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Chapter 17

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Richie watched in horror as Patrick dragged Eddie up off the floor. The smaller boy was pretty much limp. He wasn't even trying to fight back anymore. Blood oozed down from Eddie's nose, over the tape covering his mouth. His eyes were mostly closed and his breaths were shallow.

"Patrick, please..." Richie shook his head, feeling tears stinging his eyes. He promised to protect Eddie... but there was nothing he could do right now. Eddie was so scared, and Richie had assured him so many times that he'd be safe now, since Richie was there to make sure of it. But Richie was powerless now. He'd made a promise to keep Eddie safe. It was a hollow promise. He wasn't doing it.

"Give me my gun back, Pat." Henry demanded. Patrick slid it across the table and Henry took it, pressing it threateningly up against Richie's jaw. "Stop bitching or I'll shoot you." He threatened.

"I couldn't believe he was thirteen when I met him." Patrick breathed.

"He looks like he's like eight." Henry laughed, putting his hand down on Richie's shoulder. "Patrick's like a total fucking pedo, so he loves that your boyfriend here looks like a third grader." He noted.

"I am not." Patrick growled. "You were gonna fuck him too that one day. You wanted a blow job."

"Not really." Henry laughed. "I was just fuckin' with him. I just wanted to scare him. I wouldn't have made him do it. I don't want no little fuckin' boy sucking on my dick. That's fucking gross."

Patrick glared, but shook his head. "I don't care, Henry. I'm doing this." He spoke as he dragged Eddie toward the dining room table.

"I'm the one who told on you. He wouldn't even let the doctor look at him. It's my fault you got in trouble! I'm the one who told!" Richie persisted. "Please don't hurt him!"

Patrick scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shoved Eddie rather hard face-down against the table. The younger boy let out a tiny, pained whimper. His breaths were so small and shaky. All of this seemed to have triggered an asthma attack, and Eddie's mouth was covered with tape, which definitely was making it worse.

"Oh my god, Patrick, please!" Richie's voice shook. "He can hardly breathe... Please stop... Whatever you want to do to him, just do it to me! I'm the one who told on you! It was me, damn it! Eddie didn't want to tell! It was my idea to tell... So just do it to me."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, faggot?" Patrick growled, placing his hand on Eddie's head to hold him down, even though the smaller boy wasn't even struggling at this point.

"Eddie!" Richie cried out, trying to see if his friend was even still conscious. His breaths sounded so painful, so weak.

Eddie opened his eyes halfway. They looked unfocused. The smaller boy whimpered softly, clearly in a lot of pain as he breathed in tiny, wheezing breaths through his nose.

"Patrick, he can't breathe!" Richie warned. "Please... He needs his inhaler. Please..."

"Does it look like I give a shit? I'm gonna fuck him up the ass and then cut his throat... So if he dies before I get there, whatever." Patrick laughed. "I probably won't even notice. I'm sure his little ass will stay warm and tight for ten minutes even if he dies."

"Try to breathe, Eds." Richie's voice shook as he watched Eddie's eyes closed. At least it seemed like he wasn't going to be fully aware during this. Richie hoped Patrick and Henry wouldn't really kill them. "Patrick, you don't have to do this... I won't fight back if you do it to me instead..." Richie offered, choking out a tiny sob. "I'll do anything. Anything you want... Do it to me instead and I won't fight at all."

"He's not gonna fight back either, clearly." Patrick laughed, running his hand down over Eddie's back, over his bound hands, and toward the waist of his pants, tugging them down in one quick motion. "I've been wanting to do this for two weeks... I was moving slow with him, trying to be gentle... and look where it got me. I should'a just plowed right into him that first night. I could have. Before you got there. Damn. I'd have had all night. His asthma was fuckin' with his breathing and I pitied him and didn't do much... But I should have. I wouldn't have even had to hold him down or put my hand over his mouth. He could barely breathe. I could'a just flipped him over and rammed him."

Richie gritted his teeth as he stared daggers in Patrick's direction. "You're such a gross fucking piece of shit, Patrick." He growled. "You're weak and pathetic... and just fucking disgusting. You're actual fucking garbage."

Patrick let out a small laugh. "Keep talking, Trashmouth. I'll just fuck him longer. I'll tear him up so bad he'll have no choice but to die... because there won't be a way to fucking fix it." Richie watched as Patrick spit on his fingertips, rubbed the saliva between his fingers, then reached down behind Eddie, seemingly forcing his fingers up into him. "Still really fuckin' tight." Patrick smirked, staring directly at Richie. "Just as tight as the first time I ever did this - which might have been the first time anyone ever did this to him. I might'a popped his ass cherry." Patrick smirked.

Eddie let out a soft groaning sound as he flinched very slightly. His face looked worried, somewhat pained, but his eyes were still closed as quiet tears streamed down his cheeks. His breaths were so wheezy Richie seriously worried he might die from suffocation before Patrick ever finished what he planned on doing to him.

"You know, it probably won't even hurt him that bad unless I go out of my way to be rough as hell." Patrick noted as he slid his fingers in and out. Richie couldn't see every detail of what he was doing, but could guess based on the older boy's arm moving rhythmically while his hand was out of sight down behind Eddie. He could tell the gesture was uncomfortable for Eddie too, based on the smaller boy's occasional flinching and shaking moans between wheezing, pained breaths.

"Patrick, please... You can do it to me as long as you want..." Richie's voice shook. He'd so much rather face this himself than watch Eddie have to suffer again. Eddie had been through so fucking much already. This was devastating.

"What's wrong with you?" Henry laughed, leaning down toward Richie's ear. "You really want Patrick to fuck you, huh? You like fingers and dicks in your asshole, fag?"

Richie ignored Henry, leaning away as far as he could. "Patrick, please. Please stop!" Richie begged.

"The human anus actually can stretch really far before any real damage is done if you're careful. Not saying I'm gonna necessarily be careful." Patrick added with a laugh. "Doesn't matter anyway since he's gonna die after." He reached down and unzipped his pants, taking his penis out in his hand and positioning himself behind Eddie, who seemed to be completely passed out by this point. Patrick spit on his hand again, rubbing saliva onto himself.

"You seriously gonna let him do this?" Richie breathed, looking up toward Henry. "You're gonna sit back and watch this? Eddie's a fucking child. If you let Patrick do this, you're just as bad!"

"I don't care what he does." Henry shook his head.

"Eddie!" Richie's voice trembled as he stared at his friend. He couldn't tell if Eddie was breathing anymore. He was so still, so quiet. "Eddie, please wake up..." Richie whimpered. Of course, he didn't want Eddie to have to be awake while Patrick hurt him... He just wanted to know the smaller boy was still breathing.

"This oughtta wake him up." Patrick smirked, slowly forcing himself up into Eddie's body.

Eddie flinched and let out a tiny groaning sound, but his eyes squeezed tighter rather than opening.

Patrick grunted as he forced himself in deeper. "God... He's fuckin' tight." He noted. "I still can't decide if I like this better or pussy."

"Stop!" Richie screamed, thrashing in the chair he was tied down to. "Fucking stop it! Heelllp! Help us! Heeellllpp!" He screamed, kicking out as he struggled to get free.

"Shut him up." Patrick growled, grabbing his hand around Eddie's upper arm, pulling out and thrusting into him roughly. He grunted again as Eddie choked out a shaking moan.

Henry slammed his hand over Richie's mouth, pulling his head painfully back as he pressed his gun threateningly against Richie's head. Richie heard another weak whimper come from Eddie's mouth, stifled by the tape keeping him silent.

Richie continued trying to scream as he flailed around as much as he could, which wasn't much. He didn't care if Henry shot him. According to Patrick, they were going to kill them both anyway.

Richie's ears perked up when he swore he heard the front door open. He twisted his lips and managed to bite Henry's finger, giving him the tiny window he needed to start screaming again. "Heelllp!" He yelled before Henry punched him across the face.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Mr. Powell's ordinarily low, calm voice boomed as he made his way into the dining room.

"Fuck!" Henry breathed, letting go of Richie and making a run for it.

"Who the hell-" Mr. Powell trailed off. "Get the fuck off of him!" He ran immediately to Eddie's side.

"God damn it!" Patrick hissed, grabbing his knife up off the table and taking off after Henry.

"Oh my god... Eddie..." Mr. Powell breathed, grabbing Eddie off the table and lowering him gently to the ground. He took off his jacket and draped it over Eddie's lap as he checked the boy's pulse.

"Is he okay?" Richie's voice shook. "Mr. Powell, is he breathing? Is he okay?"

Mr. Powell exhaled a shaking breath. "He's breathing. I'm gonna go call 911. Hang tight, Richie." He grabbed Richie's shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze on his way out of the room.

Richie breathed a shaking breath as he stared at Eddie across the room. Eddie was still lying very still, but his chest rose and fell slightly. It was worrying that Richie could barely hear a noise from him though. Eddie normally breathed in such a way that he was practically panting and hyperventilating when he was scared. He was so silent now.

"Eds! Wake up, Eds." Richie called out. "Please wake up. Please be okay..."

Eddie's head lolled to the side and he let out a tiny, shaking moan, then started choking very pained sounding, strained breaths. The tape was definitely preventing a lot of air from reaching his lungs. Richie could see Eddie struggling to open his eyes as he wheezed painfully.

"Eddie!" Richie pulled at his trapped wrists again. "Mr. Powell! He needs his inhaler!" Richie screamed. Eddie's mouth was still taped. He clearly could barely breathe. "Mr. Powell!"

Richie heard his own heart pounding in his ears as he stared breathlessly at Eddie, who choked weakly on the floor. Eddie was visibly shaking, flinching very slightly as he struggled to breathe. He needed his inhaler, like now.

"Mr. Powell, please hurry!" Richie sobbed, pulling at his wrists so bad they hurt. "Breathe, Eds. Just go slow. Breathe in and out, Eddie, please! Try to breathe. You can do it, Eds. Please don't die!"

Richie felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked over his shoulder. What was taking Mr. Powell so long? Why wasn't he coming back?

Richie looked back toward Eddie, who was almost completely still, with his eyes closed. The only movement to be seen in the smaller boy was the very slight rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled tiny, wheezing breaths.

"Hold on, Eds. Keep breathing. You're gonna be okay..." Richie's voice shook horribly. He could barely even understand himself. "Hang on, Eddie. Breathe in and out. You're gonna be fine..."

Richie didn't know if that was true, but he couldn't let himself even consider that Eddie wouldn't survive this. He couldn't die... Not after all of this. He'd been through so fucking much...

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