Chapter Text
Richie Tozier was 6 years old when he first started getting his tics, yet he was 14 when finally diagnosed with Tourette’s syndrome, specifically coprolalia. Now at 16 he's given in to going to a support group because of his mother. He's said multiple times that it would only make him feel more weird and alienated but he couldn't say no to his mother when she looked at him in that way she does. His family life definitely wasn't perfect, his parents didn't really understand him, but they were trying and he was forever grateful for that, which was another reason to why he finally gave in.
His mom shouted up the stairs making Richie groan and roll over in bed to look at his phone: 10 AM. He threw his phone back onto the table and tossed back over, no one should have to get up at such an ungodly hour during summer break. But then his mother was yelling at him to get up again and he knew she wouldn’t stop until he did. Rolling onto his back he yelled back a quick “WHAT?!” and waited for a response. Obviously, mom's being how they are, he didn't get a response. He called out again to no avail, forcing him to get up and walk downstairs.
Following the smell of eggs, he reached the kitchen, his mom tossing him a quick “My god, Richie, couldn't have at least put some pants on?” to which he said “It's just you and dad I don't see the problem.” in response and sat down. His mom gave him a plate, shortly followed by eggs and a container of syrup.
“What’s the occasion, you guys hate eggs.” he said pouring just a little bit more syrup than needed onto the eggs.
“Because it's your favorite and you have a big day ahead of you.” she winked.
Richie groaned, how could he forget his promise? His mother’s laugh was shortly followed by a joking “I'm starting to think groaning is a new tic.” to which he flipped her off and said “Don't jinx it I’m on a streak.” his father pipping with a quick “Let's see how long that will last…”. Not long after Richie barked and hit his head causing his dad to laugh, naturally causing Richie to flip him off as well.
“Hurry up now, Rich, I made sure to wake you up in time so you can shower but you know how you always take the longest showers.”
He never mentioned it but he was so glad his mother woke him up with time to shower in mind as it was one of the only times he could relax and feel normal. Tics can happen at any time but mostly when you're stressed, you can't be stressed when you're showering. If he had time to shower before the day, he was less likely to tic as much.
“And what time does it start?” he asked.
“Noon.”
“And what time is it now, be exact.”
She pulled out her phone, checking it, before responding. “10:37 on the dot.”
Richie hummed in response showing he understood, shoving the rest of his eggs down his throat, before going to hop into the shower.
Before climbing in, he put his phone on full volume onto the counter, putting on his ‘music mix’ which was mainly just PUP, Catfish and the Bottlemen, and The Wombats.
The feeling of the warm, verging on hot, water instantly soothed his tense muscles as his favorite song at the time - Guilt Trip by PUP - began to play. He started to hum along, soon breaking out into full-on singing. He absentmindedly began to scrub away chaotically at his body and hair so he could get it over with quickly and could relax the rest of the time. Music and showers we're the best things in the world to Richie, the only things that could calm him down.
Not long after he finished showering, the song changed. Going from Turn (The Wombats) to Emily by Catfish and the Bottlemen. He positioned the head of the shower at more of an angle, so that when he sat down the water would not be directly in his face, and sat down. The song itself wasn't necessarily sad or anything, but the vibe always got Richie feeling down, just a bit, despite it always being one of Richie’s favorites.
Humming along, he thought. That was it. If you asked him, showers we're only really good for thinking. He thought about everything: himself, his nonexistent friends, how he would be if he was different, no, better . Then thinking went to crying.
Once getting himself together, he turned off the water and got out, the cool air instantly hitting his body, forcing out a tic: he rolled his eyes involuntarily 3 times. Sighing, he put a towel around his waist and one in his hair, before eventually opening the door and going up the stairs to his room.
Once in said room, he instantly looked at his phone, 11:20 AM, just enough time, he assumed, to get ready and make it there on time.
His music, still playing, switched song. What had been Scorpion Hill by PUP quietly died out and Fallout by Catfish and the Bottlemen began. He started singing along as he half walked half danced to his closet, picking out his outfit for the day.
Quickly pulling out a random band tee and some random black jeans, he put them on thoughtlessly. His mom called up yet again as he was putting his shoes on, “something something, come on”, he couldn’t quite tell exactly what she had said from his music. Turning it down he called back down.
“What?!”
“You're gonna be late, come on!”
Richie looked at his phone, that much time couldn't have passed, could it? Well apparently so, he should have realized by how many songs he went through, it was now 11:42 AM.
He ran down the stairs, following his mom out the door and into the passenger side of the car. He sighed as the car began to move, looking out the window, preparing for the car ride that would only take around 20 minutes, yet feel like 10 years.