Sleep still hazes Richie's mind as he stands by the front door, his eyes closed. His backpack weighs heavy on his shoulders, full of school supplies and an extra set of clothes. After a moment of thuds and dragging along the floors upstairs, Maggie came downstairs with Wentworth at her heels. The two each carry a suitcase, but the both were only for one.
"Promise to call when you land?" Maggie asks as she sits the suitcase down next to the door.
Richie cracks a tired eye open as Wentworth pecks his wife on the cheek. "I'll do you one better. I'll call at the airport."
Maggie nods and a small, nervous smile slides onto her face. "Stay safe. I've heard crazy things about Indiana."
"Those 'crazy things' were back in the 80's, honey," Wentworth says and opens the front door. Richie pushes himself off the wall and stands straight before his mother can instruct him to do so. He hasn't spoken to either of his parents since last night, yet he doesn't want to leave it off on such an awkward note..
"Bring me back a souvenir." Went nods and looks to his son. He visibly hesitates, his hand stuttering before slowly raising to gently clap Richie on the shoulder.
"I will. Don't you worry that head of yours."
His confidence dropped greatly after he got fired from his job as a dentist two years ago. Then Maggie's miscarriage... It seems like both his parents' old ghosts hang over their personalities, an empty shell of who they once were.
Maggie helps her husband with his suitcases down the porch steps and to the trunk of his car. Richie walks outside after them, snow crunching under his shoes. The skies never lightened up and rolling gray clouds cover the sky for as far as Richie can see. It makes sense as it is early December, but he would kill to see some blue.
The car starts up and Richie's eyes are torn away from above. He watches as his mother warns his dad about the possible ice under all that snow and he only waves her off.
"It'll be fine, Mag! I'll call you later."
She breaths out and white steam curls up high above her head. "Alright," she says and finally steps back from the car.
Went backs out into the street, pausing to wave to his family. Maggie waves back and Richie salutes his father. He drives off down the street, slush flying out from under the tires.
"I gotta Zayn," Richie says and hops down the rest of the front steps.
"Do you have everything for Beverly's?" Maggie questions as he pulls open his own car door.
"Yes, mom. And even if I didn't, I leave enough clothes over there to open a whole store." Richie reaches over to close the door, but Maggie's hand stays planted on top of it and he looks up at her expectingly. She has her bottom lip pressed between her teeth as she stares at her shoes.
"I'm sorry," she finally says. "For not being here. And with your father gone for the next few weeks.." she trails off and breaths in deeply.
"It's just ul-right Mummsie!" Richie says, a hand raising in the air. "No need to be so sad, now!"
Maggie chuckles sadly and lets go of the car door. "Drive safely! I'll be home at the usual time if you need anything." Richie only nods and brings two fingers to his forehead in a curt salute as he pulls the car door closed. Maggie shakes her head, but a small smile lingers.
~~~
School passed by too slow for a Friday. Announcements droned on longer than needed and the bell seemed a minute off, but when it finally rang, Richie tore out of his Geometry class and to Beverly.
He saw Eddie talking with Stanley at the latter's locker as he packed his things away. He was tempted to go over and say hello, but when Bowers and his goons started down the hallway, Richie's heart sank and instead headed to his original destination.
Beverly wasn't gifted a car for her 16th like Richie was and rode with him to her aunts house. Beverly's aunt was gone at work until 5:30, so the two had the next 2 hours alone to do whatever.
"No, Richie! We played your music last time," Beverly says as she swats Richie's hand away from her phone.
"But Lana Del Rey? Seriously?" He asks and sits back in the white rolling chair.
Beverly nods and waits for her radio to sync up with her phone. "Yes, Lana Del Rey. You're just going to have to deal with it."
Richie's eyes roll and he spins to face the desk. It's piled with a lamp, pen and pencil holders, and school work that Beverly usually does once she gets home. But those are all pushed to the edges and a bag of cotton balls and a few glass bottles of nail polish sit in the middle.
"Where's the black?" Richie asks, a finger pushing back a pink bottle.
"I used the rest last time. My aunt hasn't gotten me more yet," Beverly's voice responds from far behind him.
One of her favorite songs erupts from the radio. It's quickly quieted down and deep chimes fill Beverly's room. She hums the first lyric before softly singing, "Sneaking out, looking for a taste of real life.."
"You don't sneak out," Richie says with a smile.
"I can." Beverly pulls up a second chair next to the desk. It's not a rolling one so the legs stutter against the carpet as Beverly forces it from it's corner. "But there's no place to sneak out to. You're always coming over here."
Richie shrugs and plasters a hand to the desk. "My house is boring as hell, man. At least you have shit to do here."
Beverly hums shortly in response and separates the polishes from each other. "Which one?" She asks as she drops her hand to the floor, picking up a bottle of nail polish remover. Richie scans each one, debating between the deep purple or light blue. His mind flashes to Eddie's green and red nails and he wonders if Beverly can paint just as perfectly.
"I'll do the purple," Richie responds. As she shakes the bottle up, Richie leans his head back and lets his eyes trail over Beverly's room. He's been in this room more times than he can count, yet the clutter that lines the walls never stay the same for more than a week.
Beverly's singing makes Richie roll his head back to the desk. "You should be on The Voice," he says and Beverly pushes out a laugh. "I should, though. I bet I'll beat all the other contestants."
"Is that even how that show works?" Richie asks and Beverly looks up at him. "I'm not sure. America's Got Talent works like that." Richie watches as Beverly finally takes the brush to his nail.
Cold washes over it, settling deep and making Richie want to take his hand away. "Jesus. Are you putting antifreeze on my nail?" He asks and Beverly bows her head closer to get a better angle.
"You'll live, Rich."
"Touché."
Later on, way after Richie's nails have dried, Beverly comes walking back in with her hair straightener and a handful of butterfly clips.
"I'm not in a fucking salon, Bev," Richie says, eyeing the things in Beverly's hands.
"For tonight you are."
She dumps them onto the foot of her bed and instructs Richie to trade seats so she has a better angle to his hair. "I'm not fucking doing this. My hair is to be left wild and untamed."
Beverly untangles a cord wrapped around her arm and lifts her eyes. "Get in the damn chair so I can do your hair," she says and Richie sharpens his gaze into a glare.
"The things I do for you," he says and reluctantly moves to the chair across from him.
A smile slides onto her face and she brings the straightener over to the desk, bending down to push the plug in under the lamp cord. "Better get comfortable, Richie, you're not going to be moving for a while," she warns as she turns the heat up. Richie huffs out and pushes himself up.
"Then I'm getting water."
Beverly lets him go, waiting by her desk for both the straightener to heat up and Richie to come back.
Beverly's aunt moved to Derry the summer between Freshman and Sophomore year after the.. incident with Beverly and her father. She doesn't like to talk about it and Richie doesn't push her to. Alas, he was there when she spoke with the police.
The only nice houses available were across town from Richie's house and Beverly's old apartments. She moved into a ranch house and gave Beverly the whole basement to herself. The lower level consisted of a bedroom, bathroom, a small rec center, and a non-alcoholic bar which Beverly's aunt converted into a small kitchen.
Beverly took it upon herself to string fairy lights around the place. White ones wrapped around the stairs railing, colorful ones hung in loops around the bar, and both colored and white lights strung around on the ceilings in the rec center. It was a bit chaotic, sure, but it was their space.
Richie fills a glass he got from the lower cabinets using the sink and takes a drink. When he does, his eyes catch the deep purple painted on his nails. It's not the first time he's painted his nails, but every time he does he can't help but feel strange when his eyes catch the color.
"Richie!"
"Beverly!" He yells back but doesn't move. It takes a second, but Richie soon hears footsteps pad around in her room. He detaches himself from the edge and walks back.
Beverly's pushing her fingers through her collection of butterfly clips, picking out an assortment of colors when Richie walks back in. Another Lana Del Rey song plays from Beverly's scuffed radio. It's quiet and if you focus your mind on something else, the singing goes mute in the background.
"Sit," Beverly instructs when she notices Richie standing in the middle of her room. He obliges and continues to sip on his water as Beverly comes over. She spills the hair clips onto the desk, a clattering sound coming from them as they bounce to a stop.
"You turning me into a Soft Girl or some shit?" He asks, his gaze lifting to Beverly's.
She smiles softly and moves behind Richie. "So much so that Jackie Burkhart will be jealous," she responds.
Richie lets Beverly weave her fingers through his hair. Every now and then one of her rings will get caught on a strand of his hair and pull at it painfully. Each time he'll say a different version of: "I swear to God if I go fucking bald because of your rings we'll both be walking around with no hair."
At one point, when the straightener got a bit too close to Richie's neck, he huffed out and muttered: "There's going to be another murder on Derry's hands pretty soon."
"Don't joke about that, Rich," Beverly says as she takes back the straighter.
He shrugs and flicks the rim of the cup again. "Why not? The murders happened years ago." An arm reaches over his shoulder and Beverly fingers around for a butterfly clip.
"Because.. Bill's brother was one of those victims.."
Richie inhales sharply. He makes sure Beverly isn't in the middle of straightening his hair and leans forward to shift around in the chair.
"You think I don't know that?" He asks as he stares up at Beverly. His achilles stretch almost painfully because of his position - sitting on his toes. She looks away, the clip rolling around between two fingers. "Georgie was all over the news for weeks. I heard it reached out to other states cause of how gruesome his murder was." Beverly motions for him to turn back around, not once meeting his eyes again.
He does, thankful to get his ankles back to their proper position. "I'm glad they got that sick freak," Beverly says and places a hand on top of Richie's head. Hair gets gently pulled as she straightens it. "You heard what he was wearing when they caught him, right?"
Richie fights the urge to nod, knowing what would probably happen if he does. "Yeah. Killer Ronald McDonald on the loose! Hide your kids, hide your wife! Don't go under the Neibolt porch unless you want to meet your bloody doom!"
"That's where he was hiding?" Beverly asks, not commenting on anything else that spewed from Richie's mouth.
"Yeah, dude. He tied balloons to the porch to lure kids and the police came to check it out instead. Found him in his clown costume with a knife under the porch," Richie explains. Beverly hums in response and ruffles a section of his hair as he continues. "I was certain it was Bowers who was doing it but then Cockstetter got what was coming for him." Richie goes quiet, a finger circling the cups rim before whispering, "...then I was scared."
Beverly sets the straighter down on the desk. "Patrick was a jerk, but I don't think he deserved to be murdered. Especially in the sewers."
Richie feels her pull back some of his hair and clip it down, the clip digging into his scalp slightly as she does. "Bowers and his sluts get everything that come for them," Richie responds.
His mind flashes back to 8th grade during passing period. Dread fills his bones, setting them aflame with fear. Anger settles deep within the flames, but the fear overpowers any rage-fulled courage Richie has. Only parts of the fight flash through his mind. Everything had happened so fast.
"I still stand by what I said." Richie nods and sets his cup down on the school books.
"Me too."
The two go quiet and Beverly continues on with her straightening. She's only done the back so far and the hair that's clipped to the front stay in their waves.
Richie quickly grows bored with no conversation going or anything to keep his mind occupied. He tells Beverly to pause before reaching across the desk for his phone. He settles back into the chair and Beverly resumes once more.
It's nice having one extra text stream other than Molly Ringwald, Mom, Dad, and one with Richie and his two parents. He opens the newest one and lifts his phone to aline with his face.
"What are you doing?" Beverly asks as she stares herself back in Richie's open camera.
"Smile, Molly!" He says before grinning. She quickly throws up a middle finger and Richie snaps the picture.
"Who's that for?" She asks as Richie lowers his hand.
"That's confidential," he says and pulls his phone close to his chest. He sends the picture, watching as the blue line crawls across the top of his screen, pauses, and shoots off.
Richie
aren't I the cutest?
Eds
I've seen prettier boys
Richie
:(