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thirty&three- conscious

"she hates me."

"richie," i sighed, playing with his hair. his head was on my lap as his eyes looked back up at me like a small child. he had taken his glasses off, so his eyes would occasionally lose focus.his hands laid cris-crossed on top of his chest, as if he was in a funeral casket. he would look peaceful at first or eighth glance, but he wasn't.

conscious

"it's okay," i whispered to him. i leaned down and kissed his forehead, but i knew it wasn't enough. he laid the same, except his eyes were closed.

"i'm sorry i'm not enough," i explained. his shoulders grew tense, but he never dared to open his eyes and look back at me. i felt my eyes start to tear up, but i didn't look away. he seemed almost peaceful, like a corpse laid at rest or a divine angel during prosperity. however, his thoughts were so much different. there was no prosperity, and he was not dead. i just stared helplessly. i heard a sharp breath from him as he opened his mouth to speak.

"you're more than enough," richie whispered, slowly opening his eyes to look at me. a tear fell from my left eye which caused richie to flinch as it fell on the center of his forehead. i profusely apologized waving my hands back and forth slightly.

"don't be sorry!" richie sat up and grabbed my wrists. we both paused for a second. "you have done nothing wrong!" his head rested on my shoulder as he hugged me. he seemed to tower over me as i sat criss-cross and he stood on his knees. his leaning made us fall backwards and onto the bed. i slowly cried, letting out everything. his arms wrapped around me tighter and tighter, making my sobs slow down and eventually stop.

his room was quiet, cold. it was as if something died or was missing. i felt like it was leap day all over again, but now, something was actually wrong. leap day was like a small preview of built up anger finally collapsing underneath me, but this was worse. i wanted to go home, but i wanted to be with richie.

"she just needs time," i explained to richie, "and i'm sorry i can't do anything. i'm sorry."

richie shushed me repeatedly, "you don't need to apologize." he put his hand behind my head and tilted it onto his shoulder, "i just want to know, and it's not your fault."

i breathed in through my nose and smelled the old familiar scent of watermelon. my head rested comfortably as i attempted to sleep. it all felt surreal, waves of emotions everywhere.

however, i couldn't fall asleep.

guilt rose in me once again, my eyes shooting open. i felt as if it was all my fault, and that i couldn't do anything about it. a million ideas soared around my head of something to say before i went to sleep in order to relieve my guilt trip, but nothing really came to mind. instead, i wrapped my arms tighter around his waist, trying to feel the comfort i once did.

"stop thinking so much, eds," richie whispered, "you are doing everything perfectly."

but was i?

—

"i don't know, eddie," stanley shook his head. we walked along the path to the pharmacy, for i needed some medication refills. although i wanted to think of anything else, beverly and richie worried me, so i thought to ask stan. he looked over at me, "bill tried to see if she wanted to hand out the other day, but she didn't pick up the phone."

stanley and bill told each other everything, so i chalked up the situation to being worried about her. richie was at his house, still sleeping while i had left early in the morning without leaving anything. i wouldn't want to let stanley know anything without richie letting him. stanley brushed some of his curls out of his face as he walked down the sidewalk swiftly. the newly installed overhead speakers that ran down the strip played popular, up beat songs. it was quite ironic considering the current situations. "i'm quite sure she's alright, though," he assured, "she seemed fine last time i saw her."

the bell for the pharmacy rang loudly throughout the room, causing greta to perk up from behind the cash register. she waved with a smirk, "hey fags, come here for condoms?"

bored

"greta," i sighed, walking down the isle towards her, "why must you always make some bitchy comment?" she shrugged and walked away with a piece of paper that i had placed in front of her. the loud popping of her gum made stanley jump for a quick moment, but i didn't bother flinching. it had become such a normal noise to hear for me that i just ignored it, as if the noise was television static. she put a few bags in front of me, not changing her smirk. when stanley and i began to walk away from her, she spoke up again.

"you know, your whole group comes around here all the time," she said nonchalantly, "the red head was just in here yesterday with the fat one."

i looked over at stanley, who looked right back. without turning around, i spoke up, "what did they end up buying?" greta made a quick laugh and climbed over the counter. without another word, she grabbed something off the shelf next to us and tossed it over. stanley caught it messily with his right arm and held it up.

"a pack of lights," greta explained, "the whore's eyes were red as hell walking in and out of the store, and she wreaked of pot."

i sneered thinking of the smell of marijuana. i distinctly remembered the smell when my mom dragged me out of the old candy store when i was three. she kept yelling about the 'goddamn potheads ruining her son's brain'.

"my father heard from the bishop that the fat one came and confessed through that confession box," she said, walking back to her station behind the counter, "the bishop knew from his little bitch voice."

i grabbed stanley by the arm and quickly walked out of the pharmacy. i turned around before the door closed.

"fuck you greta!"

—

"weed!" i shouted, "walking into richie's house. both of his parents' cars were gone, so i knew he was home alone, "beverly smokes weed!" stanley was trailing behind me, not knowing what to say.

richie looked up at me, confused as ever. he pushed his glasses up and played with his hair, trying to wrap his mind around the situation, "and who told you this?"

"greta," stanley started to ramble, "apparently the bishop is going around spreading rumors about beverly, since ben confessed to it through that box thing or whatever you catholics do... which is really weird! who in their right mind would confess to a man that is ordained in catholicism!"

"slow down!" richie looked at him, "i know you all think beverly is some no good bad influence, but she's not! weed isn't that bad anyways!"

"but what's next?" stanley argued, "first cigarettes, and then weed, and then what? cocaine? we need to stop her from doing this!"

"you'll only make it worse!" richie argued, "i've known beverly for so long, you've only known her for a number of months!"

"eddie," stanley looked at me. i knew the words he was going to say, and i knew that i had no response. the pause between his words seemed forever as i waited for the question.

"what do you think?"

i stood there, dumbfounded. i wanted to answer honestly, but i didn't know what the honest answer was. weed wasn't bad, but why all of the sudden, after everything that is happened, is she smoking it? what caused her to go to cigarettes? i didn't need her to stop for the sake of stopping; i needed her to stop because something else was causing her to. what do someone do in that situation? i opened my mouth to speak, "i..."

both stanley and richie were staring at me, waiting for me to say that they were right. stanley saw me as some person hurting from my mom telling me that everyone and everyone is going to make me sick or someone else sick too, but richie saw me hurting from seeing beverly, my friend, possibly going to become more upset. they were both right, but what was the right thing to me?  simple answer.

"i don't know."