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    Summary

    Technically speaking, Bev doesn’t shower him. He explicitly asked her not to do that, and she respected his wishes even in his fucked-up state. She just stood on the other side of the curtain, on call in case he slipped and fell, which he didn’t, thank you very much. He just sorta…cried. A lot. That’s equally embarrassing as falling, but he finds that being three bottles of Budweiser deep makes it hard to care.

    “I put your sheets in the wash,” Bev says once Richie’s out of the shower and dressed in semi-clean clothes. “But I think that you should probably just order a new set.”

    Richie just groans and rests his head on the arm of his couch. “Fuck you.”

    “Yeah, yeah, fuck me, I get it.” She sighs. “What exactly are you on right now?”

    “Just high on life, Bevvie.”

    -- -- --

    As it turns out, becoming an axe-murderer, crushing an alien killer clown's heart, and having your first love die in your arms all in the same day isn't the most helpful thing for a recovering addict's mental state.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    3,295
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Kudos:
    7
    Hits:
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