Richie wakes up with a loud snorting sound. He looks around him and thanks the god he doesn't believe in that no one is around.
He looks down at himself and thinks aloud, "What the fuck?"
It's not that it's ugly, in fact that would make more sense. It wouldn't be the first time that he's woken up wearing stupid shit, especially summer of '02 with the horse mask that almost suffocated him.
Dammit, his thoughts were getting away from him again. Time to focus. He... psychically... metaphysically... whatever it's called checks his skull. No headache. He puts his hand up, breathes, and sniffs. No cheap beer smell.
Did he even get drunk last night?
He lifts his sleeve up in a moment of panic and seems that all the marks in the crook of his elbow are older, not red and angry.
So why doesn't he remember last night?
In fact, he doesn't even know what fucking day it is. He fishes around his nightstand and stumbles onto his phone, but the red light on the screen indicates that it's dead.
He grabs his glasses and puts them on, reintroducing his eyeballs to clarity.
Unless he took some pills last night, Richie was fully sober but somehow blacked out.
He runs over to the window and harshly fumbles it open.
It's snowing. The last thing Richie remembered was the sun. Heat. Summer. Definitely summertime vibes happening.
So, unless he binged his way through three plus months, something is very wrong. Should he go to the hospital? It's weird. Something in the back of his brain is telling him that can't be it.
Richie falls back on the bed as he flashes a movie shot in his mind of water. He's swimming, but he's crying. There's blood in the water.
Richie sits up and shakes it off. Nope. Not gonna go there right now. He hasn't had enough coffee to deal with whatever that means.
As Richie makes his way to his small and pathetic kitchen, he looks back down at the stained sweater in question. God, it stinks. He thinks it used to be white, but now it's a sort of mess of browns and yellows. What, did he wear this for three months straight?
That's gross, even by his standards. For some reason, the thought of cleanliness makes his heart soar, then plummet. It makes him dizzy with emotion and with actual dizziness. He really does need that coffee.
