting Eddie's ankles with a shock of pain after every step he took brought the aching stiffness to the rest of his limbs.

He fumbled over them in discoordination and tripped over the thoughts of his own mind with it, bringing a stop to all of the basic skills (like walking, clearly) that he had acquired throughout life.

He was expecting Elle to open her front door and ask why the fuck he'd run out of the place so fast in this kind of weather, but when he looked back at the door, it was about as closed off as he was when he first met her. The fragile snow falling outside was in no way able to equate with his thoughts: spinning, cold, and whirling in an arctic blizzard.

His shoes had formed a mind of their own, leading down a path that he had no inference regarding where it was taking him, he just went. His soles still hurt from the way that they had clamored down her front steps, but he didn't care in the slightest. He could've fractured something and he still wouldn't bother going to the emergency room despite how he might've thought of himself as a health expert only 5 minutes ago. The state of his body seemed so small and microscopic in the roaring face of anxiety.

Frost left soft kisses over his freckles, replacing the angelic patterns with melted drops once they hit his warmed skin. The tip of his nose flushed red in correspondence with his hands, which were clutched by his side in their same tiny fashion to generate some heat within them.

The image of Elle sitting in front of him appeared in his mind like an unfinished painting, complete with vibrant colors here and there but still lacking some of the most important details, like: Why? Why him? Of all people, why him? You had to choose him?

The snowflakes continued to stick to his jacket as he cut through the wind. Why him?

Eddie couldn't find the joy that most were feeling about the first snow of the season anymore and only quickly kicked through sheets of ice with frustration. Sadness. Maybe even some jealously.

He used those bitter emotions to fuel his speed and sent himself running through the night air to the only place he deemed safe and familiar. When the snow would beat into his face and nip at him like death by a thousand cuts, he only ran faster.

The flow of the snowflakes raced him as he sprinted, small legs moving so quickly inside of his blue jeans and numbing air crawling up the cuffs of his long sleeves. Brick by brick, his walls came down while he sliced through the wintry atmosphere like Henry Bowers' switchblade.

Just... just go. Run. You're not sick, so you can. Just run. Run away from everything that Elle has just told you.

The more that he ran, the more familiar the world around him became. He thudded across the Kissing Bridge with a few long strides and was born into the heart of Downtown Derry, mystifying over the buildings that were tucking themself into beds of white snow.

Up Mile Hill road looked like a promise of coming home, finally feeling normal, so he picked up his pace again even though it felt like the world came to a stop and he wasn't moving at all.

The Aladdin glitched in his vision like Richie's Street Fighter game would sometimes, the Laundromat made him feel like there was crimson blood drenched on his clothes again, and when he reached the corner of Kansas and Center street, he expected to see his common stomping grounds — his home. But he didn't. His perception crashed into a black spill as his eyes shut and his body collided with another.

In response, a voice bit through the air; one that he had only heard a couple of times in his life. "Holy fuck, watch it kid," the voice reprimanded, annoyance strained throughout. "You really can't wait an extra five seconds to get your pills? Keene doesn't close for another hour. Relax, Jesus. You're not gonna die like you always think you are."

His eyes looked up slowly, holding his weight up on the skin of his palms. It hurt like hell.

Beverly Marsh looked down on him, a fresh pack of cigarettes held like a weapon in her grip.

Being met with the face of another girl only reminded Eddie why he was so incredibly upset, so he gathered a good amount of strength and firmly brought himself on his feet again, dusting flakes of ice off of his jeans.

"Yeah, whatever, I don't..." he heaved in a deep breath and grew alarmed at how long it took to resonate with him. "I'm having a fucking panic attack right now I don't have time for this shit," he spat quickly.

Every word in the sentence was raspy and tight, overflowing from his lungs. "I need my fucking inhaler and I need to go get it refilled NOW, I don't give a shit about what's inside of it!" He stomped on the ground underneath him and the handprints he left there became covered with a new layer of snow.

Beverly's eyebrow raised against her pale face, clearly amused at his sudden fluster of words. "What's your problem? You're probably out of breath because you ran here, Einstein. Why don't you take a breather?"

Eddie shook his head tensely, flaring his facial features. "No, no, that's not it. That's not it at all," he assured forcibly, using his hands to show just how much he meant it.

Beverly blinked in surprise. "Then what's wrong with you?"

He couldn't tell if the world was disappearing or if it was just him that was fading away, but a bundle of nerves tangled in his stomach. "I think..." he shook his head, dangerously feeling his heart become too heavy. "I think I like my best fucking friend," he admitted rapidly, everything coming out at full speed and freezing into the air.

Bev paused for a minute, taking this new information and analyzing what he had just said. She gripped her cigarettes a little tighter. "Your best friend? You mean... you mean Elle?" She asked tremulously.

Eddie sucked in another sharp breath, but this one hurt more. If he didn't know any better he'd think that he'd just swallowed fiberglass. He looked up at the girl again, meeting their vastly different toned eyes. His words spilled out in an urgency to be spoken and gone:

"I think I like Richie Tozier."

There was no sound. The environment had gone muffled, pressing the sounds of nature into a thin line. Falling snow slowed its pace and currents of electricity everywhere stayed still. The confession brought about strong winds, not in the form of air, but in the form of emotions. Even though she was staring right at him, it seemed like there was nobody there at all.

Beverlys lips parted with the numbness of frostbite, every response caught in the back of her throat.

Eddie didn't even need her to say anything. The words she couldn't say were written all over her face, telling a story of her very own. Beverly has been shocked by a lot of things, even quite literally, yet has never encountered something like this. Especially in 1988.

When her mind caught up to speed again, she forced a question out of herself seeing as how painfully disturbed Eddie looked with his own admission.

"Do you want to go to the park and talk about it?"