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❝ you have to keep breaking your heart until it opens. ❞

—RUMI

RICHIE'S OBNOXIOUS snoring dove into the depths of my unconsciousness as I stirred awake. I stretched my torso of remaining exhaustion, jolts of pain pulsed from my throbbing neck due to the only degree of comfort I received from Richie's distressed pull-out couch.

Alarmed, I realized we had drifted to sleep with some slasher film occupying the screen, causing my insides to churn.

I peered over my side to see Richie breathing heavily in depths of sleep, his outstretched eyelashes castrating shadows along the chiseled dents of his cheekbones. His open lips were chapped – probably from skimming his tongue over them excessively – and his face was painted in small specks of freckles that resembled patches of glitter.

He appeared much more peaceful in sleep—almost bearable to look at. I turned my attention from his unconscious state as my forearm smacked his exposed bicep of pale flesh.

His eyelids twitched open as his pupils roamed the room neurotically. "What the fuck?"

"Get up bird-brain, we fell asleep."

"What time is it?" He asked, rubbing his masked eyelids from behind his glasses.

"I have no fucking idea."

Richie propped himself steadily on his feet as he yanked a curtain open, revealing the sky drenched in darkness with small stars poking at the seams.

"I'm guessing it's more than late," he concluded.

"I'm so fucked."

"I have this crazy idea that's going to make you puke and you're not gonna like it," Richie announced, his slender fingers scratching his neck as his face contoured in distaste.

"What is it?"

"Do you want to, like, crash here?"

"Are you out of your mind, psycho?" I spewed as his eyes landed on the ground.

"Okay, I really don't want this either, but it's already really late and you'll probably get abducted if you go home right now," he explained. "Although, someone wanting to abduct you is beyond me. . . "

"Okay, asshole, I see your point," I hissed. "What about your parents?"

"My mom's not coming off of whatever she's on until tomorrow and my dad is enjoying leisure time with one of his mistresses for the night."

I hesitated before selecting an answer. "I—I don't know . . . fine I guess?"

Richie simply nodded with pursed lips in reply as he stalked over to the kitchen nonchalantly.

"Oh, also," I piped up, "if you try to sleep on the same fucking spot as me—"

Richie's hands rose up in defense. "Don't get your panties in a twist, as though I'd ever want to have my luscious skin touch yours; you get my bed and I'll have the couch."

"But, shouldn't you have your own bed?"

"No, I want to watch television," he mused, marching back into the living room with another bowl of cornflakes pooled in milk and lumps of sugar.

He took a seat next to me, unexpectedly, hurling his bony legs over my lap as he positioned his bowl of cereal upon his chest. I scoffed as I shoved him off me abruptly, wiping my lap from his presence.

"Come on, Copperhead," he whined, his breath exhaling exasperatedly. "You're in my house; I'm taking the kindness out of my heart to provide shelter to you from your own fucked up house."

His comment punctured my heartstrings as I stood up with curled fists. "Are you fucking serious, Tozier?"

Richie's eyes bulged from behind his lenses as he slipped a spoon of cereal through the crack of his pouted lips.

"That," I motioned to him, referring to his comment, "that was some sick shit, you piece of shit."

"Okay."

I wanted to cry in rages of anger and embarrassment. "I didn't make fucking fun of your mom, and you know nothing about my house you Satan spawn."

My words caused him to flinch suddenly, his joking demeanor suddenly contouring to seriousness. "I—I was kidding Stef, I didn't mean it."

I yanked the ends of my fiery hair, my patience straining by the seconds. "You know, I don't even see the damn point of staying here, you are literally the most arrogant piece of shit."

"Stephanie," he murmured, my full name causing more fury to fuel my present anger. "I didn't mean it, just choose where you want to crash and I'll stay out of the way."

I stood in the middle of his living-room, internal conflict thrashing in the pit of my mind. "Richie, I swear, I'll kill you in your sleep."

The strangest of outcomes approached me once his raspy laughter fled through the atmosphere, causing me to gaze at him strangely with a bewildered expression denting my features.

"Whatever you say, Copperhead," he simply spewed through his fits of laughter.

"Are you taking this seriously, because your reaction is making it seem like I'm a fucking joke."

"No, I am, I just pictured your little hands stabbing a knife through me," he explained. "It was as entertaining as a toddler playing with a gun."

"Eat my shorts, Richie."

"No, I'm on a diet, sorry."

I snorted. "What, a cornflake diet?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I could survive on these for the rest of my adult life."

"Aren't you a little frail looking to be an adult, Richie?" I questioned, my eyebrow creasing upward.

"Okay, Copperhead, I think it's time for bed now," he stated, nuzzling his head into his pillow that rested upon the decomposed tawny couch.

I awkwardly stalked off through his secluded hallway, trailing into what I assumed was his bedroom.

It wasn't hard to identify Richie's room; pearl walls coated in band posters and provocative photos of women, a beat up record player that was balanced upon a deconstructed umber desk, and a king-sized bed plastered in disheveled blankets.

I climbed into the bed – making sure to shut off the lights as I entered the room – and plopped my torso inside the sheets.

I attempted to fall asleep, listening to the monotonous chirps of crickets through the cracks of his window, but couldn't find the strength to slip through unconsciousness.

My eyes skimmed the peeling dents of Richie's ceiling as I tried to sort through my cluttered catastrophic mind. I sunk my back into the mattress as my eyelids began to flutter closed slowly.

Suddenly, the overbearing feeling of the bed swallowing my body alerted me as my bulged eyes ripped open. The sheets began wrapping me as though I was in a cocoon and consumed my frail torso through the bed springs, causing a scream to rip the seams of my vocal cords.

The same words that dented my mind for days spilled into the blood-curdling atmosphere. "You'll float, Stef, you'll see."

Richie burst through the door with a panic-stricken expression painted upon his boyish features, thrusting my torso side to side as my arms stayed glued to my hips.

"Stef, are you okay?" he cried in horror.

I felt as though I was released from a haunting sleep paralysis as I propped myself on my elbows to Richie standing over me worriedly. Coughs bombarded my lungs, straining me of the ability to formulate coherent sentences.

"I'm sorry," I gasped for air to refill my lungs. "I-I can't sleep here by myself, Richie."

Richie didn't respond as he plopped his figure on the carpet coated floor next to the bed, simply outstretching his torso to get comfortable. His head balanced upon his biceps as he intertwined his frail arms.

The room returned to silence once I turned to my side. I examined him; brooding mocha irises planted upon the punctured ceiling as he divulged through his mind.

I felt the vibration of chills pulse through me every time I'd attempt to calm myself from the previous encounter with what I assumed was the same sinister clown. The silent atmosphere hadn't improved my tranquility, but still felt like a difficult barrier to deconstruct.

"Stef," his raspy voice suddenly trailed into the atmosphere. "What are you afraid of?"

I hesitated to answer; the battle of conflict arising in my overbearing thoughts as I continued to recall the clown's words.

It was hard to muster a coherent response, but Richie's beady eyes and scrunched features appeared to be worried, so I decided to clarify without spilling the information of what had occurred just seconds ago in order to avoid reliving the event.

He looked at me with concern as I said, "small spaces; anything that could trap me whole."

"Why?"

"W-When I used to get bullied, I got shoved into lockers a lot, sometimes the bullies would leave me in lockers for hours after school until the janitor would let me out," I spoke wobbly. My fear slowly straining me of the ability to speak.

Richie let out a gulp of air – adjusting the rim of his coke bottle glasses – before speaking tonelessly. "That sucks."

"Well, it's stupid."

"No," he shook his head, "it's not."

I didn't say anything else as I gripped the blanket with curled fists, exhaustion slowly peeking up at me.

"Don't worry, Copperhead, the only bully you'll have is me, sorta," was the last sentence from Richie that trailed into the atmosphere before I was swallowed by exhaustion.

Edit—
[ I re-wrote this because I didn't like it at first. I still don't like parts of it but oh whale.

P.S I wish I had more interactive readers to do a Q&A or something :// ]