.: Friday I'm In Love :|: Reddie :.

If This Isn't Perfect

"Well, if this isn't perfect..." Henry's voice was tainted with a sense of craziness. He sounded insane. Richie stared at him, having to look up a few inches due to the man's height. He was a bit taller than Richie.

"Fuck off, Henry. We aren't in the mood to deal with your shit, and we're kinda busy." Beverly had stepped forward with a dangerous glint in her eye. Bowers glared right back, taking a step forward. He was right up close and personal with Richie now, but the boy couldn't move. Sweat poured down the back of his neck as he stood, rooted to the spot, and though he would dent it later in life, Richie was fucking terrified.

"Ohh, I can envision it now. The slut gets a B, for Bowers, and her boyfriends. Billy and Ben. I don't mind sharing, either, so I think it's safe to give the faggot Jew a B as well for his boyfriend. And this little shit.." Henry looked down his nose at Richie, and there was a moment of silence. Richie's eyes widened in the sudden realization of what was about to happen. He didn't move in time.

Richie had barely turned around before Henry's large, meaty hand closed around his hair while the other arm circled around his neck in a headlock. Richie was pulled backwards and off his feet, facing his friends. He exhaled sharply, and ceased his own struggling movements because every time he tried to get away, the pressure on his neck would increase.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, four-eyes." The brand new glasses were lifted from Richie's face and snapped in half right before his eyes. Then suddenly, Henry was on him, sitting on his stomach with a switchblade in hand. What was this, the eighties?

He must have said it out loud, because all he received was a punch to the face and a sharp demand for him to shut up.

"Henry, stop!" The Losers were all screaming, but Richie couldn't see their faces. He was afraid of what would happen if they didn't do something, but he was somehow more afraid of what would happen if they came too close.

"If you come any closer, I'll make this knife disappear," Henry threatened. "All that'll be left will be the hilt sticking out of his neck. So shut up, the whole lot of you!" Then Richie's sweatshirt was shoved upwards, and Ben uttered a small scream as he realized what was about to happen.

"He's going to carve his name!" Ben screamed, his face becoming deathly pale. Georgie was crying, holding on to Bill for dear life.

"Bill, take Georgie and Ben away from here. Call the police, tell them about the fanny pack, and then get back here!" Mike was standing at the front, by far the most muscular out of the whole group. He was afraid to make a move. If he tackled Henry from behind, the knife could just go right into Richie. If he moved otherwise, it was going in to Richie anyway.

"If Ben is going then I'm going too! I can't leave him when he's like that!" Bev sounded torn. It made Richie's head hurt, all the commotion that was going on. Henry seemed busy cleaning the blade. There was already a red substance on it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to ask who it belonged to.

"I'm gonna give you a nice, big fat E for your wheezy bitch of a boyfriend. He got an R, can't wait to see how his mommy likes that. The little fag couldn't stop crying for you. Did you know that I got him to follow me out here just because I told him I knew where you were?" Henry laughed, and Richie let his head fall back, tears flowing out of the corners of his eyes. What a fucking idiot Eddie was. Now he was lost somewhere, bleeding out, and it was Henry's fault.

"Where did you put him?" Richie practically sobbed, but when he lifted an arm to grab at Henry, the man shoved it down and under his knees.

"I don't think so, four-eyes! If your faggot boyfriend can't find his way around a map of his own town, that's his problem!" Confused, and beyond terrified, Richie just let his head fall, another sob causing his shoulders to shake. On a normal occasion, he would never let Henry Bowers (or anyone, for that matter) see him cry. But today it was just happening. Fear ripples through his body like waves as he watched the blade lower onto his bare, pale skin.

A bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air the second the knife made contact, and Richie was writhing beneath the weight of a twenty year old who was at least twice his own weight and well fed. Richie screamed out in pain as the tip dragged down his body, leaving a fresh red line in its wake. Blood poured out of his body and his life began its slow trickle onto the ground. It was slow, and painful, and it felt like fire was eating half of his body.

His screams didn't get quieter. His voice just completely broke. The two remaining losers were screaming now, including Stan. Richie would have been bursting their eardrums at this point, had his voice not been lost completely. Henry was doing his job slowly. There were sirens in the distance, meaning Bill or Bev had successfully called 911.

"Stop," Richie begged, but it came out as a whisper. Henry didn't seem to hear him as he finished the last line of his brand new letter. There were shouts in the distance now, meaning the police were getting closer. The lunatic jumped up off of Richie and pocketed the blade. He glanced around them, before landing a solid kick to the side he had cut, causing Richie's mouth to fall opened in another silent wail. Then the man disappeared deeper into the woods. Stan and Mike rushed forward immediately, sitting Richie up. The boy shoved Stan aside, crawled a little further and emptied the contents of his burning stomach onto the ground a few feet away from his friends.

Then Bev burst into their field of vision. Well, to Richie she was just a blob of color, but nevertheless, she arrived.

"Oh my god," she gasped, and people flooded past her, swarming over the scene. There were a few flashes like cameras as people crowded around Richie, rolling him over, poking, prodding him.

"No, we need to find Eddie!" His voice cracked and he tried to push a few people away. "He's... Bowers said he was lost in a map of the town!" There was a sharp gasp from behind Richie's and he whirled around, shoving past the paramedics to clutch Stan's arm. The boy looked down at him, and without his glasses Richie could still tell he knew. There had been a click.

"The sewers, Richie. They're like a map of the town, just underground. And right over there, through that pipe sticking up out of the ground, is an entrance."