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After the sleepover where Richie and Eddie kissed, they didn’t really talk. I mean, what would Eddie say? He couldn’t very well have a public relationship with him, not in a place like Derry. He lays on his bed, eyes closed, dreaming of what it would be like if his mom hadn’t found out about the alcohol and locked him in his room. That’s another thing. He’s pretty sure that he is grounded for all of eternity and he is never leaving his room again, not after he came home from the Denbrough’s smelling like weed and cheap booze. He hadn’t even taken a hit, but Richie had been smoking it, and Eddie had spent the night in his arms, cozy in his sleeping bag, and surrounded by friends.
The screaming fills his ears again, vivid as if it were happening right now, instead of a week ago. He had opened the door, still slightly buzzed, and planning to run upstairs and take a shower immediately, before his mom noticed anything was amiss. His stomach dropped out in horror when he saw the look on her face. She was standing in the kitchen, probably searching for some junk food, and he watched with dawning terror as she looked at the watch squeezed around her fat wrist. “You’re late Eddie-Bear.” Her voice was sharp, sending little needles prickling up his spine.
Eddie gulps, “I’m sorry Ma, I thought it would be fine. I’m sixteen now, and I was with my friends, I’m safe. I didn’t mean to worry you.” He inched through the door, duffel bag over one shoulder, and quickly stuck himself to the wall like a magnet.
“Eddie, sweetie, you know I don’t trust those children you hang out with. They’re all dirty, every single one of them.” She reaches into the cupboard, pulling out a box of strawberry Poptarts.
Eddie just rolls his eyes, “‘Those children’ are my friends, Ma. You can’t stop me from hanging out with them.”
Sonia Kaspbrak slithers towards her son, eyes narrowing as she detects something. “Eddie-Bear… what is that smell?”
Eddie cowers. As lethargic as his mother often seems to be, she’s not stupid. She has manipulated him his whole life, taking him on trips to the doctor’s for made-up reasons. It has always been, Eddie, you look a little pale, you shouldn’t go to school for a couple weeks. Or, Eddie, I swear I heard you cough last night, why don’t you stay home and watch some soaps with your Ma instead of hanging out with those disgusting children you call friends? He can see now that she is on the prowl, creeping towards him as he tries to subtly shuffle away. “Nothing Ma, I gotta go take a shower now, see you later!” He blurts, panicked, about to make a mad dash for his room.
Sonia practically snarls, one chubby hand wrapping around her son’s wrist in a vice grip that he just knows will bruise, and, in turn, lead to questions he’d rather not answer. “Why are you lying to me Eddie-Bear? Why are you lying to your Mama? You know this hurts my feelings Eddie-Bear, sneaking around like this.” Despite her words, his mother’s eyes aren’t filled with tears, or even glassy. They look gleeful almost, fixing Eddie with a cold, hard stare. Her nose twitches, “You smell like alcohol and drugs Eddie, were you smoking and drinking?”
Eddie pulls away from her, unable to shake off her meaty fist. “Let me go Ma,” he whispers tightly, voice laced with pain and fear.
Her stare is unflinching, and he can’t force himself to look away, so he sees how her eyes spark in response. Her tone drops an octave lower, truly turning dangerous, and Eddie whimpers, “Answer my question, Eddie.”
Eddie whimpers again, finally looking away as he tries to stave off any feeling that might break the dam. He focuses on his anger instead, fists clenching as he bites back. “Yeah mom, I had a couple drinks, okay?” he spits, quite literally, judging by the repulsed look on her face. “I didn’t smoke any pot though, I was just hanging out with Richie all night.”
Grimacing, Sonia asks, “That Tozier boy?” She grips his wrist tighter and tighter until the pain is unbearable, and he provides her with a satisfactory nod. “He’s no good for you Eddie-Bear, you ought not to be spending time with him, I heard he was dirty Eddie-Bear.”
“He’s not dirty, Ma!” Eddie yells, wrenching free of her grasp, “And neither am I!” A heavy silence falls over the room; Eddie feels like he’s about to throw up. Has he just said what he thinks he said? Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- His train of thought is cut off as he realizes he suddenly can’t breathe, breath whistling through his pinhole of a throat. Eyes still wide with shock, he whips out his inhaler, pumping it into his lungs once… twice. When he can finally wheeze a bit easier, he shoves his inhaler back in his pocket (he had abandoned the fanny pack a couple years ago), and turns to face his mother’s wrath.
She looks absolutely mortified. “Eddie,” he winces when she doesn’t use his nickname. His real name is reserved for when she gets angry enough to injure him; Like the bruises that now ring his right wrist. “You know what I think of that boy, don’t you? You know that he’s a faggot?” Eddie inhales sharply. He has heard his mom use the slur before, but that was when he thought it wasn’t true. Now? Well now it really hit home. She looks at him reproachfully, almost motherly, “You’re sick... aren’t you Eddie-Bear?”
Eddie frantically shakes his head, begging her to believe him. “No Ma, really! I like girls Ma, please,” he begins sobbing, the dam irreversibly broken.
“But you like Richie too, don’t you Eddie-Bear?” She walks over to his trembling frame, wrapping him in a hug that he knows to be artificial, but can’t help but lean into.
He sniffles, wiping away snot with a sweatshirt sleeve. But it’s not his sweatshirt sleeve. No wonder he smells like Richie, he had totally forgotten that he put the baggy black hoodie on, and he pulls it tighter around himself now, grounding his mind and body with the familiar scent. “I- I’m sorry Ma,” he sniffles, feeling suffocated, but also powerless to leave her grasp. Richie’s voice echoes in his head, Damn, does that have deeper meaning or what?
“Shhh, Eddie-Bear,” she comforts him, “It’s okay. We’ll fix this. We’ll fix you.”
A bolt of dread sinks into his gut, and he’s bleeding out. “Don’t send me away, Ma,” his eyes are sincere, full of fear at what he’s sure she’s going to say. He can’t bear to leave his friends. Can’t bear to leave Richie. You need help Eddie-Bear, help that I can’t give you, he imagines her saying. You just behave yourself while you’re gone and pay attention. Listen and learn, and soon you’ll be back, good as new. They’ll teach you to ignore all those things that you think you feel about Richie. You’re just confused, okay?
To his surprise, she does none of those things, “Of course not Eddie-Bear.” He sees the malicious glint in her eyes, but he knows that it’s not because she's lying. She may have backwards reasons for not getting rid of him, but it doesn’t change the fact that she won’t do it.
And all of that was a week ago. Now he opens his eyes, back in the present, and huffs at his shitty life. It’s the beginning of summer, he should be outside with his friends, not cooped up in his room! He rubs his purpled wrist, hoping for something in this monotonous existence to change, but not even the bruises have begun fading. The worst thing though, the real kicker? He isn’t even allowed to call his friends, isn’t allowed to tell them that he’s not avoiding them, that his batshit mother has just been keeping him locked inside his room this whole time. Oh god, what if they think he’s avoiding them because of what happened at the sleepover? What if Richie thinks he’s avoiding them because of what happened at the sleepover?
He flips himself onto his stomach, smooshing his face into his pillows. Richie definitely blames himself, he’s probably heartbroken. Something in Eddie’s chest clenches and guilt washes over him; None of this would’ve happened if he had just been more careful. He knew it was getting to be late in the morning, nearing his curfew of ten am, as it always was when he went to the Denbrough’s for sleepovers. He could’ve left when he was supposed to. All this time he was missing out on now was not worth the couple hours he had gotten then. Eddie buries his face deeper into his soft pillowcase, “FUCK!” he screams. Tears are pricking at the backs of his eyelids before he curls into a sobbing ball, wishing Richie would magically appear to comfort him.
“Eds?” a tentative voice asks. Eddie lifts his head to see Richie, one leg slung over the windowsill and a concerned look on his face.
“Rich-” he croaks, voice cracking before he can get out the second syllable. Then, Eddie bursts into a fresh bout of tears, the new ones slipping over the ones that had dried to his face.
Richie is up in a flash, scrambling through the window and pulling Eddie onto his lap, arms encircling him from behind. Eddie curls into his chest, letting himself be held until he stops quivering. After a few more minutes of Richie just rubbing his back in a soothing manner, he wraps his arms around the taller boy’s neck, pulling his head down to kiss him soundly. Richie seems a little surprised, but he goes with it, hugging him tightly to his chest and inhaling their combined scents. The kiss is chaste and comforting, all warm lips and salty tears and sweet hums. After a couple of minutes, Richie pulls away, quelling Eddie’s little noise of protest by running his long fingers through Eddie’s soft chocolate curls. “You okay, Baby?”
Eddie reacts to the pet name, curling a hand around one of Richie’s ankles. “Baby?”
“Oh,” Richie blushes deeply, “I’m sorry Eddie, I didn’t-”
Eddie quickly sits up and presses his strawberry-flavored lips to Richie’s chapped ones, effectively silencing him. Eddie smirks triumphantly, “If I had known that was all it took to shut you up, I would’ve done it long ago. I like the name Rich, relax.”
“That’s what your mom told me last night while she-”
“Beep beep Richie, I don’t even want to know where that one was headed.” He sighs, wrapping his arms and legs around Richie’s gangly form like a baby koala. “I missed you,” he mumbles into the crook of his neck, wanting nothing but to lay there wrapped in each other's arms.
Richie hugs him, but then pushes back his shoulders so that he can take the smaller boy’s hands into his own larger ones, covering them completely. He has long fingers and calloused palms and… Eddie should stop thinking about this when Richie is obviously trying to have a serious conversation with him. He feels his chin being lifted and he looks directly into the black pools of Richie’s eyes to see all the worry hiding in there. “What’s wrong?” he asks, “Where have you been for the past week?” His tone isn’t accusing like Eddie’s mother’s, just curious and a little wounded. That’s when he spots Eddie’s wrist, and his voice drops an octave as he hisses, “What did she do to you, Eds?
This sets Eddie off again, but Richie just pulls him tight to his chest and whispers sweet nothings into his ear until he calms down enough to choke out his story. “Now she knows Rich,” he finishes, “She knows and she said that I- I needed to be fixed-” He cuts himself off, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
“Hey,” Richie frowns down at Eddie, “You’re not broken, okay? Don’t ever feel broken for being who you are.” Eddie nods, sniffling, and nuzzles back into his chest, baby koalaing again. “Also… is that my sweatshirt?”
Eddie smiles guiltily, “I’m sorry I stole it. It smelled like you.”
Richie just tugs him closer, petting his hair. “Cute cute cute, Eddie Spaghetti.”
Richie’s warmth envelopes him in the best way possible, and he burrows deeper into his side. He’s almost drifted completely off to sleep when he hears himself mutter, “I love you,” and then he’s out like a light.