𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 / 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞✔️

four // sharing cigarettes (and secrets)

Trigger warning!! Child abuse!!

Richie plucked the strings of the instrument resting between his hands. He leaned his head back against the tree, humming a delightful tune. For once, he felt peace. He was able to relax, without getting high.
Stan is the only person who knows about richies habits, well, is the only one worried for his habits. Bev knew too, but also shared them. By habits, he means smoking weed, snorting cocaine, and god knows what else. He got concerned, so he bought him a ukulele. He said that Richie seemed like he'd be good at it, and he was right. Richie picked up the instrument like he was born to do it, and from then on out learned song after song. He even picked up guitar and electric guitar.
Richie was tired. So, so tired. He had bags under his eyes and his hair was flying in all different directions. He'd stopped caring about his outward appearance since he began getting beat by his father. His father put up with his behavior for about seven years, from then on out, he was pushed to his limits. He started off verbally, yelling at him with every wrong move. Richie was shocked, to say the least. He was surprised by his fathers sudden outbursts, so he stopped talking to him.
Richie didn't talk to his father, other then a few "yes, sir"s and "no, sir"s sprinkled within, for three months. He finally decided he was ready to try again, maybe his dad was just going through a rough time, maybe it was safe to say everything was back to normal.
He started a conversation, and his dad just went along with it. He wasn't enthusiastic, just grunted every so often to let Richie know he was listening, even though he wasn't, and let Richie go on and on. His dad had a half full can of beer beside him, typing away, writing on sticky notes and rubbing the stubble on his chin.
He got bored of the conversation just as quick as it started, stepping up and looking down at his son. Richie cowered down, stopping mid sentence. He was just telling his dad about how he'd gotten an A on his spelling test when a firm hand struck his cheek. He didn't understand, was it bad that he got an A? Should he stop trying? Would that make his father happy? His dad pulled his hand back, staring at the red mark he'd left and huffing. "pathetic."
Richie felt a sting in his cheek, similar to when he tripped and fell cheek-first into the grass at recess. He felt like crying, and even let a tear slip. His father laughed in his face, "You need to learn that if you run that damn mouth of yours, you'll never have any friends. Cut the shit and get to the work, or you're gonna have consequences. And wipe that stupid tear of your face, no one likes a wimp, especially one that can't stick up for himself."
Those words felt as if they were burned into his skin ever since then. You'll never have any friends, wimp, stupid. He simply nodded up at his father, assuming he was correct. He had no choice but to agree, right? "Yes, sir."
His father watched at a distance as Richie grew. His hair got long, his father drunkenly slurred for him to cut it, so he did. He'd scoff at his Hawaiian attire during seventh grade, Richie made a mental note to change his looks.
Richie started wearing band t-shirts and ripped jeans, his father didn't comment on it after that, so he never changed. Whatever his father said went, he didn't argue.
What Richie didn't understand, was why his father hit him anyways. He was almost sure that everything he did was of his fathers command, never going against his requests, yet he was still shoved, kicked, punched, and slapped. He never cried once, though, because he wasn't a wimp.

—

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't noticed a thin girl with red hair sit next to him. She frowned, looking at him. "Rich?" Beverly.
He stirred, sitting up straight and looking at her. It wasn't until a few seconds past that he realized who it was. He quickly slouched back down in relief. "Hey, Bev. How'd you know where I was?" He asked, his voice hoarse as if he had been crying, but he hadn't. Bev noticed that.
     "I didn't know.. I was just biking and I saw you sitting here." She explained, studying his features. "Are you okay? Did you get into another bike crash? You're covered in bruises." She sighed, a sigh of disappointment, but Richie could tell she cared.
     "yeah. my back wheel hit a rock, sent me flying." He was a good liar, just from practice.
Beverly nodded, "you really gotta be more careful. Isn't that your third bike crash this week?"
      Richie nodded, laughing at himself. "What can I say? I'm clumsy."
     She snorted, "you can say that again."
They sat in comfortable silence, beverly leaning her head on richies shoulder. He played a song beverly didn't recognize, but was nice none the less. She smiled a bit, lighting a cigarette from the crumpled up box in her pocket. Richie took one as well, allowing Bev to carefully light it for him. They smoked in silence, and Richie was happy. He forgot about his dad, and Stan, and his drugs, and everything that'd been swirling his mind before; because now he had beverly on his shoulder, a cigarette between his lips, and his ukulele in his lap. He couldn't have been more calm than this. He had to admit, as much as he found peace within his lonely visits to his tree, having someone who respected his quiet yet provided a sense of comfort he couldn't have given himself was also a relief, he found it better that way. Within five minutes, they finished their individual cigarettes. Bev looked up at him, smiling. They shared an unspoken agreement, Richie lighting another and taking a drag before passing it to Bev. She held it between her fingers, leaning down to where their lips nearly touched. He smiled, carefully blowing the smoke he'd been holding in his mouth into Beverly's. She exhaled, looking up at Richie through her eyelids. She pressed a kiss to his jawline, as if to say, I'm here for you, I love you, I'll stay with you if you need me to. Richie sighed contently, playing with her hair gently. He appreciated her more than anything. She was so understanding, he couldn't have asked for someone better. He returned her kiss with a peck to her forehead, as if to say thank you, I love you too.