BowStringPrincess: I had actually really wanted to do something with Maureen, but had trouble thinking of an idea. A friend of mine helped me out. And don't worry, it's not the last time you'll be seeing Maureen.
Zorua1: I'm sorry about making you cry, I honestly didn't think that the chapter would have that effect on people. I'm hoping that you enjoyed it, though!
All right, now this is a warning. This chapter is pretty dark and it was kind of hard to write because it hit close to home for me. It'll have offensive language, depression, self-harming, and attempted suicide. I ended up using my own experience dealing with anxiety and depression to help with writing this, hence why it was so difficult. I'm sorry if it seems rushed towards the end.
.:Line Break:.
Why? Why was this happening to him? Why did this always happen to him?
Richie grunted as he was thrust roughly into yet another locker. Jason Fields loomed over him with his two friends, Steven Cooper and Eric Johnson, malevolence plain as day on their faces.
Richie shrunk back and looked around for help, but knew it was futile. It was after school and the halls were barren. Virgil had had to leave quickly to help his father at the community center and Kathrine had also left in a hurry to help her sister with grocery shopping. There was no one around to save him...
Jason seized Richie by the front of his hoodie and yanked him forward, drawing a startled noise from the genius. "What's the matter, Foley? Not going to call your girlfriend for help?"
Eric sneered and snapped Richie's bra strap, causing him to flinch, "Does she know that you're more of a girl than she is?"
"Better yet," Steven spoke up, "does she know that you're a fucking fag?"
Richie clenched his eyes shut as his tormentors laughed. This abuse had started about two months ago. It was the end of gym class when Richie had returned to the locker room to change. To his absolute horror, he discovered that Jason Fields had broken into his locker and found his bra, exposing his secret of being a cross dresser. Jason had, of course, laughed at him and even passed his bra around the locker room, all while Richie tried futilely to get the article of clothing back. The entire locker room had been laughing and taunting him by the time Virgil came back with a teacher. While the gym teacher had gotten his bra back and scolded Jason for taunting the genius, he still looked at Richie the same way everyone else had. He had looked at him like he was a freak.
Ever since then, Jason and his friends had been cornering him whenever he was alone to harass him, just like this. He was too ashamed to tell anyone, let alone Kathrine. His girlfriend always protected him, but because of the words of Jason and his friends, and Richie's own father, he felt just a little pathetic for not being able to defend himself. He was afraid that Kathrine would eventually get tired of having to protect him and leave him for someone she didn't have to protect, someone who could protect her for a change...
The blond felt his misery building inside him at the dark turn of his thoughts, his eyes welling with tears. "No, not here! Not in front of them!" he thought desperately, doing his damnedest not to cry.
It was no use. The abuse and pain he had been experiencing had gotten so bad that it had started impacting his life. His appetite had diminished and just getting out of bed in the morning had become a chore. Kathrine had noticed something was off, of course. How could she not? Richie did his best to convince her that he was okay, though. She didn't really seem to believe him, but she respected him and didn't pry further, believing that he would talk to her when he was ready. She'd always remind him that she loved him and that she was always there for him.
Richie's tears finally fell. He had lied to her. He wasn't okay. It hurt. It hurt so much. The pain taunted him his every waking moment. It relentlessly reminded him that he wasn't normal, whispered to him about what a freak he was. It made him feel small, worthless, insignificant. It made him sob into his pillow for hours, wishing for anything to make it stop, wishing to just disappear. It made him feel like he wasn't good enough for anyone, least of all her.
"Dude, look!" Eric sniggered, "He's fucking crying!"
"What a fucking girl!" Steven chimed in.
Richie clenched his eyes shut as his bullies howled with laughter.
Why were they doing this? Couldn't they see that he was in agony? He just wanted it all to stop. Why wouldn't they just stop?
Jason sneered and slammed Richie's back into the lockers so hard that he was certain to have bruises later. "So you like playing dress up, huh, Foley? You like being pretty?" he taunted, leaning closer to the blond, "I'm about to make you look ugly. So ugly that your psycho macho girlfriend won't want anything to do with you anymore!"
Jason pulled back his fist, preparing to hit the genius. Richie braced himself for impact.
"Please... make it all stop!"
Suddenly, something hot hurtled past Jason and Richie's faces, causing both the bullies and the victim to freeze.
"Fuck off, Fields."
To Richie's absolute shock, it had been Francis "Hotstreak" Stone who had come to his rescue. The reformed criminal leisurely strode over to them, hair smoking and eyes completely white. Being a few inches taller, the pyro easily loomed over Jason and his friends, his disdain for the three apparent.
"What do you want, Francis?" Jason scowled.
"It's Hotstreak, jerk." he corrected in a surprisingly even tone of voice, "And I just told you to fuck off. Were you not listening or are you and your buddies just too fucking stupid to understand?"
Steven was stupid enough to try to get in the bang baby's face. "What makes you think that we're going to take orders from a pussy-whipped little bitch like you?"
The anger management classes that Francis had been taking, Richie idly realized as he watched the scene unfold, actually seemed to be paying off. Instead of torching him, as the old Hotstreak would have done, he calmly replied, "It's better than having to suck Jason's dick all the time."
Steven's face burned in anger and embarrassment as he foolishly took a swing at Francis. Hotstreak simply grabbed Steven by the wrist and effortlessly threw him over his shoulder and down the hall. They watched, slack jawed, as Steven skidded across the floor on his back.
Francis turned back to the other two bullies, seemingly bored, "Anyone else want a turn?"
Eric wisely took off in the opposite direction, leaving Jason to fend for himself.
"Looks like your pal is smarter than you, Fields."
Jason only glared at the pyro, clearly debating whether to try to take him on or run like Eric had.
Francis took a step forward, narrowing his eyes. "Drop him."
Jason did as he was told, knowing that he wasn't going to tell him a second time. Richie fell to the floor, his back resting up against the cold lockers.
Jason pointed at Hotstreak as he slowly backed away, attempting to look menacing, "This isn't over, Hotstreak!"
Hotstreak glanced over his shoulder at Steven, who was now running away, then turned back to Jason. "Seems pretty over to me, chump."
Jason snarled, then turned and fled.
Hotstreak sighed and shook his head. He then turned to Richie and, much to the blond's surprise, held his hand out for him. "You okay, Foley?"
Richie felt anger and embarrassment bubble up from within him. He hadn't wanted anyone to see him like this, least of all his former bully. Scrubbing the tears away with the sleeve of his hoodie, Richie slapped Hotstreak's hand away. The redhead's brows rose as he watched the genius stand, blue eyes glaring at him.
"Why the hell do you care?" Richie snapped, "I thought you didn't like me. Why help me? Katrina isn't here for you to impress!"
Hotstreak withdrew his hand, looking disturbed rather than angry by the outburst. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he scanned the blond's face. He was paler than usual, dark bags under bloodshot blue eyes. He saw something dark in Richie's eyes. Something that he recognized, something that worried him...
"Where's the gargoyle?"
Richie blinked, surprised. "Kathrine left early with Katrina to go grocery shopping. They haven't had a chance recently because of patrol."
Hotstreak nodded slowly, "You're going home, right?"
"Yeah..." That's what he had been trying to do when he had been attacked by Jason and his friends.
"Well, be careful." Hotstreak started to walk away, but he stopped and glanced back at the genius. "Foley... don't do anything stupid." Then he continued walking, as though he hadn't said anything at all.
Richie stared after the pyro for a few moments, wondering what he meant by that. Eventually he shook the thought off and started to make his way home.
.:Line Break:.
His walk home was silent and miserable. Since he was by himself he was left alone with his thoughts. He couldn't help but think about all the things Jason and his friends had said and done to him over the past two months. He recalled the hatred and disgust in their eyes as they jeered at him.
He knew he wasn't normal. Kat had always told him that normal was boring and that he was unique, special. That there was nothing wrong with him. Lately though, he had been having doubts.
Maybe Kathrine was wrong. Maybe Jason and his friends were right. Maybe he was just a freak. Maybe Katrina and Virgil were only friends with him because they felt sorry for him. Maybe Kathrine only stayed with him out of pity.
Richie wiped his eyes with his sleeve as he started crying again. His thoughts pained him, but his chest felt empty. It had become a familiar feeling over the past two months and he hated it. He just wanted it to stop.
Richie made sure that he had wiped away all traces of his tears by the time he reached his front door. He knew that his mother would be out running errands and his father would be home, having gotten off work early. The genius wasn't in the mood to listen to his father's remarks. He'd probably lecture him about how it wasn't right for boys to cry.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked inside. He then jumped, hearing a loud crash from upstairs. That's when he noticed that his bedroom door was wide open and the light was on. Racing up the stairs to his room, ice cold dread consumed him. When he reached the doorway and looked inside, he saw that his worst fears had been realized.
His father was in his room, a furious expression on his face. He was glaring down at Richie's box of women's clothing, various garments from the box strewn about his bedroom.
"Richie, what is this?" he growled through gritted teeth.
He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the genius knew that this wouldn't end well. "D-dad... W-what are you-"
"I came in here to get my tool kit that I lent you and found this shit instead! What is this, Richie?"
Richie swallowed nervously and tried his best to keep his voice steady. "I-i-it's mine, dad. I w-wear them. I'm a cross dresser..."
"A cross dresser?! Did that punk put you up to this?"
"No, Kat didn't have anything to do with this. I started doing this on my own."
"Unbelievable!" Richie watched, wide eyed and panicked, as his father began gathering the clothes back in the box. "I can't believe my son is some girly ass bitch." he muttered, disappointment lacing his words.
"W-wait, dad! What are you doing?"
"I'm putting this shit where it belongs, in the trash."
"No! You can't do that!" Richie yelled.
His father looked him dead in the eyes and said with a scowl, "Richie, I will not have you acting like a freak in my house."
The genius staggered, feeling as though he had had the wind knocked out of him. His father's words had hurt, more so than anything Jason and his friends had said to him. Sure, he and his father didn't always see eye to eye, but he always loved him. He had never called him a freak. Gazing into his father's eyes, he could see his blatant disappointment. His disappointment in him, in who he was. Richie had let him down...
His mind began racing, a myriad of emotions overwhelming him. He had to run. He had to get away. He needed to think!
Richie bolted out of the house, startling his mother as he darted past her out the front door and into the night. He didn't want to burden his friends with his problems, so he headed for the only place he knew he'd find solitude.
.:Line Break:.
Richie had been pacing back and forth in the Gas Station of Solitude for the past hour, the time alone doing nothing but feeding the disquiet of his mind.
He kept thinking about his bullies and his father. He thought of all the times Virgil or Kathrine had had to save him. He thought of all of the times he had gone to Katrina for advice because he was unable to figure things out on his own. He recalled all of the times one of his inventions had failed.
His mind slowly, agonizingly, picked out each and every time in his life that he had messed up, all the times that he had proved himself to be inadequate.
Richie stopped pacing, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to silence the dark thoughts. Clutching his head with both hands, he dug his fingernails into his scalp. It was something he had started doing when the dark thoughts first began. He hoped that the physical pain would distract him from the unbearable emotional pain and emptiness he felt. He didn't care if he bled, he just wanted it to stop.
But his mind was relentless. It dissected him, his personality, picking him apart, analyzing him and everything he had ever done, every choice he had ever made. It pointed out every last character flaw, whispering to him what was wrong with him and why it was wrong. It told him all the reasons, the ways, he had let his friends and family down. It pointed out how useless, worthless he was. It told him that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he wished for it, he'd always be a freak.
Tears streamed down his face as he let out a frustrated yell. Everything hurt so much, but his heart felt so hollow. It was awful, overpowering. It was torture. It was pure hell.
And it wouldn't stop! Why wouldn't it just stop? He'd give anything, do anything, just to make this godforsaken suffering stop!
Opening his eyes, Richie found himself mesmerized by the box cutter sitting on his workbench, it's silver blade gleaming innocently in the moonlight.
.:Line Break:.
Pencil scratchings. That was the first thing he noticed. The sound of a pencil making marks on paper. The noise reminded him of when he'd sit down and plot out ideas for new inventions. It was a sound that was both familiar and comforting to him.
The next thing he had been aware of was the dull throbbing in his skull and the fact that he was very tired. With a groan, Richie forced himself to open his eyes sit up.
He was in a familiar place, he realized with some confusion. He was in Kathrine's room. More specifically, he was in her bed, under the covers and wearing one of the nightgowns he kept at the Blake household for the nights when he slept over.
"How did I-"
"Well, look whose dumb ass decided to wake up."
Richie's head snapped to the owner of the voice, gaping in shock. Hotstreak sat a few inches away from the bed in Kathrine's computer desk chair. He was sitting on it backwards and, surprisingly, he was using the back as a makeshift table for what appeared to be a... sketchbook? Emerald green eyes never left the paper as his pencil continued to move across it.
"Hotstreak?"
The pyro finally glanced up at him, a mixture of what appeared to be concern and annoyance in his eyes. "Didn't I tell you not to do anything stupid, Foley?"
"What... what do you mean?" The blond's memory was a little fuzzy. At the moment, the last thing he remembered was being at the gas station.
Francis raised a brow at him, his expression indecipherable. With a sigh, he tucked his pencil behind his ear and turned his sketchbook around to show the blond what he had been working on.
It was a drawing and, if he was being honest, it was a very good drawing clearly done by someone who had a lot of practice. The drawing itself, however, was morbid and disturbing.
It displayed the genius lying on top of the covers of Kathrine's bed, unconscious. His hoodie and pants had been removed, leaving him in only his T-shirt and underwear. Kathrine and Katrina stood on one side of the bed. Katrina was leaning over him, looking horrified and in tears, her hands on his leg. Kathrine watched on, appearing to be in a state of shock.
The scene depicted was a bit confusing to Richie, until he noticed the finer details. There were cuts all over his legs. One cut in particular, a large gash, stood out among the others. Katrina's hands were covering the gash, which appeared to have been bleeding profusely judging by the way blood seemed to be oozing through the healer's fingers. A faint outline had been drawn around her hands and Richie realized that it must have been Katrina using her powers on him. Both Kathrine and Katrina appeared to be spattered with what he could only assume was his blood.
Suddenly, he remembered the box cutter on his workbench. He had cut himself with it. It wasn't the first time he had done it. When he had first started experiencing the dark thoughts, he had simply started digging his fingernails into his skin. The physical pain had distracted him from the emotional pain and emptiness he had been feeling. However, when Jason and his goons became more persistent with their abuse, that method slowly stopped working. He had needed something more.
It had been an accident, at first. He had been home alone and his mother had asked him to wash the dishes. With the house so quiet, the genius had been completely immersed in his thoughts, not really paying full attention to washing the dishes. As he had lathered up a sharp knife, it slipped out of his hand and cut his thumb. The cut hadn't been too deep, but it had been deep enough to draw blood.
He should have been concerned. He should have quickly rinsed it off and gotten a band aid. Instead he at stared at the wound with an unhealthy fascination. The sharp, stinging sensation had totally dispersed the dark thoughts. His mind, for once in a very long time, fell silent. The only thing he felt was the cut on his thumb. The physical pain had made everything else stop.
His friends and family had noticed the cut of course, so he knew that next time he'd have to be more discreet. From then on, anytime he'd start having dark thoughts, he'd make cuts on his legs. Sometimes he'd make the cuts just deep enough to draw blood, other times they'd be so deep that they were sure to leave scars, but they had never been deep enough to be life threatening.
That is, until he had used the box cutter at the gas station. He had been so hurt that he hadn't been thinking about where or how deep to cut. He had just been recklessly making cuts all over his legs. There had been so much blood...
He remembered being cold and lightheaded. He remembered feeling too weak to properly grip the box cutter, causing it to slip from his fingers. He remembered falling over as his vision started going dark. As he lost consciousness, the last thing he remembered was a bloodcurdling scream in the form of his name.
"Remember now, genius?" Hotstreak asked, startling the blond out of his thoughts.
Richie stared at the floor, too embarrassed and ashamed to make eye contact with the pyro. Once again, he had been a burden on his friends...
"For a genius, you're pretty fucking stupid." Hotstreak continued, "What the hell were you thinking?"
Richie clenched his fists, glaring at him. How dare he talk to him like that when he didn't know what he had been through. "Shut up! You don't know what I've been dealing with!"
"Really?" Hotstreak scoffed, "'Cause between me and the girls, we're pretty sure we've figured out what's been going on. So since you don't seem to like sharing, judging by how long this has been going on, how about you shut up and I'll tell you what you've been dealing with. Feel free to stop me at anytime if I get something wrong, Foley."
He grabbed his pencil and started working on the drawing again. "Awhile ago, 'bout two months ago if what Hawkins told 'Trina is true, Fields broke into your gym locker, found your bra, and told everyone that you're a cross dresser. After that, Jason and his idiot friends went out of their way to make your life hell. Kathrine said that your old man is kind of an asshole, so I'm going to guess that he planted the idea in your head that cross dressing is wrong. You're already sensitive about it, and Fields and his pals just kept hitting that raw nerve over and over. 'Trina says that their attacks on you must have had you questioning and doubting yourself. They made you hurt, in more ways than one, and made you too scared and embarrassed to tell anyone." Francis paused, emerald eyes meeting shocked blue ones. "Well, Foley? How am I doing so far?"
All Richie could do was stare at the pyro in silence.
"I'm going to take that as a sign that I'm right, so I'm going to move on. Your mom called the gargoyle and Hawkins a few hours ago asking if they knew where you were. She said that you ran out of the house after your old man found a box of girl's clothes in your closet. We all pretty much guessed that he didn't take it so well. Sparky and Kathrine split up to find you. Don't know where Hawkins was looking, but the gargoyle went to the gas station. She got you back here as fast as she could so 'Trina could heal you. You're a fucking lucky bastard, you know that? 'Trina said that you sliced open your femoral artery, said that even a few more seconds and you wouldn't have made it."
The hand holding his pencil paused. Francis gazed down at his sketchbook, his brow furrowed with a troubled expression on his face. "...As for what you were thinking, 'Trina had a guess. She... she said that she used to be bullied at her old school. Between that and her old man... she said that she'd... she'd make little cuts on her body. Said that the physical pain would distract her from the emotional pain." Hotstreak turned his somber gaze to Richie, "Does that about cover everything?"
Richie stared down at the bed sheets and nodded.
The pyro sighed and tucked his pencil behind his ear again, closing his sketchbook. "... You shoulda said somethin'. Before it got this bad."
"... I... I was too ashamed to..."
"Why? Because of what Fields and his prick friends think? They're nobodies who're going to end up either flipping burgers or doing time for the rest of their lives. You shouldn't give a fuck what they think. You can actually make something of yourself and you almost threw that all away because of some asshole."
The blond shook his head slowly. "It... it wasn't just because of them. There were a couple of other reasons."
"Like what?"
"... My dad..." he said quietly, recalling the way his father had looked at him, "I... I just seem to keep disappointing him, like I can't do anything right. Nothing I do is ever good enough for him. He... he has this idea in his head of how a man should act and I... I can't fit that image. I-I've tried, but... I can't."
"So don't try. Cross dressing is a part of who you are or some shit, right? If he doesn't like that then that's his problem, not yours."
"It's not that simple." Richie argued, "You don't know what it's like growing up with a father like that."
For a moment, Hotstreak's face contorted in anger and he looked ready to yell. Catching himself, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He opened his eyes once he was calm again. "Foley..." he began slowly, "maybe you forgot, but my old man is an abusive, manipulative fuck who murdered my mother in front of me. Don't make assumptions about what things were like for me growing up."
Richie averted his gaze, feeling guilty. That piece of information had actually slipped his mind momentarily.
A heavy silence fell over the two. Hotstreak watched Richie for a few minutes, then stared down at his sketchbook, contemplating.
"For as long as I can remember, my old man was always angry, like he hated everything." Francis refused to look at Richie as he spoke, causing him to miss the surprised expression on the blond's face, "He was... opinionated? Like he had this idea of how everything should be and if it wasn't, then he'd get pissed off. He got... violent too. When mom was... still alive... she'd protect me from him, wouldn't let him lay a hand on me. My old man... he... he scared me... I was scared of him for so long... until..."
Francis trailed off, then shook his head. He flipped open the sketchbook to a drawing of his mother. "... I... I really... loved my mom. She... she was always nice and gentle... loving... I always wanted to spend every second with her... I felt... safe with her... like nothing bad would happen as long as I was with her..."
Although confused; Richie listened attentively. He was curious as to where Hotstreak was going with all of this.
"... Mom really loved art, especially drawing and painting. Said that she loved it so much she wanted to share it with me... She bought this sketchbook for me and some pencils... She taught me how to draw... I... I... really liked drawing... still do... But my father never liked that mom taught me how to draw... said that it was for girls and that I should act more like a boy... Well... after he killed mom... he got his wish. I stopped drawing and started acting more... like him."
Hotstreak shut the sketchbook again. "I started drawing again after he was thrown in jail. I was... tired of living the way he wanted me to live. Drawing is... important to me. It... makes me calm and... it reminds me of mom. This'll probably sound stupid, but... it makes me feel less like him, and more like her."
Hotstreak finally looked at Richie to find the genius gaping at him. The pyro dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling embarrassed and exposed.
"Me too." Richie said, finally finding his voice, "With cross dressing, I mean. It makes me feel less like my father and more like my mother."
Hotstreak nodded and glanced up at Richie. Getting to his feet, he set his sketchbook on the chair and walked over to Kathrine's bookshelf. He pretended to take an interest in the books, his back to the genius.
"... Take it from someone who knows, Foley. Not having your father's approval ain't worth killing yourself over. If he really loves you, he'll accept you as you are. If not, then fuck him. And the next time things get so bad... you should say something... Come to one of us. I know Hawkins will always take you in. Katrina and the gargoyle have no problems with you staying here... Hell, you can even come to me if you wanted."
Richie couldn't hide his astonishment. This Hotstreak was much different than the one who used to beat him up before Katrina came along. He hadn't realized how similar they were. He vaguely wondered if Hotstreak's mother were still alive, would the pyro have turned out more like him?
Richie couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you, Francis."
As soon as he said the words he slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. Katrina, as far as he knew, was the only person Hotstreak allowed to address him by name. He wasn't sure why he had said it. It had just slipped out.
Just as he opened his mouth to apologize, Hotstreak glanced back at him without a trace of anger and replied, "You're welcome... Richie."
Richie stared for a split second before he began smiling again. This was, undoubtedly, a huge step forward for Francis and it was comforting to the genius to know that he had someone to turn to who understood what he was going through.
Francis awkwardly cleared his throat and turned back to the bookshelf. "So... uh... what was the other reason?"
"Huh?"
"You said that there were a couple of other reasons why you didn't tell anyone what was going on. That was only one reason."
Richie's smile faded as he let out a sigh. "I'm... I'm always a burden on them. Virgil, Katrina, and Kathrine. They always have to bail me out of trouble. I... was afraid they'd get sick of having to do it. I hate being a bother to them..."
"Don't we get a say in this?"
The boys turned to see a tired Katrina standing in the doorway with an equally as tired Kathrine behind her. They were both paler than usual with dark bags under their eyes. Richie noted that they both had damp hair and guessed that they recently showered to rid themselves of his blood.
Katrina was the first to enter the room, approaching the bed with a tall glass of orange juice in her hand. She set the glass down on the nightstand and threw her arms around Richie's neck.
"How..." Katrina began, sounding to be on the verge of tears, "how could you ever think that you're a burden to us? Friends help each other. It's what they're supposed to do. Am I a burden to you when I come to you with a problem?"
"No! Of course not!"
"Then how could you think that you're a burden to us? Friends help friends, and it's never a bother!"
If Richie didn't feel guilty before, he certainly did now. When Katrina released him there were unshed tears in her bloodshot blue eyes. He felt ashamed for thinking so little of his friends and for doing something so reckless. The realization of what he almost lost caused tears to well up in his own eyes.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered, "I'm so sorry..."
Katrina nodded, tightly gripping Richie's hand. "Please... promise me that you won't do this anymore. That you won't hurt yourself anymore and you'll come to us when you have a problem."
He held her gaze as he spoke, "I promise."
The healer nodded again, this time forcing a small, exhausted smile. She gave his hand a squeeze, then gave him the orange juice. "Drink this. All of it. No arguments."
He did as he was told and handed her back the empty glass. "I'm going to be downstairs if you need me, Richie." she said, heading for the door, "I need to do the laundry. I'm going to try to get the blood out of your clothes, but I can make no promises."
"I understand."
"Babe, wait." Francis grabbed his sketchbook and walked over to Katrina, handing it and his pencil to her. "Can you hold onto these for me? There's something that I gotta do, but I'll be back soon."
She accepted the items, but gave him a quizzical stare. "Where are you going?"
"Gonna go have a chat with Jason and his buddies." Francis glanced at Richie, "They shouldn't bother you anymore once I'm done with them."
"Francis, wait."
"What, babe? It's not like I'm gonna get them sent to the hospital and it's not like they don't deserve it."
"No, I'm not trying to stop you." Katrina stood on her tip toes and whispered something in his ear that had the pyro grinning like the cat who ate the canary. She had a small smile on her face when she pulled away. "Can you do that for me?"
Francis chuckled, "I'll make sure he... gets the message."
Richie watched the two leave before nervously turning to Kathrine. She was still standing in the doorway, staring at him with a blank expression. Slowly, she walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge.
"Why?" she asked quietly, her voice betraying how hurt she felt, "Why did you lie to me? You said that you were okay, but you weren't. Why didn't you tell me? I would have protected you from Jason and his friends. I would have let you stay here until your dad calmed down. I love you. Why did you think that you needed to deal with everything on your own?"
Richie felt himself cry again. He had never meant to hurt Kathrine. He reached out and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I'm sorry." he whispered, burying his face in her neck, "I got scared. You're always protecting me. I wondered if you ever got tired of it. I was scared that you'd leave me for someone else. Someone stronger who you didn't need to protect. Someone who could protect you and give you a normal relationship. Someone who isn't a freak..."
Kathrine heaved a sigh. "You're a fucking moron..." Shifting on the bed, she turned to embrace Richie. She had one arm around his waist, the other cradling his head to her chest. "Do you really think that I'd be happy in a "normal" relationship? Richie, I've had tons of those and not a single one meant a damn thing to me. This relationship that I have with you means the world to me. I want to protect you. If anything were to happen to you, I'd lose my fucking mind. And yes, our relationship is far from typical, but it works for us. Besides, if you're a freak, what does that make me for loving you?"
Richie tightened his grip. He felt very stupid now. "I'm sorry. It'll never happen again. I promise."
"I'm going to hold you to that. And I'll kick your ass if you break that promise." Kathrine smiled a little when she heard Richie chuckle. "So... your dad found out about the cross dressing?"
"Yeah..." he sighed, sniffing, "He said that he wouldn't have me acting like a freak in his house and said that he was going to throw the box away. That's kinda what set me off..."
"Well, that settles it. You're staying here for awhile. After what just happened, I don't feel comfortable sending you home just yet."
"But... what about my dad?"
"Don't worry about it." Kathrine told him, kissing his forehead, "I'll deal with him."
.:Line Break:.
Mrs. Foley was surprised to find Kathrine standing on their doorstep with a dark expression on her face.
"Kathrine, did you find Richie?"
"Yes, Mrs. Foley. He's safe and sound, but he's not in any condition to return home." She paused, narrowing her eyes, "Is... Mr. Foley here?"
"Yes, he's in the kitchen. Why?"
"I need to speak with him before I collect Richie's things."
Mrs. Foley stepped aside and let Kathrine in, watching as she marched into the kitchen.
"You disgust me." she said immediately once she spotted him, "Never before have I ever met a bigger hypocrite."
"What are you talking about? Where's Richie?" he snarled, angry.
"Oh, don't worry about Richie. He's safe and sound, no thanks to you!"
"What are you talking about?"
"Richie's been bullied for the past two months at school because he's a cross dresser. It had been pretty bad yesterday. His home should have been his safe place where he doesn't need to deal with that shit. Instead he gets you, his father who supposedly loves him, acting no different than the bullies at school. You claim you love him, but do you really?" Kathrine was shaking with barely restrained fury. "I think Mr. Hawkins said it best. Your son ran away from you a long time ago. He's only starting to come back now. But if you keep acting like this, you're not going to have a son anymore! You almost didn't after last night..."
The color drained from Mr. Foley's face, cold fear consuming him. "...D-did he..." He couldn't even bring himself to say it.
"No... I... found him before he..." she cut herself off, clenching her fists. "So, Foley, here's what's going to happen. Richie will be staying with my sister and I until he's in a better state of mind to return home. I'm going to get some things from his room and then I'm going to leave. In the meantime, why don't you reflect on just how much your son really means to you?"
Mr. Foley watched, stunned, as Kathrine stormed out of the kitchen. Mrs. Foley cautiously walked in a few seconds later.
"Sean?"
The sound of his name snapped him out of his daze. Wordlessly, Mr. Foley brushed past his wife and walked out the front door.
.:Line Break:.
"Mr. Hawkins?"
Robert glanced up from his paperwork to see Teresa standing nervously in the doorway of his office.
"Yes, Teresa? What's wrong?"
"There's a man here to see you. Says his name is Sean Foley."
Robert nodded. He had received a phone call from Kathrine a few minutes ago updating him on the situation with Richie. He had had a feeling that Sean would show up at the community center.
"It's okay, Teresa. You can send him in."
The girl nodded and Sean entered a few seconds after. He glanced at Teresa as she shut the door, then slowly made his way over to Robert's desk. He sat down heavily in a chair in front of the desk, sighing as he ran a shaky hand through his blond hair. There was clear fear in his eyes as he met Robert's gaze.
"Well, Hawkins, I don't suppose you know anyone who can help an idiot like me?"
Robert offered a small smile of approval, "As a matter of fact, Foley, I do."
.:Line Break:.
So, a quick note on the chapter's name. The reason it's titled as "Perfect" is because of the song Perfect by Simple Plan, which I listened to while writing some of this.