serendipity {sequel to pop} || reddie

neuf

"Okay, bud. Come on, get up."
"How are you this depressed? Read your damn psych notes, Eddie, come on."
"Shut up, he's sad. For a good reason, too, poor thing."
"Well, if he keeps laying in bed all day, nothing's going to get done. He has, like, three papers to write."
"God, why are you trying to be a social worker? You're awful at this."
"Fuck you, Ally."
"Right back at you, Dean."

Eddie drowned them out. The two were standing in the doorway of his bedroom. Eddie was lying on his side, facing away from them, fresh tears trickling past his nose onto his pillow. His eyes were puffy and red from his pretty much constant crying, his lips raw, face always flushed with splotchy patches of color. He knew Dean was right. He shouldn't be this upset, Richie had only been gone for a few days, but it hurt so much. And he was in a constant state of fear, fear that he would forget Richie, or that Richie would forget him.

He had rarely moved from the bed, only getting up to use the bathroom and drink some water, occasionally eating and taking his pills when Dean forced him to. He'd missed his classes for the first time in his college career.

Eddie knew he needed to suck it up and get on with his life, because it wasn't going to wait for Richie; but he was going to wait for Richie, and the waiting was slowly tearing him apart. He kept jerking awake in the middle of the night, frantically grabbing at the sheets, assuring himself that he remembered who Richie was, who the Losers were, what Derry was, recalling every feature on Richie's face. The worst part was that as each day went by, it got harder and harder to recall.

"Eddie. Hey. You've got to shower, at least, dude." Ally's gentle voice floated over, and Eddie hugged himself tighter. Now that his memories had returned, he realized how much Ally reminded him of Beverly Marsh. "Get the fuck out, Dean, I've got this."

"Good fucking luck." Dean muttered, and Eddie heard his door shut. He felt Ally sit down on the edge of his bed, her hand coming to rest on his back, and he shivered.

"Still sad about Richie?" She asked, and Eddie nodded, trying to pull himself together. "The longer you wallow in it, the worse it'll get. Why don't you call him?"

Eddie let out a hoarse sob, his voice coming out much more broken and whiny than he'd intended. "Because I fucked it up, Ally! If he doesn't want to talk to me, I get it. He knows I want him to call. He said he would. So he has to be the one, and he hasn't yet!"

"Alright, alright, shh." Ally patted Eddie's back as he cried. She was a motherly figure, always good at comfort, but she'd never seen Eddie quite this upset. The only time that had come close was when Eddie hadn't slept for four days in an attempt to get a big project done, and then Dean had told him it was a C at best, and Eddie had had a total meltdown. "Look, I'll make you a bath. You really do need one, Eddie, it's been days. I promise you'll feel better once you get out of that bed, okay?"

Eddie reluctantly agreed, knowing the words were true. He rolled out of his bed and instantly felt ten times worse, swaying on his feet as a massive headache hit him full-force. Still, he let Ally lead him to the bathroom, where he sat down on the toilet lid as she got everything ready.

"I'll put in bubbles so I don't have to see your dick while I'm trying to talk to you." She joked, but Eddie didn't laugh, staring blankly at the floor. Ally was into girls anyway, it didn't matter. Nothing did, not without Richie. "It'll be okay, Eds."

Eddie drew in a sharp breath, tears pricking his eyes yet again as he covered his face with his trembling hands. "Don't call me that."

"I'm sorry." Ally apologized as she turned on the water to the bath. Eddie hadn't taken a bath (as opposed to a shower) in years. He'd taken one with Richie once, in Derry... and, fuck, now his thoughts were back on Richie. Richie and his stupid, unconditional love.