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andaleduardo · 4 years

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How to Break Your Heart and Make Sure It Stays Broken

Read the 1st chapter on ao3

Summary: In which 15-year-old Richie confesses his feelings for Eddie on New Year’s Eve and they don’t talk about it for the next 4 years.

31st December 2010, Friday

“Would you put that thing down for one second?”

Richie looks up from the phone screen to his mother’s eyes. “Mom, this is the future. Do you want me to put the future down?”

“I want you to get off that sofa and help us serve the champagne.”

“Don’t make us regret giving you the future, Richie.” His father added as he entered the living room with a bottle of champagne on one hand and one of sparkling apple juice in the other.

“Fine.” He pockets the phone as he gets up to clean up the dinner plates. “But I gotta text the losers at midnight, we have a group chat on Facebook now-”

“Yes, son, we know. That’s all you’ve been talking about lately.” Wentworth interrupts while fumbling with the cork on the sparkling juice bottle.

“One day I’ll figure out why adults hate technology!” Richie shouts as he enters the kitchen. He places the plates on the sink and grabs three champagne glasses from the special collection his mom owns before going back to the living room. These things look like they’ll break if you so much as breathe in their direction.

“We don’t hate technology.” Maggie complains as she tries to rub away a stain in the tablecloth. “You kids just love it too much.”

That makes Richie laugh. “You don’t even let dad teach you how to use his comput-

The juice bottle’s cork comes off with a loud POP! that startles Richie and sends one of the glasses tumbling down onto the carpeted floor. It shatters into a million pieces despite the soft surface.

“Richie!” His mom cries out loud.

“I’m sorry!” Quickly, he places down the two survivor glasses. He can hear his dad trying not to laugh.

“Your grandma gifted these to us after we got married…” She laments as she looks at the sparkling shards at their feet.

“I’ll clean this up, you two be careful not to step on it.” Went adds before going to get the vacuum cleaner from the bottom of the pantry.

“I am sorry.”

With a sigh, Maggie hugs him sideways. “It’s okay, I guess we’ll never have 10 people over at the same time.”

“Yeah, we probably won’t.”

Once the carpet is clean, the champagne and false champagne are served and there’s only 5 minutes left till midnight, Richie takes his phone out and opens Eddie’s contact. He stares at the text he wrote probably 4 hours ago and reads it over and over again just to really make sure there’s no mistakes.

The thing is, tonight, Richie is going to fuck up his entire life. Or, at least that’s what it feels like.

You see, Eddie was the last of the group to get a phone. He got it on Christmas as a gift from his uncle, and needless to say Sonia didn’t like the idea. She only gave it to him one or two days ago after she figured out how to make it as “safe” as possible for his son. That means Eddie has exactly 3 numbers on his contact list. The number to his house, the number to Bill’s house, and Bill’s number. Because, apparently, that’s the only friend of Eddie’s Sonia trusts.

Stan’s Jewish, Mike is home-schooled (and black, although Sonia never admits that’s the real reason she doesn’t like the boy), Ben moved into town not so long ago, Bev is a girl, and Richie is Richie.

Bill’s family goes to church every Sunday and they’ve known each other ever since both boys were little. Hence why Eddie’s contact list is sadder than the life of their math teacher.

But Richie is weirdly thankful for this because that means Eddie doesn’t have his number. However, Bill texted them Eddie’s contact yesterday, saying they probably shouldn’t send him anything before school starts because Sonia will most likely check his phone.

Well, Sonia can go to hell because Richie is about to do something very stupid.

He’s a true romantic at heart, alright? Plus, he’s been in love with Eddie since he was twelve (or at least he realized it when he was twelve) and this secret is starting to claw up at his insides as if he had swallowed a dysfunctional cat.

In other words, it’s driving him crazy and he has to do something about it.

Now, he’s not mental. He’s not going to confess his feelings or anything. Right, as if. He’s simply going to become a secret admirer or something cheesy like that.

Yesterday, he sneaked into his dad’s computer while both his parents were taking an afternoon nap and searched for “romantic quotes” on Google. He typed down the one he liked the most, deleted the history, and then tried to convince himself this wasn’t the worst plan of his entire life.

It seemed like a very clever plan the closer to midnight it got.

“Alright, my loves.” Maggie gives everyone their respective glass. The non-alcoholic, sad-looking one for Richie, and the fun-looking ones for the adults. Bullshit, if you ask him.

“How come I never get to drink the real thing?”

“Well, you hate it.” Maggie shrugs. “You’ve said so the past two years that we’ve let you had one sip for the toast.”

“But I’m older now, I can handle it.”

“You can try it again after you finish that.” Went tips his cup in the direction of Richie’s. Naturally, Richie throws his head back and drinks the apple juice in one gulp, almost cutting his lip in the process. Seriously, these things are that thin.

“Done.” He announces as he fills the cup with champagne. “Now we can have a real toast.”

Both adults laugh and soon the countdown begins. Richie screams the numbers along with his parents, keeping his thumb over the ‘send’ button at the same time.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

He presses down, the text is sent, and he pockets his phone once again to click his fragile cup against his parents’. As expected, it tastes just as awful as he remembers. He spits it out much like last year, and they all go outside to see the fireworks.

00:00 To: Spaghetti <3

And I just wanted to say that your smile reminds me that not all art is created with a pencil and a paintbrush.

His phone vibrates at exactly 00:49, which means Richie is already in his bedroom because that’s how New Year works in his family. They stay home, celebrate till the fireworks die down, and then part ways at the end of the hallway.

He interrupts Charlie the goldfish’s dinner and checks his phone only to let the little container of fish’s food fall off his hand. Thankfully, it was closed.

00:49 From: Spaghetti <3

Richie?

Did you steal that from your mom’s poetry collection, asshole? :P

Charlie the goldfish fades out from his peripheral vision. Richie sits down before he collapses and bursts through the floor right onto their cold, lifeless basement.

What the fuck?

Seriously.

What the actual fuck?

With shaky hands, he types out a reply.

Richie: what makes you think it’s richie?

Spaghetti <3: Bill gave me everyone’s numbers

Spaghetti <3: I don’t have them saved yet because of my mom, though

Spaghetti <3: Why? Is this not Richie? Did Bill give me the wrong number?

Fucking Bill. Now, Richie’s pacing the entire floor of his bedroom, knowing he’d walk right up to the celling if he could. He keeps staring at the small screen, wondering if he could save his ass by turning this shitty device off. His mom is right, technology sucks.

Spaghetti <3: Hello??

Shit.

Richie: hahaha you got me Eds

Richie: c’est moi

Then he hesitates for a second.

Richie: sooo, are we good?

Spaghetti <3: Yeah, of course

Spaghetti <3: Why shouldn’t we be?

Oh. Oh. So, Eddie didn’t take him seriously. He took it as one of his weird jokes.

Here’s a getaway, Richie. You can play it off as prank, Richie. You can still walk away from this without completely ruining a friendship, Richie. Please take the opportunity, Richie.

Richie: you don’t get it

Shut the fuck up, Richie.

Spaghetti <3: What?

Richie: well

Richie: actually

Richie: you see

Spaghetti <3: Richie, spit it out you’re stressing me

Richie: right

Richie: you see

Spaghetti <3: You’ve said that before

Richie: correct I see your point Eds

Spaghetti <3: Not my name

Richie: the thing is

Richie: jesus I hope you forgive me

Richie: okay so

Richie: i don’t have a crush on you

Richie: i’m pretty sure that I love you

There’s about a million smooth ways to say that you love someone. But Richie doesn’t choose one of those. Fitting.

It takes a few minutes before Eddie says something back. In those minutes, Richie starts crying.

Spaghetti <3: Oh

It’s as vague as it can get, but one can take the hint.

Richie: i’m sorry

Spaghetti <3: You don’t have to apologize

Spaghetti <3: How long..?

Richie: uh, since March?

Which is a lie.

Spaghetti <3: That’s a long time…

Richie wants to laugh, then scream, then he wants to be able to stop crying.

Spaghetti <3: Can we still be friends?

On second thought, he doesn’t want to laugh.

Richie: only if you still want to Spaghetti <3: Of course I want to Rich

Spaghetti <3: Don’t even say that

Well, that’s good.

Richie: well that’s good

Richie: i’m sorry Eddie

Spaghetti <3: Don’t apologize asshole

Spaghetti <3: It’s fine I swear

And then a few more minutes.

Spaghetti <3: Happy new year

The phone gets thrown, landing somewhere along the end of the bed. The blurry digital clock on his bedside table says it’s already 1:13 a.m. and by its side lays Charlie the goldfish’s tank.

It’s small, but it’s not a fishbowl. Richie learnt that lesson with his first goldfish, Oli. Poor her.

He follows Charlie’s swimming around a rock. A fish’s life seems peaceful and blissful and delightful and wonderful and many other adjectives ending in ‘ful’. Except for Oli’s life, of course. At this moment Richie’s life feels pretty much like Oli’s.

He sighs through another wet sob.

“Happy fucking new year, Charlie.”

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