After the movie, the day had flown by. Richie didn't want it to end, but one by one each Loser left to get home. Soon it was just him and Eddie. The smaller boy, who was sat next to him on a park bench, had his head resting on Richie's shoulder, watching the sun set, a smile gracing his lips.

Richie felt his heart skip a beat, as it did whenever Eddie was close to him like this. He was one hundred percent, absolutely in love with the short hypochondriac. Everything about the boy just made his stomach fill with butterflies. He hated himself for feeling this way about his best friend, about his straight best friend. Hell, he hated himself for feeling this way about any boy really. Despite knowing that there was nothing wrong with him for feeling the way he does, Richie still felt ashamed. He had been raised to think being gay was a disease, that being gay was wrong, that he needed to settle down with a nice girl and churn out a bunch of crotch goblins.

Now, Richie did like kids, and sure he wanted some of his own someday, but the thought of being with a woman made him nauseous. It wasn't who he was. It made him sick just thinking about hiding his feeling, but even sicker thinking about coming clean.

He had tried to be with a woman the previous summer, it ended poorly. But at least it got Bowers off his back. Henry had been calling him a queer for a while, only stopping after he saw Richie locking lips with the girl at a party. Now Henry's abuse was aimed towards Eddie.

Richie didn't know what was worse, being called a queer himself, or Eddie going through that shit. No, scratch that. Eddie being tormented by Bowers was way worse than anything that asshole threw his way. He planned to put a stop to Eddie's torment soon. He just had to wait for the right time, preferably when the other Losers weren't around. Of course, he knew this plan was stupid, and he knew his friends, especially Eddie, would be upset with him for this, but it had to be done.

He couldn't let his Eds get continuously abused by the towns psychopath. He let out a small sigh, earning the smaller males attention. "Everything okay, 'Chee?" He asked, looking up at Richie with big brown eyes that he felt he could just melt in. "Yeah, I'm good. Although we should probably get you home, don't want Mrs. K to have a heart attack." He joked, reluctantly moving to get up.

"Shit, you're right. She's probably worried sick! Last time I was home this late, I came home to the police." He let out a laugh, adjusting his fanny pack, pushing himself up off the bench. He pulled his bike up, swinging his leg over, glancing back at Richie. "You coming?"

Richie gave a nod, hating that this moment had to end. Soon enough, both boys were making their way towards Eddie's house, a peaceful silence settling between the two. Richie, the Trashmouth, actually enjoyed the silence between him and Eddie, it felt more intimate than words could ever be. It was moments like those that he cherished, but moments like those always ended so soon.

He found himself saying goodbye to Eddie, thus concluding a perfect day, which in turn started a hellish night. He knew the second he got home, he would have to face his parents, he also knew that they were most likely drunk and angry that he left. Despite dreading the inevitable fight, Richie made his way home.

He hated the way his heart dropped when he turned onto his street. It wasn't the way he should feel when going home. It wasn't the way he should feel when he thought of seeing his parents. Richie knew this. He also knew that he should love his parents, but instead he hated them. He hated them more than he hated Bowers. More than he hated himself.

With reluctance in his movements, Richie set his bike down by the side of the house, out of sight from anyone passing by, out of sight from his parents. Once his bike was safe, the raven haired boy climbed back into his room, quietly closing the window behind him. He took in the surroundings, taking note of the mess his father had made when he undoubtedly stumbled in there to take his misplaced anger out on Richie.

He mumbled a small curse under his breath, taking careful steps towards the door. He refused to let his sorry excuse for parents to know he was home just yet, but damn was he hungry. He wanted to make sure that they were passed out, so he could raid the kitchen without worry of getting the shit kicked out of him.

He approached his bedroom door slowly. Though, even with slow and calculated steps, Richie still heard the dreaded sound.

The deafening creak of a floorboard in his previously silent house.

"Shit..." He mumbled, the sound of unsteady footsteps climbing up the stairs soon followed his curse.

"Where the fuck 'ave you been, boy?" He heard his father slur. His heart was racing, fear consuming him. He hated how terrified he was of the drunkard.

Wentworth soon stood face to face with his son, rage in his eyes. "I asked ya a question!" He growled, slapping Richie hard across the face before the boy had a chance to answer him. When the slap hit, something inside Wentworth snapped. He grabbed a fistful of his sons hair, dragging him towards the stairs, soon throwing the smaller male down, watching him tumble as his head hit a few of the steps.

Letting out a chuckle, Wentworth stomped down towards Richie. He kicked the boy hard in the stomach when he tried to move, laughing as Richie coughed and gasped for air.

All Richie could feel was the pain, exploding like fireworks with each blow his father threw his way. He knew better than to fight back, he knew his father would tire himself out soon enough, he just had to stay conscious until then.