Mixtape

46

46

Richie lingers by Eddie's locker before lunch, waiting for the tiny one across the hall.
He can't hear what Eddie is saying, but he knows he's talking fast. His hands wave wildly the way they always do whenever he's worked up, his foot stomping against the tile to prove a point.
Henry is much more calm, but he's always been a silent killer. Richie can see it in his tight shoulders and clenched jawline that he is not happy about who is standing at Eddie's locker.
Eventually, Henry looks up to make eye contact with Richie, a dangerous threat in this pin point pupils. Richie nods, lifting his hands up in surrender. That seems to be enough communication to appease Bowers, because he scoffs and sulks off in the opposite direction. Eddie's shoulders relax as he begins to make his way over towards his locker, mumbling under his breath.
"What was that about?" Richie asks, watching the way that Eddie spins his combination lock. "I mean- Sorry. You don't have to answer that."
"It's fine," Eddie shakes his head, still grumbling. "He's just being Henry, that's all."
"Is... Is he..." Richie trails off, struggling to find the words to form in his mind. He wants to ask if he's hurting Eddie, or even if they're together, but... he doesn't want to offend the temper of the little unit of rage before him. "Is he still the same?"
"Henry?" Eddie lifts his eyes up as he swings his locker open. He shakes his head, a sad look in his eyes. "No. He tries to be, but... no. The Henry you know is long gone."
Richie doesn't quite hear the words because he's more focused on the picture taped to the inside of that metal wall. A picture that's been there since freshman year, one that's aged clearly by the worn corners and folding edges. Richie when he was still a Tozier, cigarettes stuck up his nose, the supple cheeks of a kid who has just barely lost his baby fat.
Richie doesn't look like that anymore. His features are all sharp and hard now, his eyes tired and lacking any of that shine from the photograph. He's aged quickly, but trauma tends to do that to you.
"You- You kept that photo?" Richie stutters out, the tips of his ears growing hot.
Eddie glances at the picture in question and simply rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he drops his books off at the bottom of the locker and retrieves his coat. "Don't flatter yourself."
Richie nods quietly, agreeing that he shouldn't flatter himself. He doesn't deserve to feel flattered; not now, not ever.
The two head out a set of doors that Richie and Bill never go through, leading out towards the soccer  field behind the school rather than the parking lot in front. Upon seeing the goal posts, Richie looks over to see if Eddie is remembering the same distant memories as Richie. Instead of a face of recognition, Richie just watches the way that Eddie's eyes cast downward as he walks. His eyes are down low, but his chin is still held high enough with a bit of confidence that comes with hanging out with the likes of Henry Bowers. He's got that scowl, too. The one that says he is pissed off at the world; everything and anything.
Eddie takes Richie to Curly's. Apparently, when the pizza parlor reinvented itself come the 90's, the once famous Curly's died down in business and has become a place for couples to go when they're discussing their divorce.
Richie sits in the booth, nursing his black coffee, watching the very few couples in the restaurant. Eddie's eyes are more focused on the menu in front of him, scanning the letters he's read his whole life. The demographic may have changed, but the atmosphere and food of Curly's has stayed the same. Complete with broken jukebox.
"Well," Eddie exhales after awhile. He folds the menu up, deciding he can't eat with a stomach full of nerves. Eddie looks at Richie expectantly and says "I'm... I'm listening."
Richie nods, trying to think of what words to say. He had all morning to think of this, but it proved to be a bit difficult to concentrate throughout the day. It was as if his brain didn't want to let Richie think of an apology, a small, tiny voice saying he doesn't exactly have anything to apologize for in the first place.
"I didn't get your letters," Richie shakes his head. "I didn't know you wrote to me. I would have written back, Eddie."
"Well, you didn't. You didn't write to me at all, not even a call," Eddie exhales. He rubs his face as if he's exhausted just bringing this up, but he knows that it's all things that need to be discussed. They can't carry on like this, not with their history. "Nothing."
"I can't change the past," Richie shakes his head. He feels some of the fear leave his mind, no longer tiptoeing through his vocabulary to find out which words won't creak. Richie has spent years sneaking around to go undetected, but Eddie lets him take some of that guard down. It makes sense, things just feel better with Eddie, even if the little one is mad. "But that doesn't explain why you're with Bowers of all people."
Eddie inhales, tired of this subject before it can even begin. He looks up at Richie and says, "He's not the same as he used to be, Rich."
"Really? 'Cause I'm pretty sure he threatened me, like, the day I got back. Seems like the same douchebag to me," Richie scoffs.
Eddie frowns, shaking his head. "He's protective. You act like you aren't."
"I'm not fucking insane-"
"You told Henry you would kill him if he ever hurt me. You told him you would tell his dad he's gay if he kept bothering me. How is that not just as bad?"
Richie's heart drops so fast upon hearing those words. Those idle threats were never supposed to reach Eddie's ears, but here they are, being repeated from the boy's lips.
Eddie is saying Richie is just as bad as Henry. Years of torment from Bowers, this whole town terrorized by the chief's son, and Richie has somehow stooped so low that he is comparable to Henry.
"He... He fucking abused you, Eddie. Do you not remember all the times he'd hold you at knifepoint? Or am I the only who seems to remember you absolutely flipping shit on him?" Richie brings memories up to the surface that he hasn't had to think about since the moment he shut them away. "Weren't you the one who told him that he deserved to get beat?"
Eddie clenches his jaw tightly, looking to the side and saying "He's different."
"And I'm not?" Richie asks. "Why are you holding me accountable for not writing you back, when he's the person who completely fucked up your whole childhood?"
"Because he didn't break my fucking heart!" Eddie has always been so temperamental, way too many emotions fit into a compact and tiny vessel. Richie seems to fuel that forest fire, flames engulfing the two of them as hell swallows them up.
"I never wanted to give up on this," Richie breathes out, shrugging his bookbag off of his shoulders. "I still don't."
Eddie clenches his jaw, shaking his head quickly. "I'm not ready for that."
"That's okay," Richie nods, "I don't think I am either. I'm just saying, like... remember when things were good? Before the cops came. I told you I wanted this to be serious. I still want that, Eddie."
"We were kids, Richie. We still are," Eddie reaches out across the table, taking Richie's hand in his. The molecules send little tizzies through each of their bloodstreams, memories of excited touches coursing their minds. "I know I'm calloused and harsh now, I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm just... I'm scared. I hurt so bad, I'm finally starting to do better again, but... but then you're here now, in front of me, telling me you want to do all that pain over again."
"I don't want it to hurt this time," Richie exhales, turning his hand over so that his palm is pressed against Eddie's wrist. "I want it to be everything it should have been the first time."
Eddie can't meet Richie's eye. He's mostly guilty, afraid of seeing that disappointed look on Richie's features when he tells the new Denbrough that he just can't. The recovery process was long and gruesome for Eddie, he came out the other end less optimistic about the concept of love. He's not ready to strip away all that healing he's spent so long doing just to fall for the same heartbreaker.
"I'm just not ready..." Eddie trails off. His other hand strokes the scars all along Richie's hand, his little magic healing powers taking away the shameful memories attached to those marks. "I don't know if I ever will be. You shouldn't wait for someone who might not ever be able to love you again."
"Okay," Richie nods, his voice soft and lost amongst the music playing. "I hear you. We don't have to try right away, but we can... be friends. Would you want that?"
"We can try," Eddie nods. "If it hurts, though-"
"If it hurts, then you can leave. You don't have to talk to me ever again if you don't want. I just want to try, you know? You make me feel better. Everyone in Derry is so fucking different now, and you're still the same no matter how much you say you've changed. You still make all the noise go away."
Eddie smiles at this, a warm involuntary one. He shakes his head, whispering "I wasn't saying it would hurt for me, Rich."
"Oh," Richie begins to pull away, but Eddie catches him by the little fingers and begins to trace along his knuckles. Richie says, "You don't have to look out for me. It's not your job to protect me anymore."
"Well," Eddie shrugs. "It's just what I'm good at. You and Henry have more in common than you think."
Richie stiffens at the mention of his childhood best friend, remembering all the shared touches that those two exchange in class when they're sitting next to one another. Eddie gets in Henry's car every day, the two doing god knows what. Henry's got a filthy mind, Richie can't imagine what he's subjecting Eddie to.
"Just tell me how," Richie asks in disbelief. "I can't wrap my head around it."
"Yeah, neither could I," Eddie laughs. "I guess it's a bit odd, isn't it? Me and my bully, chumming around."
"It's downright bizarre," Richie responds. Eddie lets go of his hand, and this time, Richie lets him. "I just don't- I can't work it out in my head."
"Well... We bonded, I guess. We both went through some scary shit around... god, like... April? Yeah. The April after you left. It brought us together, and he's just been really protective of me since. I don't think he really realizes that I'm the one that's protecting him."
"What happened?" Richie asks, immediately shut down by him saying "No, sorry. You don't have to tell me. I'm sorry."
Eddie frowns in confusion, saying "You don't have to apologize all the time."
"Do I?"
Eddie looks at him. "Yeah. You don't have to be sorry. You're not doing anything wrong. I'm just pissy, I always am."
"Sorry," Richie says, then shakes his head. He smiles a little, laughing at himself as he says "Sorry- Shit. Ah, fuck. Sorry."
Eddie giggles a little, such a contrast to how much betrayal and hurt that was in his tone this morning in the library. The two seem to be remembering their old patterns, falling back together easily like magnetic puzzle pieces. There's so much they need to fix, but at least it's not all broken. Some parts of their friendship are still salvageable.
"I don't think I'm comfortable talking about it," Eddie then says, followed by "And besides, most of it is Henry's business. I'd be an ass if I told someone about it."
Richie nods understandingly, seeking Eddie's eyes for the warmth he needs. "Okay, that's fine."
"But can you tell me about this?" Eddie then asks, bringing his hand back down to the table so that he can tap on the back of Richie's knuckles. The bumpy scars don't feel safe anymore, the spotlight they're under only burning harder. "You're... a lot more skittish. I've been watching you, you're not- you're not being honest with anybody. If you need help, Rich-"
"I'm okay," Richie says quickly, shaking his head. "These aren't anything. I'm just- you know how I am. Always getting into trouble."
Eddie doesn't believe that for a second, but he doesn't push the topic further. Instead, he asks "Have you been eating?"
A glimpse of bony, protruding ribs come into Eddie's mind. A foggy, Xanax clouded memory that is overshadowed by the pain of a broken arm. Richie's body contorted in ways it shouldn't, and with winter being in full force, Eddie hasn't been able to see Richie outside of his usual two coats in order to judge if the boy still looks underweight or not.
"Yeah," Richie nods, waving his hand to reassure Eddie. "Yeah, Sharon makes these totally rad casseroles-"
"You're lying," Eddie says. He frowns, shaking his head. "You say I'm not different. You're not either, Rich. I can still tell when you're lying. Do you want to eat?"
Richie doesn't respond, he just looks away in embarrassment. He feels hot shame press against him tightly, that vice clamping back down over his lungs and making it hard to breathe. When his hands start to shake, he hides them under the table so that he can stroke his legs in a bit of a comforting manner.
"Okay. I'll go order something," Eddie nods, standing up.
"We don't have enough time to eat anyway," Richie shakes his head defiantly. "We have to get back to school, we've been sitting here for too long. We'll be late."
"Who cares?" Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows. "Do you want to be in school right now? Or would you rather skip with me?"
The question is a no brainer, but that's not what Richie's shocked about. The mere idea of skipping class used to horrify Eddie, but now he suggests it so leisurely... Richie wonders how Henry talked Eddie into skipping for the first time. He wonders what they do in their free time.
"I'll be back," Eddie promises, pressing his palm against Richie's one last time to reassure the anxious kid.
Richie sits back in the booth, watching Eddie go up to order themselves some food. He feels less trapped, like Derry isn't the jail he's thought of it as.
A voice springs into his head that reminds him of a fight between two of Richie's closest friends, reminding him that he needs to ask Eddie what happened between him and Stan. Nobody else will tell him, but Richie knows that he can ask Eddie what happened and receive the truth. That's how he protects Richie, by being the honesty that nobody else in this god damn town seems to give. Everyone thinks they're sheltering Richie from the truth, but Eddie doesn't hesitate to tell Richie how it is so that the boy isn't left clueless.
When Eddie comes back with their ticket number, he takes his seat across from Richie. Without hesitating, Richie asks "Hey, what happened between you and Stan? Hanlon said you guys got into a fight."
"Oh, jeez, yeah," Eddie exhales. "Years ago, though. Before I started hanging out with Henry."
"What happened?" Richie inquires, hearing how needy he sounds. He tries to correct it by saying "No, wait. Sorry. That's personal. I'm just so fucking lost on how things... got like this."
"I would be too," Eddie smiles at him. "Well, I don't know. It's mostly my fault, I was upset. But Stan is way too proud to accept an apology, he'll hold a grudge until he dies."
Richie nods, he knows that much about their Jewish friend. It doesn't explain what happened, though.
"Stan wouldn't let me mourn. He kept telling me to get over it, that it wasn't really that big of a deal. Well, he didn't say that, but it was implied. I told him he had no idea how it felt for me, and then he told me that I was selfish. That I couldn't see anybody else's pain except for my own. I suppose he was right, I'll admit that. But he told me that he was hurting just as much as me because you were his best friend, and that- that hurt, you know. I didn't want to believe that anybody was close with you the way you were."
"You were my best friend, too," Richie says.
Eddie smiles, shaking his head as he stirs his tea absently. He poured plenty of sugars into his tea, but Richie's coffee remains black and bitter.
"That doesn't matter. He was hurting, and I wouldn't let him feel that hurt. He wanted to keep some of your things but I- I don't know, man. I wanted every part of you. I tried to trap your memory in my bedroom, I didn't want anybody else to look at your things, or listen to your music. I was under this delusional idea that you were mine and mine alone. Stupid, isn't it?"
"I mean..." Richie trails off. "I kinda was. I don't blame you, but maybe you should try apologizing to Stan. He misses everybody, even if he doesn't act like it."
"We all do," Eddie sighs unfortunately. "Maybe not Bev. I don't know. I don't trust her since she killed her dad."
"Since she what?" Richie splutters, nearly shooting coffee out of his nose. "What? Mike told me it was a home invasion. Was it not?"
"Classic Hanlon," Eddie shakes his head. "Always wants things to be more peaceful than they actually are... Yeah, Bev killed her dad. She'll never admit to it, why would she? I've read the reports. There were signs of assault all over her, no forced entry, her fingerprints were all over the crime scene. Mr. Marsh was always a sleazeball, I just didn't think she would go that far. I don't think Bill knows, but if he does, he's too blinded by love to care. Love will do that to you, you know... fuck up your morals and common sense."
"How do you know all of this?" Richie shakes his head, unable to even begin to process what Eddie is telling him. Again, his little truth serum. The only person in this town who won't lie to protect Richie from getting hurt.
"You forget that Henry's dad is the chief of police, he was the first responder to the neighbor's domestic abuse call. When they got there, Beverly was all, like, covered in blood. Who's going to blame the murder on an innocent little girl? She's such a liar, too. Too mischievous for her own good. Henry showed me the autopsy report, a blunt force to the side of his head. The back of a toilet seat, you know. Now tell me, Rich. If you're going to invade someone's home, wouldn't you have some kind of weapon? A toilet seat lid just seems like..."
"It was the first thing she grabbed," Richie finishes, his body running cold with terror. He rides with Bev to school, a murderer. The man had it comin', but that doesn't... that doesn't justify murder. She's always been cold hearted, he just can't seem to picture her getting away with such a crime just from batting her eyelashes. "That's fucked up. Where does she live now?"
"Her aunt moved to Derry to take care of her. It was only a couple days after you left, you know. I think she just... she just snapped. And I couldn't be around that anymore, I'm tiny, man. Everyone looked at me and all they saw was you, I was Richie Tozier's sad boyfriend that was left behind, neglected and ignored. I didn't know what she was capable of, but I didn't want to find out. Everyone thought of you when they saw me, and I just couldn't stand it. I was scared she would kill me for being obsessed with you or something crazy like that, I was scared. I thought maybe Mike might treat me normally, maybe he won't pity me, so I tried hanging out with him. As I'm sure he told you, that didn't work out either. I was just tired of people feeling bad for me."
Richie nods, understanding what Eddie means way too well. He's not sure he can ever go back to the jokester he was before, but he's tired of people feeling pity for the poor orphaned adopted kid. He just wants to exist, and to exist with Eddie. A simple request, but a payoff for a lifetime.
Their food comes before Richie can respond, a platter of crepes for the both of them. Richie's meal comes with a side of hashbrowns as well, which Eddie pushes towards him encouragingly.
"You still like crepes, right? That didn't change?"
The memory of dancing around in the Kaspbrak kitchen surfaces in his mind, the adrenaline of nearly getting caught by his overweight mother. It was all so exciting to them, it was the first time they had ever felt such a rush of euphoria. Eddie's romantic 50's music played, a melody of tunes that Richie has grown to miss.
"Yeah, I still like them," Richie says while staring at Eddie. Eddie doesn't notice his gaze, too focused on eating.
Before Richie can even make comments about Eddie's aversion to being pitied, the older one is speaking up again. "Anyways. Tell me about Philly? The good parts, though. Not the parts that make you act all weird."
Richie pauses for a moment, his fork pushing around the food on his plate undecidedly. He knows Eddie wants him to eat, but he feels he still hasn't earned it yet.
"Um, well..." Richie trails off, trying to think of something. What was good? It's hard to remember when the bad stains every memory, even if it's just along the edge. There were a few glimmering moments, however, so Richie decides to tell Eddie about them since Bill has yet to ask. "I like this new band. They're not really new but I like them recently, so I like this new band. They're called Nirvana."
Eddie nods, grinning to himself. "Yeah, they seem like your type. I've only heard one song, but it exudes Tozier energy."
"I'm a Denbrough now," Richie corrects him politely, before saying "Oh, and the sunsets are different. Waaay different. They're more vivid, more color. I would sit and watch them every night during the summer out by the attic window. All my brothers joined. It was some of the only peaceful moments... watching the sky go down. We didn't have much peace, so we appreciated when we did."
"That's..." Eddie's eyes start to sparkle the way they always did, looking at Richie with so much hope. "You need to stop keeping this inside. Talk more, Rich. You're good at it. Not in an annoying way, but... in a way that makes people feel. You only ever talk when you're spoken to."
"How would you know? You've spent the last two weeks ignoring me," Richie scoffs.
"I watch you," Eddie says. "What you just told me? That's incredible. Tell some other people about it sometime, they'd love to hear about that."
Richie scoffs, but then asks "What about writing? You're good at that. Do you write for other people?"
Eddie pauses for a moment, but then resumes eating. "I wrote for you, and then I stopped."
"Then write for yourself," Richie shrugs. "I won't talk unless you write."
"If I write, will you tell me what you're feeling?" The two try to bargain a happy compromise, but they're both stubborn flames that refuse to extinguish.
"No," Richie shakes his head. "It's not that I won't, it's that I don't know how. I can't... I can't put it into words."
"Then give me music. You're good at that, I know you are. You were always communicating through mixtapes... let me know how you're feeling with a song."
Richie looks down at his plate, thinking of the LOVER tape that they shared upon their first encounters. When him and Eddie would slowdance down by the quarry, or sit in the same chair down in Hanscom's basement during birthday parties.
"Do you still have the nightmares?" Richie asks, lifting his eyes up.
Eddie frowns, giving a noncommittal shrug that only proves what Richie just asked. "Sure. Sometimes. They're different now, though."
"What are they about?" Richie asks. Could it get worse than a giant spider ripping your arm off?
Eddie shrugs. "I don't want to tell you. I don't trust you like that."
Richie doesn't feel hurt, he just understands. He doesn't trust Eddie with his scared thoughts either, they're too closed off. Afraid to get hurt, but mostly afraid to hurt each other.
"I tell you what, Kaspbrak," Richie takes his first bite, which causes the boy in front of him to smile. Eddie nods encouragingly, the face of someone proud only making Richie feel more driven to keep doing what it is that made him smile in the first place. He takes another bite, then says "I'll tell you through music. But I want you to tell me, too. I know you listen to music, you've got MTV in your room and your mom's vinyl collection. Give me some of it, explain what happened, what's happening, or what's going to happen. We'll exchange."
Eddie seems to consider this for a moment, pondering fauxly as if he doesn't already know his response.
"Alright," Eddie nods.
"Yeah?" Richie asks.
"Yeah, sure," Eddie nods. "Just one song, for now. We'll listen to it with each other at the end of the week."
"Friday?"
"Henry has therapy on Fridays, so I'm free."
"Therapy?" Richie repeats. Are they talking about the same Henry? Or some clone?
"I told you, Rich. He's different. We're all different."
"Yeah, yeah," Richie shakes his head, putting his fork down. He doesn't feel so encouraged now, he can't help but think about how Eddie only has time for him when Henry's already busy. A second choice. "Friday. I'll give you a song."
Eddie notices the shift, he sees Richie push his plate away and look out the window. Snowfalls are reflecting against the cracked glasses lenses, resembling the tears that want to come down so desperately.
Still, Eddie leans forward and touches his fingertips against Richie's knuckles in a delicate manner. When Richie looks back down, he sees Eddie's pinky finger extended outwards towards him.
The promise of a promise, a guaranteed binding contract. Eddie takes these types of promises seriously, even now that he's 18. Richie takes a deep breath, afraid of the commitment he's about to subject himself to.
He still takes Eddie's pinky and wraps himself around it, promising the truth and honesty that comes with music.
A new mixtape, the B side turning over.
A new soundtrack of trying to remember how it feels to fall in love.