Richard whistled a cheery tune as he walked around the camp, glancing at the flowers every so often as he waited for Helen to walk out of the tent she was staying in, ready to go to this town.
His whistling stopped as he heard a rustling from the tent flap, as Helen walked out of the tent.
Richard’s cheeks felt hot as she brushed some hair behind her ear, newly combed and cleaned, revealing the honey-blonde color.
She was wearing a longer skirt with a white blouse, and a brown shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Underneath the skirt was a pair of warm stockings, and she sported some new boots that laced to the middle of her shin.
“I uh…figured I should change into something a bit warmer before we start our journey to the mountains,” Helen smiled a little, her face pink with a blush as well.
“These boots are a bit more comfortable, too,” she added as she nervously kicked at some grass, “I’ve uh…never worn so many layers before, and I hope they match…Alice said something about color coordinating…”
She trailed off a little, thinking it over before continuing, “But um…this is what I’ve got. I…hope it looks okay,” she offered a little smile, breaking Richard out of his trance.
“Helen…” Richard jammed his hands into his pockets, avoiding her eyes a little, “You look…you look great.”
Helen’s face grew redder as Richard’s own felt like it would explode. Why couldn’t he see her in a new dress without getting so flustered?
They stood there for a moment, not speaking to each other while avoiding the other’s eyes.
“Come on, loverboy,” Peter walked over to Richard, his flame-colored hair newly washed as well, “We have to get you ready for this trip, too.”
Peter grabbed Richard’s arm, gently leading him away from Helen so he could get ready. Richard took one last look behind him, seeing Helen smile and wave at him as they walked farther away.
He tried to smile back, but looking behind him as Helen and himself grew farther and farther apart, he felt sad that he was leaving Helen, even for a little bit.
They had learned to live together, so it was unbearable when they were apart.
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“I know how to dress myself,” Richard complained as Peter continued to adjust the vest over his chest. “Why do you seem so keen on making me ‘look dashing’ when you’ve only ever lived in rags all your life?”
Peter’s eyes glanced up at him for a moment, a look of annoyance clear as crystal on his face.
“Sorry,” he muttered to Peter, “I-”
“It’s fine,” Peter answered quickly, adjusting the jacket over Richard’s shoulders rather roughly, “I don’t care what you think.” He began to turn away, his face lowered so his scarlet hair covered his eyes, keeping his expression a secret from Richard.
“No, Peter-” Richard desperately tried to reach for him, grabbing his upper arm.
Peter stopped, his head still turned away from him.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Let go of me,” Peter wrenched himself out of Richard’s grip, making his way to the flap of the tent.
“Wait!” he called to Peter, who stopped, turning himself around to face him, his expression still hidden behind his hair.
“That wasn’t right for me to say,” Richard continued, “and-and I know you deserve better. I uh…don’t know what came over me, but I have no right to make you feel bad.”
“Go on…” Peter’s voice darkly returned.
“W-what?”
“What else do you have to say, Richard?” he began to slowly walk up to him until he finally tilted his head up for Richard to see the tears beading in Peter’s eyes. “What else could you possibly say for what you’ve said or done to me in the past few months?”
“Oh,” Richard’s eyes flicked nervously to the ground, a flash of memory occurring before his eyes of his father once, angry with him for not wearing his tie straight enough.
“Ugh, you can never do anything right,” his father had said, his expression dark and frightening, “You’re just like your mother, failing in every way.”
“When will you ever be good enough?” the voice of his father continued to taunt, “When will I get the son that I deserve?”
It was like everything except for the memories had been blocked out, leaving Richard with the words of his father berating him, explaining every insecurity he had.
“Spoiled.”
“Rich.”
“Brat.”
“You’re a disgrace.”
“You’ll always be seen as the worst of the quest, the boy who was mistakenly chosen for this task.”
“You’ll never protect the ones you love.”
“How could you just stand there while the ones you loved most were hurt? When some were killed? Why couldn’t you help Helen when she had been injured?”
“You won’t be able to protect her forever,” a voice hissed, the same shrill sound he had heard only weeks ago, telling him to hand over his friends, “You will watch her die a painful death and there will be nothing you can do about it. Nothing you can do for the rest of your friends. You can’t even talk to Peter…”
Peter.
Richard needed to talk to Peter.
“So…what’re you going to do, Rich?” Peter asked as Richard realized he was out of the nightmare within his mind, “Are you going to apologize or not?”
Richard was silent for a moment, still in shock from the memory, the voices, everything.
Peter scoffed. “Of course, you won’t.”
Richard shook himself out of his daze. “No, wait!”
He stopped again, sighing from the annoyance Richard had caused him. “What is it now, Ricardo? Going to make fun of my sad life anymore?”
“No,” he wouldn’t ever do that again. “No, I won’t. I uh…want to say that I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I could say it’s my father’s fault, for raising me like this, but I won’t. I should have treated you all with respect from the very beginning. But I didn’t. I made fun of you all and was still pretty annoying even after Skylar went missing. I’m-I’m really sorry, Peter,” Richard’s voice cracked a little as he stared at the side of the tent, avoiding eye contact with him.
“But…I don’t want to lose this friendship. I know I’m horrible to get along with, and I’ve been trying my hardest to do better. So…so I guess what I’m trying to say is…I guess what I’m saying is that I care about you, Peter, and I know you care about me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tried to help me get dressed all nicely. So, I…I don’t want to lose that friendship, no matter how different we are.”
Peter’s eyes were shining with tears, his expression hard before eventually softening. “Oh, okay…” he muttered, uncrossing his arms, before his smile returned, “What can I say to my favorite guy named Richard?”
Peter then held his arms out for a hug, and Richard reluctantly accepted it, still not entirely used to the physical touch from people other than Helen.
“Peter, I’m the only guy you know named Richard.”
“Hey, you never know!” Peter’s laugh sounded from beside Richard’s head, “Maybe one of those boys who made fun of me a few years back was named Richard!”
Scowling, Richard backed away from the hug and looked Peter in the eye as he asked, “Who?”
Peter’s laugh was more nervous this time. “Oh, nothing. Just some boys at the orphanage I stayed at for a while. They uh…didn’t like my…scars.”
“Scars?”
The green eyes of Peter widened with shock as he realized something. “Oh,” he said in surprise, “Oh, no no no no no, just-just forget I ever said that.”
He tried to walk away again, but Richard once again stopped him. “Peter…what. Scars?”
“It-it really is nothing, something that just happened a long time ago…”
“Please, Peter,” Richard pleaded, “Tell me what happened. Tell me why they would ever make fun of you for such a thing like that.”
“Look, it’s just the scars from when-when my house burned down…years ago. The boys just…didn’t like them.”
“Can-can I see them?”
Peter nodded, then pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the ugly scars beneath. They were an angry red color, tracing across his chest and reaching around Peter’s back like two large claws had gripped him tight.
“They’ve…never truly healed,” Peter explained, “And whenever I started to grow, it was like they stretched more on my skin.”
“Do they…hurt?” Richard self-consciously scratched at the bandages covering the left side of his face, remembering the pain that would shoot through his nerves every time he touched it.
Peter shrugged. “Sometimes,” he admitted, “Only when the skin gets cut or hurt.”
“Like…when you had to fight-”
He held up a hand, Peter’s eyes once again distant when Richard was about to bring up his fight with Boromir. “Yes, they-they hurt. But, please, don-don’t mention that…fight. You and Alice are the only ones who know about…this.”
Richard nodded, knowing how uncomfortable he would get whenever the topic of his scar was brought up by the others.
He remembered hearing Skylar whispering to Helen the one day about how he didn’t need to keep it bandaged up much anymore, and ran to the woods holding back tears because he knew that the only reason he kept his face covered was to hide the scars. Along with everything else that made him insecure.
“But…yeah,” Peter once again broke Richard out of his thoughts, “Those boys uh…caught me bathing in a river a little ways from the town one day and…saw the scars. They were…still fresh, so they really hurt and I just wanted to wash them away. I…I think I hurt myself that day, especially when they started to…call me things.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, you know,” Peter’s smile once again returned, unsettling Richard a little. “Just the best insults they could throw; ‘Scar-boy’, ‘Monster’, ‘Lobster’, ‘Fire-boy’, all the good stuff. You know, I wonder if I got my sense of humor from them!” His smile seemed a bit crazed, the tears returning to his eyes.
“Uh…Peter?” He reached his hand out, concerned as Peter’s laughter continued, “You okay?”
His chuckle started silent but slowly grew as Richard watched in horror that Peter’s tears began to fall in streaks down his cheeks.
“I mean…make fun of what you’re insecure about, right?” Peter’s knees began to shake, and this time Richard edged closer to him, wanting to help. “Just make poor boys who’ve lost everything feel worse, ahaha!”
“Peter…” he put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, as he shook with crazed laughs and cries.
“I…just wanted…to be normal…” his voice was muffled as he hugged Richard, his hands gripping his jacket in anger and frustration, “I wanted…to be like them…but I couldn’t…be normal…”
“I don’t think any of us are normal,” Richard offered, his hand patting Peter’s back, “I don’t think we’ll ever be normal. I guess, in a way…we were born different. We were never meant to be normal.”
“That doesn’t…make it better…”
“No,” was Richard’s response, “It doesn’t."
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