Whumptober 2020|| Reddie

10. Bruises

     Richie yanked the front door open, swallowing a metallic, slightly salty, taste that lingered in his mouth. His parents' yells echoed in his ears.

     Pathetic. Weak. Useless. Troublemaker. Annoying, loud piece of-

     "Richie!"

     The voice was light, happy, the opposite of the emotional hurricane swirling inside Richie at the moment. He looked up into Eddie Kaspbrak's honey brown eyes, breaking into a grin. "Sure as a begorrah, it's thishere wheezy feller again. Ah say, ah say, the luck of the Irish nevahh runs out, me foine, foine-"

     "Beep beep, Trashmouth," Eddie snickered, leaning into him. Richie winced slightly, a flare of pain shooting up his arm.

    They made their way to the Quarry, talking softly.

    "What happened to your face?" Eddie gently brushed his fingertips against a large bruise blooming in a rainbow of blues and purples. Richie shivered, the touch sending a parade of drums thumping through his chest.

     "Nothin' much to know, yer see. Ah s'pose ah just tripped, if yer know-"

     "Talk American please, Rich," Eddie groaned, shoving him lightly. Richie shrugged, kicking gravel across the road.

     "I fell off my bike." The lie, like so many other excuses he'd made over the years, passed easily through Richie's lips. Eddie scrutinized him, a flash of suspicion crossing his delicate features.

     "You fell off your bike?" he said dubiously. "When?"

     Richie's stomach twisted, the lies piling higher. One of these days, he'd surely be caught in the web he'd woven. He couldn't tell Eddie his parents had hit him.

     Because if his parents didn't love him, then why would Eddie Kaspbrak?

     They finally reached the Quarry, staring at the jagged rocks cutting cleanly through the earth. Eddie pulled off his shirt, saying, "The others are coming soon."

     Richie shifted uncomfortably. "I don't really want to swim today."

     Eddie looked at him in disbelief. "It's like a million degrees out. Aren't you hot?"

     "Dat's wight, wabbit!" Richie shrieked one a shrill voice. "Dat's coitainly what youah mothah said last night, yowza yowza yowza!"

     "Shut up, Richie, you know what I mean," Eddie said automatically, his cheeks turning a light pink. He prodded Richie's chest with his elbow- not hard, but directly on a particularly nasty bruise.

     Richie recoiled, pain flaring throughout his body as he gasped for breath. Eddie stared at him. "I'm sorry! Are you okay? What . . ." He stopped talking, and Richie knew the pieces must be flying together in his mind.

     The way Richie flinched at sudden movements. The layers of humor and snarkiness he hid behind. Bruises that appeared in places he couldn't hide- his face, for instance. He blamed it on Bowers.

     Eddie could read him like a book- a well-worn book full of pages that most people didn't bother to read, much less understand.

     Eddie laid a cautious hand on his shoulder as Richie stared fixedly at the ground.

     "You . . ." Eddie moistened his lips. "You didn't fall off your bike, did you."

     It wasn't a question.

     Richie didn't say anything. His silence was answer enough.

     "Richie." Eddie's voice wavered slightly. "How long have they been . . ."

     Long enough.

     When Richie didn't respond again, Eddie let out a little breath of air. "How bad is it?"

     Richie's mouth may as well have been glued shut for all the answers he gave. His eyes burned as he tried to hold back tears.

    (pathetic annoying weak annoying annoying annoying annoying)

     Eddie's hand hovered over Richie's back. "Can I . . . can I check how badly you're . . . ?"

     "Knew it. Even Edward Spaghedward can't resist Richard's richard." The joke fell flat, Richie's voice too hollow for it to come across as genuine.

     Eddie cautiously lifted Richie's shirt up. He inhaled sharply. "Oh god, Rich . . ."

     His fingertips danced lightly across Richie's heavily bruised back. "How have I never . . ." He looked up at Richie, his eyes burning with anger- not directed at him, but his parents. "You don't have to go back there, Richie. I can- you can live at my house-"

     "Right, because your mom would be thrilled to have me." That was it. No joke about it, no snide remark about fucking his mom. "Besides, maybe it's my own fault. Maybe if they didn't have an ADHD dipshit of a child-"

     "Don't you say that." Eddie's hand clamped around Richie's. "Don't you fucking say that, Trashmouth. Not your fault you have shitty parents."

     "But-"

     "Is what Bev's dad used to do to her because she didn't cover up? Was that her fault?"

     Richie stared at him, horrified. "Of course not. But-"

     "Then it's not your fault, Richie. This isn't . . . this isn't fucking okay for them to do this to you."

     Richie curled in on himself, biting his lip. "Are you going to tell the others?"

     "Not if you don't want me to." Eddie's voice was soft and comforting. "But they could help. Especially Bev."

     They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Eddie stood up. "C'mon," he declared, holding out his hand. "Let's go to that cruddy fast food place you love, what's it called again?" It was clear that he still wanted to talk about the problem at hand, but also recognized that what Richie desperately needed was a distraction.

     "Aren't the losers coming soon?" Richie mumbled, pulling his shirt back on. Eddie shrugged.

     "It's fine. I'll call Bill and tell him we're gonna be late."

     Richie stood up too, but he had another concern. "I don't have any money."

     "Don't worry about it. I can pay for your meal."

     Richie flailed his arm dramatically, trying his best to act natural. "Oh dear, am I being asked on a date?" Immediately after the words left his mouth, his face burned red and it felt as though a crate of butterflies had been released inside his stomach, fluttering around and making him feel jittery.

     He looked up to see that Eddie's face had turned an even brighter red. "I-"

     My mouth will undoubtedly be the fucking death of me.

     "Nevermind," Richie blurted out. "Sure, yeah, let's go, come on."

     They walked around for a bit, talking and trying to pretend everything was normal. Despite everything, Richie couldn't help feeling a small ray of hope.