"Pen isn't mightier than the sword. Pens don't win battles, and swords don't write poetry. Mighty is the hand that knows when to pick the pen and when to pick the sword." —
Unknown

I ran down the sideway to meet with Richie. I felt like a total piece of shit for leaving him, it wasn't like I was always able to walk away from him like that. Besides, Richie didn't look too bad. Jest a few minor bruises.
"Hey Chee-"
"Don't fucking call me that." His voice was rough and broke in multiple places, like he'd been crying or something.
"What's wrong?" I asked him.
All I received in return was a glare from the taller boy. I shrank back.
He continued walking towards the library, and I silently followed behind him, wondering what had happened.
I followed him up the steps into the library, but as he went to the table, I went to look at some books close enough to hear Richie speak.
"H-hi Richie," I heard Bill stutter.
"Hi Chee," Eddie's quiet voice said at the same time.
Richie still didn't speak, he just sat down and stared blankly at the floor.
"Oh my god Richie what happened to your throat?" I heard Bev ask a moment later.
     "I got cut," was his icy reply.
     There was silence for a moment; I decided to walk back over to the table.
     Richie shot me a quick glare, but dropped his gaze after a moment. "I'm out this bitch," he whisper-yelled, getting a stern shushing from the librarian.
     We all looked up at him, mouths hanging open stupidly. Sure, Richie cussed, but never loudly when there were children around and he could get       in trouble.
     We all watching in awe as Richie flipped off the librarian and continue walking away.
     "What's his problem?" I heard Mike whisper to Stanley who sat right beside him.
     Stanley just shrugged. "I-I don't know."
     "Well, I'm going to find out," I declared, standing up from the table.
     "Be careful Ben, you know how Richie gets when he's angry like that," Bev warned.
     I nodded. "Yes ma'am."

     I caught up with Richie after two blocks. "Hey," I panted. "What's wrong?"
     He turned his usually happy eyes on me. "What's wrong? What's wrong?" He snarled. "Let's see. First, you leave me to fend for myself, not even staying to see if I could use an extra hand, and then Henry made me-" he cut himself off, taking a shaky deep breath. "Forget it."
     "Well first of all, Richie," I snapped at him. "You let me go. You told Henry he could do whatever he wanted with you, as long as I could leave. Don't you put all the blame on me like always!"
Tears filled his eyes and I instantly regretted my words.
"Chee-"
"Forget it Ben!" He cried, wiping the tears hurriedly off his face. "You don't care, so just drop it. I'm sorry ok! I'm sorry you feel like the blame is always on you, and that it's my fault! I'm sorry!" His voice broke, and he began to sob.
He sat down on the curb, sobbing into his knees.
I sat down beside him, and wrapped my arm around him. "I don't know what happened, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help, ok? I won't let Bowers ever hurt you again," I declared in a whisper.
Richie sniffled a laugh. "Thanks Ben."