Chapter Text
It was a cold, chilly Thursday afternoon, the air crisp, the sky glowing crimson pink. Richie was there, sitting on his back porch, but feeling so, so far away. Wishing to be anywhere else. Anywhere as long as it was far enough away from this place that he'd never have to see it again.
He'd skipped school, yet again. This made the third time this week. A drag off his cigarette filled his lungs, the feeling almost comforting. Exhaled. The smoke billowed around him like a cloud, no breeze in sight to blow it away. He smirked, a small, almost sad smile playing at his lips.
He was totally and completely alone, as he'd found himself before, but this was different. This was deafening silence and the yearning to be close to someone, anyone. He had been alone for far too long. He craved someone's presence.
Looking around, sighing, he flicked his still burning cigarette butt across the yard, shaking his head in what was almost defeat. He'd always be alone, he realized. His reckless behavior, his lack of self care. He was a disaster in motion. Alone, to explode or implode by himself.
The silence ate away at him, drove him crazy. Mad. He was mad. Mad at himself for being alone, mad at his parents for leaving him alone and taking his sister. His sister, god how he missed his sister. Addy was everything he could ask for in a sibling. Funny, caring. And his fucking parents took her away when they left him alone in this god forsaken house.
His head shook again, and he laughed a quiet, humorless laugh. He hated them, he hated himself, he hated the whole damned situation he was in. But he couldn't bring himself to change it. He couldn't bring himself to do anything but relish in the silence that he hated so much because it was so loud and intruding. Because it forced him to think of things like breaking his hand on that kids face that one time because they called him a fucking pussy. Things like how he accidentally put a cigarette out on himself because he missed the ash tray when he was so drunk that he saw double. About that time he did the same again, but sober because he liked the way it felt. Oh, how he had liked the way it felt.
He raked a hand through his long, soft, black curls and sighed once more before putting his hands on his knees and standing from his spot on the step. His heart felt so heavy that he almost fell back. But he didn't. He stayed standing and stepped quietly, cautiously back into the living room of the house, his house that he was all alone in.
"Such a broken place," he mumbled to himself, quietly, his voice husky and grim.