「trashmouth」 reddie

02

nightmares were the one thing richie feared the most. richie feared many things, the one of them being the nightmares that always seemed to consume him waking him up in a screaming sweat, tears pricking at the seams of his eyes as he willed the memories of the nightmare away, desperately trying to not fall back to sleep.

it's always the same; richie dying. in his dreams the fears of dying creep up on him wrapping their slimy hands around his throat, choking the boy with so much fear he couldn't even cry or put up a fight. he just allows the nightmare to kill him. and when he does die in the dream he wakes up, the air struggling to leave his lungs as he tries to erase the memories of the nightmare. it wasn't that richie was scared of dying–because he was, it was the fact that if he were to bite the dust in retrospect no one would actually care. and that's what scared the boy. no one caring about him. as much as he puts up this front of his trashmouth and wanting to be alone, richie tozier craved for someone to care for him. he wouldn't admit this but it would be nice to have someone at least attend his funeral if were to die.

looking over at the clock, it's glaring red numbers read; 1:30am. richie sinks into his pillow, reaching his hand over to grab the coke-bottle glasses that sat on his nightstand beside his bed.

it was rare for richie to get a decent amount of sleep. after his nightmares started richie found it difficult to fall back to sleep, the fear of having the same dream again making his bones ache with fear.

so that's where richie developed the routine of sneaking out of his window. he couldn't be in this house anyway, the aching memories burning his skin as he stayed in the house he grew up in. richie couldn't remember a time he was home and something good came out of it.

grabbing the dirty clothes from the floor he slips them on. making sure he had everything he needed for today he opens the window, the chilly night air slaps against his face. throwing down his backpack first, richie watches as it lands on the rose bush just below him. the soles of his shoes perch up against the windowsill. to anyone this sight would've looked weird, but to richie this was normal. he couldn't leave through the front door, his mother likely succumbed to her alcohol on the living room floor. he had to do his best to avoid that women.

pushing himself down the side of the makeshift ladder, he climbs down, jumping the last bit of the way. he makes sure he doesn't crash into those rose bushes, even if he hated his mother he still watched out for those stupid roses below him.

when he's safe on the ground he grabs his backpack. his bike was hiding against the shed, likely rusting away from the neglect richie had been giving it for the last couple years. tonight though he felt something tugging him towards the bike.

the streets were quiet as richie rode down them. the bike's rattling chain being the only sound making its way to richie's ears. he didn't know where his legs were taking him he just knew he had to get away from that god forsaken house. far away as he possibly could.

when he spots the quarry, he slows down his frantic movements the chain almost giving out making richie fill with panic. maybe it wasn't a good idea to ride this piece of shit. he grips the handle bars tightly, leaning forward.

in his attempt to stop the bike, the breaks which were badly rusted from sitting and not being in use, richie fails to notice the figure sitting on the rocks, their knees drawn to their chest as they left out shaky breaths.

fucking stupid bike. he curses to himself his boots skidding against the rocks. this gains the attention of the figure sitting on the rocks, looking towards the noise. squinting their eyes they make out a tall figure, who's curls seem to peak out from their hood. richie fucking tozier.