Brave
Chapter 3 – My Dirty Little Secret
Eddie thought he was dying. Or maybe he was already dead. He wasn't entirely sure.
Everything was pitch black and that darkness seemed to spread out around him for miles. He couldn't see a single thing around him in any direction, and when he tried to get up, he couldn't move. Eddie couldn't even lift an arm to reach out for something, anything.
And he wanted to. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to reach out for Richie. He wanted to call out to Richie too, but Eddie's mouth didn't seem to be working either.
He just was, floating in some motionless, unending void. Fear erupted inside of Eddie for a moment, and he wondered if he was caught inside the Dead Lights. Was this what it was? Was this what it felt like? Just…nothing?
But no. Somewhere in the very back of his mind, Eddie thought he could remember Beverly telling them about her time in the Dead Lights, and this wasn't what she had described at all. She had talked about seeing them as adults and seeing how they died. Eddie couldn't see anything at all, not even his own body. Only blackness.
And oh god, Eddie remembered Richie being caught in the Dead Lights himself, and Eddie's heart hurt for him. Eddie couldn't stand the thought of anyone or anything having that kind of control over his Richie, and it made him crazy.
Eddie tried to call out for Richie again, but his mouth still wouldn't move and no sound came out. He couldn't even scream. Did he have vocal cords at all anymore? Did he have a body? Did he have…anything?
But Eddie knew the answer to that, because he could feel a certain warmth and weight over what he thought was his hand. Almost like someone was holding it. Eddie liked that feeling and he wished that it would grow to envelope the rest of him.
"They want me leave, Spaghetti Man," came Richie's disembodied voice from out of the darkness.
Eddie hated when Richie used that stupid nickname for him, but hearing it filled Eddie with comfort, because he knew Richie was there. Oh god, Richie was there, but someone was making him leave. The vague warmth that had been on his hand was gone a moment later, and Eddie ached for it to return. Somewhere in the back of Eddie's mind, he was certain that Richie had been holding his hand, but that was crazy, wasn't it?
Eddie desperately tried to reach up his hand, to regain the warmth and weight that had been there just a moment before, but Eddie still couldn't move. He still couldn't speak, and Eddie desperately wanted to scream for Richie to come back. For Richie to help him make some sort of sense out of this emptiness he was currently in.
Eddie strained to call the other man's name, and he could almost taste it on his lips, but not quite. There was nothing there, because Eddie was completely and utterly alone in total darkness. The way he'd been his entire life. Except when he had been with the Losers. But now they were gone too.
Why did it seem like everyone always wanted Eddie to end up all alone? There wasn't even anything Eddie could do about it, because he was trapped in some sort of reality – or maybe death – where no single part of him worked. Not his arms, not his legs, not his mouth, and not his voice.
Eddie couldn't even call out to the person he needed most in the world, and that was probably the most insane thought of all. Why did Eddie's thoughts always return to his loud, gross, trash-talking friend who seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with making jokes about Eddie's mother?
It was because there was absolutely no one in this entire world that knew Eddie as well as Richie did. It was stupid and it was crazy, but it was true. Certainly not Eddie's mother and definitely not his wife. All they knew was how to control Eddie and impose their smothering ways on him. The only time Eddie felt like he could even be himself and breathe like a normal person was when he was with Richie. His stupid friend who also knew how to push his buttons.
But at the same time, why did Richie always seem to know exactly what he needed? Even when they were in It's lair and Eddie thought he needed his inhaler more than anything, Richie knew better. Richie always knew better. He'd grabbed Eddie's inhaler away from him and talked him down, told him how brave he was without even realizing it, and listed off everything he'd done that was brave. And it was in that moment, with Richie's hand over his that Eddie could breathe again all at once.
And right now, Eddie knew he needed Richie. He wanted the warmth of Richie's had over his. He wanted the calmness that Richie's touch, Richie's skin against his always seemed to give him.
But it wasn't there. He was alone and it hurt to breathe again.
In the end, Richie resigned himself to the fact that the Losers weren't going to let him leave the waiting room. He ended up at the large windows overlooking the parking lot and the bank of trees beyond. Richie stood there unmoving, his hands on his hips and his back to the rest of the room. To the rest of the Losers.
There was a wooden fence marking the barrier between the parking lot and the trees, and it vaguely reminded Richie of the Kissing Bridge. He stared at it for a long time, feeling the urge to commemorate his love for Eddie there as well. To go outside with his pocket knife and carve R+E into the wood, into the location that would ultimately be the place where Eddie lost his life.
Richie was positive of that now – Eddie wasn't going to make it. He'd been stabbed in the face by a fucking madman, impaled through the chest by a demon, lost a ridiculous amount of blood, and nearly stopped breathing in the process. Richie kept trying to remind himself of Bill's words earlier – that Eddie hadn't survived all of that just to die at the hospital. But Richie wasn't so sure anymore. How much more could he take?
Eddie was already so small and frail. Richie almost couldn't believe Eddie's heart had continued to beat through all of this, but it had to give out at some point, didn't it? Maybe that was what happened when the announcement had come over the loudspeaker – Eddie's heart had stopped beating once and for all. Either that, or Eddie had stopped breathing again. Wasn't that what 'code blue' meant?
Richie felt numb. So very much had happened in the last few days, and he didn't think he could even process anything anymore. He kept waiting for the tears to start falling again, but they never did.
This was so stupid. His Eddie was dying – in fact, he may even already be dead – and they wouldn't let Richie be with him. Wouldn't even let Richie hold his hand as the love of his life left this world. That was all Richie wanted – to hold Eddie's hand and maybe even kiss his head. To let Eddie know that he wasn't alone as his life finally slipped away.
When he heard the doors to the emergency ward open, Richie didn't even bother turning around. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other Losers getting up out of their chairs and making their way over to the doctor. Richie still didn't move from his spot. The doctor was just going to tell them that Eddie was dead, so what was the point?
"Eddie went into respiratory arrest," the doctor said.
Richie let out a heavy sigh, his eyes going up towards the sky. Again, he thought about how ridiculous all of this was. Why didn't the doctor just cut to the chase already and flat out tell them that Eddie was dead? Quit beating around the damn bush. There was no need to drag this out any longer than needed.
"We provided him with some pressurized oxygen through a mask for a while," the doctor explained, "and we were able to get him breathing on his own again."
Richie's breath caught in his throat and he finally turned around to face the rest of the room. "You mean he's alive?" Richie asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Doctor Muschietti nodded. "He's stable again. Given how much blood he's lost and his history with asthma, this wasn't entirely unexpected."
"He doesn't have asthma," Richie said impatiently. "He has anxiety."
The doctor only spared Richie a quick glance before he said, "Well, respiratory distress or arrest can be common after losing such a large volume of blood. We were prepared for it and acted quickly before any other complications could develop. The transfusions he's receiving should help to strengthen his respiratory function, and we'll continue to monitor him in case he goes into arrest again."
"I need to see him," Richie said, quickly making his way around the group of Losers and the doctor towards the double doors. He didn't even wait for permission from the doctor, nor did he care. What were they going to do? Throw Richie out of the hospital for needing to see the person that he loved the most on this planet while he still had the chance?
"Just for a little while!" the doctor stressed, calling after him. "He needs his rest!"
Richie didn't stop and he had pushed through the doors before the doctor had even finished speaking. He was getting more second chances with Eddie than he thought he even deserved, and Richie wasn't going to let anyone get in the way of taking them ever again. In fact, it was probably the fact that they had made Richie leave Eddie's room in the first place that had caused all of this nonsense, but Richie chose to bite his tongue.
When he got to Eddie's room, Richie slowly approached the bed and said, "You don't have to try and get my attention, you know. You have that already."
Richie sat down on the edge of the bed again, wrapping a hand around Eddie's and cupping Eddie's bandaged cheek with the other.
"I told you I was right outside," Richie told him, running his thumb over Eddie's cheek. "I'm not leaving until I know you're going to be okay. You really didn't have to cause this big fuss just to get me back in here."
Richie suddenly leaned forward, pressing his lips against Eddie's forehead. He pulled away slightly, but then he turned his head and pressed his cheek against Eddie's.
"Don't leave me," Richie whispered in his ear, closing his eyes as the words escaped his lips. "Please? I can't lose you. Not now. Not like this. Bill said you didn't survive being stabbed by a giant fucking demon claw in the damn sewer just to die in the hospital. And damn it, prove him right. Keep breathing, okay?"
Richie lifted his head, but kept his face close to Eddie's watching him closely. "I have so much to tell you that I never talked about before. I kept telling myself when I was out in the waiting room that I was just going to do it. I was going to take this chance I've been given, but…I just don't know how."
Richie's words died in his throat and he immediately straightened, as if he realized that what was doing and saying was wholly inappropriate. Suddenly those fears creeping back in again. Richie almost felt like he was getting constant whiplash, going back and forth between wanting to proclaim his love to Eddie and then chickening out all over again. Richie sighed, hunching over and hanging his head in shame. However, he wasn't entirely sure if that was caused by what he was feeling or the fact that he was simply too afraid to tell Eddie how he really felt.
"Jesus," Richie muttered, staring down at Eddie intently. "This is difficult." Richie laughed before he added, "You're not even awake and I'm still terrified of telling you the truth. But if I can't even do it now, how am I going to do it once you're awake? I mean, I've alluded to it, but I still haven't come right out and said it. And I feel like I need to. Just promise me you won't hate me once I do, okay?"
For the briefest moment, Eddie's hand tightened around Richie's, but almost as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Richie looked down at Eddie's hand in disbelief, waiting for it to move again, but it remained still.
"Eddie?" Richie asked, but Eddie was now motionless.
Richie wasn't sure if Eddie could hear him or not. He wasn't even sure if Eddie would be able to respond to him in such a fashion if he could. But maybe, just maybe, Eddie was reassuring Richie that he could never hate him.
All at once, Richie could feel his emotions running back into him. It was like that floodgate that had formed in the waiting room suddenly broke open, and it was like a tidal wave engulfing Richie.
Richie closed his eyes against it, but the tears that had suddenly formed leaked through his eyelids and down his cheeks. When he opened his eyes again, Richie frowned deeply with emotion, staring down at Eddie like his life depended on it.
Leaning forward over Eddie's prone form, Richie let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Richie squeezed Eddie's hand even more tightly in both of his, hoping that it just might give him the courage to say what he needed to.
Richie took one last deep breath, then he finally whispered, "I love you."
Only the steady beeping of Eddie's heart monitor met his ears. Richie hadn't exactly been expecting Eddie to answer him, of course, but the lack of a response was awkward nonetheless. At least Eddie wasn't ripping his hand out of Richie's grasp or something, which was almost what Richie thought would happen. Richie supposed that was something.
Richie frowned, suddenly feeling the urge to say it again. To make sure Eddie was aware of exactly how much Richie cared for him.
"I love you," Richie repeated, his breathing suddenly coming in heavy gasps. "I've loved you for I don't even know how long."
Richie paused, his eyes going back to their hands, still clasped together. It was as if Richie was silently praying for Eddie to squeeze his hand back again, to let Richie know that this was okay. That Richie wasn't completely ruining things between them by coming clean. That Eddie might even feel the same way towards him.
But nothing came.
Still, Richie tried to steel himself, to keep going despite the ridiculous sense of dread that was now growing and festering inside him. After all, Richie had already come this far; if Eddie was going to hate him, then Richie was going to go all in. All or nothing.
"But I do remember when I realized it," Richie admitted, his eyes traveling up Eddie's bandaged chest and to his face again. He let out a soft breath of laughter before he said, "And we can all thank Henry Bowers for it. It was after he called me out for wanting to bone his little cousin."
Richie broke off, diverting his eyes to Eddie's heart monitor in embarrassment. Richie could feel his cheeks growing warm, but he clenched his teeth against it. If his friendship with Eddie was ruined, then the damage was already done, and nothing else he could admit would change that.
"There I was in the arcade," Richie continued quietly, his eyes slowly going back to Eddie, "and fucking Bowers had just thrown me out of the closet. That was when we and the rest of the Losers weren't speaking that summer – after you broke your arm. And I was desperately trying to find someone to replace you."
Richie stopped, frowning deeply, but his eyes still never left Eddie's face. "I knew I never could replace you, of course, but that didn't stop me from trying," Richie admitted. "You guys never liked those video games, so I figured I'd at least try and make a friend who did. His name was Connor," Richie said around a heavy sigh.
He sat and stared at Eddie for a long time before he said, "But it wasn't anything like that." Richie shook his head furiously, feeling like he had to justify himself against…what? It wasn't like he and Eddie had ever had any sort of relationship to speak of. Richie just didn't want Eddie to think that there had ever been anyone else before him, even when they had been children.
"We enjoyed playing Street Fighter," Richie explained, "that was all. Bowers got entirely the wrong idea and started yelling…things." Richie hung his head, feeling his cheeks growing warm, even though there was no one there to see him. When Richie spoke again, his voice was much quieter than it had been.
"Things about how I wanted to bone Connor and…he called me names," Richie whispered, frowning deeply. "I wanted to yell back that it wasn't true, but…I couldn't. I mean, I didn't want to fuck Connor, but…the rest of it was true." Richie paused, swallowing audibly before he added, "Then I wanted to scream about how I didn't have those feelings for Connor, because I had them for someone else entirely. But I couldn't do that either, because then Bowers would know that at least part of what he was saying was true."
Richie's heart had started to beat unnaturally hard in his chest; he had never said any of these things out loud before, and a part of him still wanted to lock these feelings away inside of him forever. But no. Richie still wanted to come clean to Eddie about his feelings. He was done squandering away his chances and the years. Richie was starting to believe Eddie just might be okay after all, and he'd be damned if he was going to throw away this second chance. Or was it a third chance now? Richie wasn't even sure anymore.
Richie was still scared to death about what Eddie would think of him, but Richie kept reminding himself if he couldn't say these things now, he would never be able to tell Eddie when he was awake. It was now or never, Richie supposed.
"I never told you guys about that," Richie said when the beating of his heart had slowed a bit. "I'm still scared to death about what you and the rest of the Losers will think of me, so you can imagine what I was feeling when I was thirteen."
Richie trailed off, glancing up at Eddie's heart monitor again, listening to the solid beeping and the green lines moving across the screen. Richie was comforted by the fact that even though Eddie's breathing might have been erratic (which was par for the course with Eddie), at least it seemed like his heart had continued to beat solid and strong.
When he looked back down at Eddie, Richie said, "But I still felt like I had to tell someone. I had kept it pent up inside of me for so long, and Bowers's words made it feel like it was absolutely about to burst out of me." Richie's voice cracked when he said, "But I still felt like I couldn't tell you, so…I went to the Kissing Bridge."
Richie suddenly realized just how stupid it sounded now that he said it out loud. He didn't feel like he could be honest with his best friends in the world, but he felt like he could tell a goddamned piece of wood of all things.
"I used my pocket knife and I carved 'R plus E' into one of the boards," Richie finally admitted at long last. He laughed breathlessly, but then his breath hitched in his throat. He sucked a quick breath back in and said, "That was pretty cowardly, wasn't it? Like I'm one to talk to you about being brave when I can't even be honest about my feelings to the people who are supposed to be my very best friends. To the person that I've loved most in this world for the last twenty-seven years. Maybe even longer."
Staring at his hands over Eddie's again, Richie ran his thumb over across Eddie's fingers. Richie wondered if Eddie would roll his eyes and pull his hand away if he was awake. Wondered if Eddie would be disgusted at the sight of him.
"Remember on the fourth of July when were talking about what scared us the most?" Richie asked. "I told you guys I was afraid of clowns. Except it wasn't true. Not really." Richie considered this before he added, "I think I am now, but I wasn't then. I just picked clowns, because you guys were talking about seeing one, and there were clowns up on the bandstand…"
Richie broke off, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I hadn't seen It yet, don't forget," Richie went on after a moment. "I knew what I was afraid of, but I wasn't entirely sure how it was going to manifest. Even Pennywise didn't get it at first, and that's crazy to think about. I mean, it made that Paul Bunyan statue in the town square come to life. That was the first time I saw it, and…that sort of makes sense, doesn't it? What larger symbol of masculinity is there than Paul Bunyan, and yes, I suppose a part of me was afraid of people thinking otherwise about me. But that still wasn't what scared me the most." Richie let out a breathless laugh before he added, "When did It ever have a problem figuring out what scared us the most? But I think It did right then. Richie Tozier was much too complicated for even a fucking space clown."
Considering this, Richie added, "Then when we went to Neibolt Street for the first time, it was showing me fucking clowns. Maybe as a way to mock me, because that's what I said I feared. I don't know. But in the end, It did figure it out. Holy shit, It figured it out." Richie bowed his head, staring intently at his fingers intertwined with Eddie's again. "It was mocking me, just like Bowers that day in the arcade, except…it was worse. So much worse than even I could have imagined, and it was something I feared ever since Bowers first said those words to me."
Richie sucked in a breath, feeling the tears building up behind his eyes again. "It was after I went to find my artifact and I went back to the town square. First It showed me Adrian Mellon – that last victim of It's before Mike called us. Then It was on that fucking Paul Bunyan statue, and he kept telling me he knew my 'dirty little secret'. Those were the words he used – 'dirty little secret'. Like it was something I needed to be ashamed of just like I always thought." The tears had welled up and dripped over his eyelids again, spilling down his cheeks.
Shaking his head furiously, Richie stared up at the ceiling, wishing for this horrible feeling inside himself to go away. Wishing that he didn't feel like he was committing some horrible crime against humanity for simple loving another man.
Richie suddenly didn't feel like he could keep it inside any longer. He had done so for twenty-seven years, maybe even longer, and it now it felt like it had grown so ridiculously huge and powerful, he couldn't continue to hide it. Richie was so very tired of trying to keep it locked away in that little part in the back of his brain. Richie was tired of pretending that he wasn't in love with the man laying motionless in front of him. He just didn't want to lie anymore.
Shaking his head, Richie glanced past Eddie's bed to the bank of windows on the far wall. He took a deep breath, trying his best to keep himself calm even though his fear was becoming almost suffocating to him. At the same time, however, he felt like the lies had grown so much, they were starting to poison him from the inside out. Richie felt like he was developing sepsis from the entire lie his life had been. That's what Eddie would have called it anyway.
"That's crazy, isn't it?" Richie asked, fixing his eyes on Eddie once more. "Nearly my entire life has been a lie, because I've been too afraid to admit something so very simple as the fact that I'm in love. I don't want to have to lie anymore."
When Richie stopped, the silence in the room was almost deafening to him. Even the steady beep beep of Eddie's heart monitor seemed a thousand miles away. Richie's heart was pounding, the sound of it rushing in his ears and blocking out almost everything else. Even Eddie's own rhythmic breathing.
Richie's face contorted with emotions, more tears continuing to spill down his cheeks. "Jesus Christ," Richie gasped, "I love you, Eddie." Richie sucked in a shuddering breath and added, "Lying about my feelings for you for twenty-seven years is too damn much, and I can't do it anymore. So I love you," he said, much more quietly this time. "And I've never stopped."
"I don't know what you're going to do with that," Richie said around a sigh. He shook his head and added, "Whether you'll hate me or not, I don't know. And whether the rest of the Losers will hate me is anyone's guess. I'm just so sick and tired of lying. Of hiding. Of pretending that I'm someone that I don't even recognize. I want to be me. I want to be Richie Tozier, and as much as I've tried to pretend it isn't true, he loves Eddie Kaspbrak. He loves his best friend. Ever since we were kids lying in the hammock and you kept putting your stinky ass feet in my face. And goddamn it, they were stinky. Don't ever forget that, Spaghetti Man."
Richie suddenly realized he was smiling at the memory, and when he spoke next, the joy was evident in his voice. "But if you had any idea just what that did to me, having your warm skin pressed up against mine. And yes, even those sweaty feet in my face. And you were doing it just to be a little turd, weren't you? You were so oblivious to what the fuck was actually going on."
"At least I think you were." Richie frowned in thought. "I don't know. You were always so damn astute and knew so much stupid information about graywater, and listeria, and staph infections, and the types of bacteria in dog turds of all things. I mean, who knows about that sort of thing?"
Richie was smiling now and he cupped Eddie's cheek again, running the backs of his fingers over Eddie's bare skin.
"Except my Eddie," Richie said warmly. "And if you ever get out of this damn hospital, and if you let me, I'm going to take you to the Kissing Bridge. I'm going to show you exactly where I carved our initials into the wood twenty-seven years ago, and we're going to trace our fingers over those marks. And if you don't completely hate me, we can go over them with my pocket knife again and make them deeper and stronger."
All at once, Eddie's crooked world righted itself. Richie's hand was over his again and Richie's fingers were pressed against his cheek. And Richie was saying things Eddie never thought he'd get the man to admit in a million years. Eddie felt whole, and right, and complete. He felt calm, and it felt like Eddie's breathing was becoming easier and deeper the longer Richie's hands were there. The longer his skin was against Eddie's. Eddie still couldn't move or speak, but it was okay. Richie was there.
His Richie.
To be continued…
