Lover | Richie Tozier

Chapter 3.

Stan rummaged through his lunchbox and pulled out a small box of apple juice as well as a snack-sized bag of chips and pushed them in Richie's direction. "Here," Stan offered. "Take it. Don't even argue."

Oh, Richie. How dare you think your friends don't love you. You wear those glasses constantly and you still can't see it.

He took the items, smiling vaguely at Stan. "I almost got my shit rocked by Bowers today," he said a little while later, changing the subject so they didn't have to dwell on his shitty home-life situation anymore.

"Y-Yeah?" Bill inquired. "Wuh-What do you mean a-almost? Doesn't he always rock your sh-sh-"

"Shit," Richie finished for him, smiling. He always finished Bills sentences when he was having too much trouble trying to enunciate them. "Yeah. But today there was this girl, knocked square into me in the hallways, I think she helped save my ass. Bowers wouldn't hit a girl. That cop father of his would knock him out."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Stan exhaled heavily, shaking his head. "Bowers is insane."

Richie shrugged. "Maybe. But today he wasn't taking that chance."

"Wuh-Wuh-Was she preh-pretty?" Bill asked. He looked at Richie with his doll-like eyes. Richie swears if you looked deep enough into his blue irises, you'd see small silver fish swimming around freely.

He lifted his shoulders again. "I guess so. I don't really know. Wasn't really paying much attention," Richie casually claimed.

"Her name?" Stan continued.

Richie got up, preparing to throw away his empty juice box, and patted Stan on the shoulder. "Like I said, Stan the Man, I wasn't paying much attention. I don't have the energy to give all these ladies the time of day. They wish."

This was one of Rich's favorite roles to play —the certified chick-magnet. In reality it wasn't uncommon that girls wouldn't even take a second look at him, drawing their own conclusions about the bruises tattooed on his skin. Nobody wants someone who causes trouble. Nobody wants someone who's lawless. Nobody wants someone like Richie.

He tried his best each morning to cover the blemishes with liquid makeup, and despite all the years of trying, he hardly knew the first thing about makeup. So, he tried his best, but the purple hue would always shine through by the end of the day.

"Why you asking all these questions?" Richie interrogated. "You lookin' for a girlfriend or something? I've got lots of those. You can borrow one of mine."

Bill shook his head and smiled a little. His smile brought a glow to his soft features. "N-Nah. I've got my eye on suh-someone else. That Beh-Beverly M-Marsh is pretty."

"Beverly Marsh?" Stan repeated a little too loudly. He retreated once he realized how far his voice traveled.

"Isn't ol' Bevy a smoker? You want some asthma to worsen your speaking problems?" Richie joked — partially.

"Y-Yeah, she ih-is," Bill packed up his sandwich. "But s-so what? Isn't everybody these days?"

He had a point.

"Not me," Richie boasted. "I've got great lung endurance. It's how I can fuck for so long," he joked, flexing his narrow arms.

Both boys in front of him bubbled out small laughter, wrapping up the rest of their lunches.

"Look at Kaspbrak over there," Stan gestured towards a small boy sitting alone at the end of a table, wiping it down with a disinfectant wipe.

"Why's he do that all the time? Doesn't he get like... tired?" Richie asked, examining the boys odd behavior.

"May-Maybe he's just c-clean, Rih-Richie." Bill zipped up his lunch bag.

Richie narrowed his gaze, giving himself a closer look through his scratched lenses. "Mm, no. I don't think so. He's oddly clean. The kid carries around a specialized fanny pack for hand sanitizers and shit."

"I heard his mom's got munchausen by-whatever." Stan looked at Eddie.

"Munchausen by proxy syndrome," Richie corrected.

Both Bill and Stan tilted their heads at him in different directions. "How'd you know that term?" Stan asked, surprised by his friends sudden increase in vocabulary.

Because I'm not as dumb as I make myself out to be, Richie thought. "Heard it somewhere. You guys ready to go?" He asked. They agreed, and got up to leave.

Before leaving the cafeteria, Richie took one last look at the boy in the red polo, wondering just why it was that little Eddie Kaspbrak was the way he was.