𝗔𝗼𝟯: 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗸𝗻𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗹𝗲𝘀: 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘀 (8140)
𝗦𝗼𝗻𝗴: 𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗳𝗹𝗶𝘅 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗽: 𝗮𝗷𝗿
💫💫💫
The car was silent and it was driving Richie crazy. He had been sat in the passenger seat of Eddie's 1967 Chevy Impala for almost 15 minutes and neither boy had said a word to the other. The silence surrounding the two of them seemed to make the dull ache in Richie's head hurt even more, and man did he hate silence. He hated it more than anything. More than being ignored, more than being cut off by a taxi cab, more than Henry fucking Bowers whose blood was now on Richie's bruised up knuckles.
He felt his lip curl at the thought of him and he resisted the urge to snarl in anger. That prick was the one that owed him money, not the other way around.
For once.
Richie had never been the best decision maker, any of his friends could tell you that, but by far one of his worst decisions was to become a pot dealer in New York City. There were plenty of customers, a lot more than he expected actually, and he managed to get a pretty decent sum of money every now and then on top of his already well-paying job at a local bar. He was supposed to quit the dealing job the moment he got his pay rise but none of his customers liked that. They knew Richie had the best stuff in their area – and it was all thanks to his theatre classmate from college who was currently running his own miniature pot farm in his basement – and they weren't about to start finding someone else when they knew this kid was right on their doorstep.
Richie lived with Eddie in the theatre district so he was close to work and enjoyed the nightlife the city had for him. That's what he wanted to experience the night he got jumped by Henry Bowers and his gang of meatheads; Victor, Belch and Patrick.
He was only going out for one drink after work with some of his co-workers, something fun and simple to take the edge off and then head home to watch movies with Eddie and then pass out on the sofa with half eaten Indian takeout in his mouth. That was the way things were supposed to go that night.
Instead, Richie went to a bar, spotted Henry lurking around near the restrooms, hurried out of there before any trouble could start, and then got jumped in the alley next door by his goons.
He could still feel them gripping his jacket, their nails against his arms and their fists on his cheek. He reached a hand up to graze the bruise forming across his jaw and he physically flinched.
'Fuck.' He muttered out loud which finally seemed to gain Eddie's attention. His eyes briefly glanced his way, looking him up and down, before he scoffed and turned back to the road.
It was relatively quite on the streets which was odd for New York, but it was both a good and a bad thing. It was good because it meant Eddie could get back to their apartment a lot quicker than he normally would, and Richie could clean his cuts and go to bed before midnight. But it was bad because, well, Eddie could get back to the apartment quicker...and yell at him.
Richie looked over at his best friend and for a moment he forgot the situation he was in and just focused on his features. His button nose and his caramel eyes, his thick, wavy brown hair and tanned skin...he wished he could see all of the freckles on his cheeks but he was nowhere near close enough and it was too dark. He couldn't help but sigh and slump further back into the seat of the Impala, feeling sorry for himself.
He then realised that he hated silence from Eddie more than anything else in the world.
'Eds,' He said into the air and he saw his friends shoulders stiffen. Richie swallowed. 'I just wanna say thank you for, ya know, getting me.'
