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While running out of the arcade, only one thought goes through Richie's mind: fuck .
There are tears stuck to his lashes as the moment replays over and over in his head- the way his hand brushes Connor's, then the moment Connor is calling him out for what he is , and Bowers coming along and doing the same thing because they were right , he was a dirty little-
He sits down hard on a bench in the park, wiping at his eyes. The hot metal digs into his skin, but he finds that he doesn't mind the burns with all the horrible thoughts running rampant in his head.
At this moment, it's never been more clear to him that he hates this fucking town. He hates his parents for ever considering this place. He hates the fact that people like Connor and Henry Bowers exist just to punish some kids that had never really done anything in the first place other than being themselves.
He's angry that he has to be this fucking sensitive.
That's when a horrible laugh rings out, freezing him on the spot. It hangs heavy, with an air of something sinister, and Richie knows where it's coming from without ever needing to look. The laugh haunts his dreams whenever he finds himself tired enough that the nightmares don't sound so bad after all.
"So sad," It cries, It's grip on the ballons tightening, and Richie vaguely registers what the shape means before the clown is continuing, eyes boring into Richie's head. "Nobody wants to play with a clown anymore."
And Richie is fully aware now, more than ever, that his fear of clowns is justified, even in this messed up sort-of way. Even when all that it takes is a clown with a penchant for murder and stealing children and scaring kids so horribly that their lives are forever changed.
It perks up before asking, "How about a game?" It lets go of the ballons and claps Its hands, the ballons staying where they had been, not tethered down in the slightest. It smiles at him, and Richie can feel the disgust and fear twisting together in his gut.
The smile turns into a smirk as It asks, "Truth or dare, Richie? Is that a game you'd like to play?" It jumps down, the ballons slowing the fall. Dread seeps into him from the air around him, And Richie stands, eyes wide as they track the approaching horror. "Oh, but you don't want to pick truth, do you?" It taunts, and Richie somehow turns and runs, runs like someone had lit the back of his pants on fire.
That doesn't help him as It shouts from behind him, "I know your secret!" It sings happily, and Riche can't help the full-body shudder that almost trips him up. "Your dirty little secret!" The end of it turns to ice in his veins as he trips, scraping his knees badly, and unfortunately, hurting his ankle. He tries to stand after that, but any pressure on his left leg is met with throbbing pain.
"Fuck," he mutters, and then Pennywise is on him, standing only a few feet away and repeating those damned lines over and over, forcing memories into his head that he absolutely did not want.
He clamps his hands over his ears, shouting that it isn't real, that It can't be real because this was something that he'd never imagine happening. Not the forced, public outing by Bowers, not Connor, and especially not the white and red face of It, grinning down at him as he laid terrified and unable to move.
that's how Mike manages to find him moments later, shouting into thin air with puffy eyes and tears still streaming down his cheeks.