Chapter Text
The barn was a great beast. Everything unpleasant (the smell, the damp, the mess) slid into Bill’s peripherals, overshadowed by its beauty. Hay shone gold under the orange sunlight that broke through the cracks in the roof, a sunrise captured in the wood. Animal noises sounded around the four of them, a cow grunting, a bird chirping itself awake. Beverly’s cheek rested against his shoulder, a yawn escaping her.
“Mike, do you shoot ‘em?” Richie’s voice was sharp and alert, forcing Bill and Beverly to track him with their eyes. An unwatched Richie was a dangerous Richie. Balanced on the first wrung of a gate, his arm was held out towards a pig, who looked more than mildly agitated about being disturbed by the loudmouth. “Get me a shotgun and let me at ‘em.” Bill thought that Richie might have been attempting a Southern accent, but it was mangled, too distinctly Richie-like to be anything else.
“Leave it alone, Richie,” Mike huffed, hands hooking under Richie’s armpits to tug him down. There was a moment where he was in the air, supported only by Mike’s weight, and then the backs of his feet hit the ground. Mike let go of him just in time for the other to trip over himself.
Richie’s head snapped over his shoulder, eyes growing wide and lips forming an ‘o’ as he stared at the mirth-ridden faces of his two friends. “Did you see what that monster did to me?” Richie gasped, a hand on his forehead as he collapsed further onto the floor. Mike shrugged.
“Oh, are you okay?” Beverly, hand over her heart, stepped forward. Richie held out a hand towards her, but she carefully side-stepped him, and wrapped her arm around Mike’s shoulders. Bill couldn’t help the chuckle that rose in his chest.
“I think I’ll survive, but barely,” Mike said, a pleasant laugh on his lips. He held out his hand for Richie, who made a show of getting up on his own, brushing hay and dirt from his clothes. As if they weren’t stained enough before.
“Well, what do you need us to do, Mike?” Bill’s arms crossed over his chest as he glanced between the three of them. Stan had been busy helping his father, and Ben had snagged himself a part-time job that left him absent from most of their outings. Eddie had staunchly objected anything that involved a farm. How long had it been since they were all together?
“My dad needs the attic completely cleared out, all the hay and droppings and trash. There’s some wheelbarrows up there for us to put the waste into,” Mike said, a little bashful at having to ask for the help, even if his friends had volunteered. He was met with two smiling faces, Bill and Beverly taking the duty with ease, and Richie’s loud groan. “It shouldn’t take too long, if all of us do our best.”
“I thought we were gonna be feeding chickens,” Richie said, throwing his hands in the air.
“I never said anything about feeding chickens.”
“The chicken-feeding was implied!” To punctuate his words, Richie shook his fist at Mike, feeling thoroughly betrayed and beguiled.
“How do you even imply chicken-feeding?” There was a crease in Mike’s brow as he spoke.
“We’re at a farm. Farms have chickens. You have chickens!”
“If I show you how to feed the chickens, will you shut up for the rest of the day?”
“I’ll shut up about how lame cleaning the attic is, but I can never be silenced.” It sounded like a threat. Sparing a glance over at Bill and Beverly, the three of them decided in quick succession that it was better not to have Richie complain the whole day away. Besides, maybe feeding the chickens would tire him out. Or they could peck out his vocal chords. Bill spared a smile at the thought, nodding at Mike.
With a hand placed on the back of Richie’s neck, like a pup who couldn’t be trusted to make the journey alone, he was guided to the back of the barn. Sharing a glance, Bill and Beverly offered each other a shrug, before disappearing up the stairs to the attic. Bill kept looking over his shoulder to make sure Beverly didn’t fall through them.
The attic didn’t glow with a halo of light. One bulb hung in the middle of the room, casting a pale circle of light that only spanned a metre, at best. Everything else seemed clouded with darkness. Beverly took a step closer to him, her shoulder brushing against his upper arm.
“Well,” she hummed, clearing her throat. And then doing it once more, until she worked up the courage to speak again. “I suppose we best get started.”
“I suppose,” Bill responded. It took wandering in the dark for them to find what they needed; the wheelbarrows, some gloves, one shovel between them. Beverly took it, and her look allowed for no objections.
They started in the pool of light, for the sake of safety. Back to back, the two chose a space, and began to clear away what covered the floor. Most of it was just dry hay, which was lifted easy enough, but Bill found a brick and some shards of glass as he ventured into the darker parts that made him take care. It took all of five minutes for one wheelbarrow to be full to the brim.
“My back hurts.”
“I have dirt all over my hands.”
“My hands are sore from gripping this handle.”
“I think I cut my finger on some glass.”
A slight pause. “Okay, you win,” Beverly conceded. They both crowded around his hand as he held it towards the light; the glass had chipped at it enough to leave a white mark, but there wasn’t any blood. Handing over the shovel to him, Beverly took the gloves. Her eyes slid over to the opening in the floor, somewhere in the distance, listening for footsteps or voices. A cow mooed. Nothing moved.
“Can I talk to you about something?” she murmured, voice soft and gentle, a whisper in a place made of silence.
“Always,” Bill replied, without thinking, but meaning it entirely. Beverly cleared her throat, shoulders straightening, before falling slack. She was building herself up and tearing herself down with every breath.
“I think Ben has feelings for me.”
Bill hung his head, gaze following a bug that skittered across the floor. At least it was clean enough to see the wood. There was a time where he had competed for Beverly’s affections, finding a rival in the other boy. He still remembered the warmth of her hand against his cheek, the softness of her lips, the brief moment where they were kids and teenagers and adults all at once.
“Oh, don’t do that.” There’s a smirk in Beverly’s voice that grew at Bill’s sigh.
“Things have just changed between us. I mean, we’re friends.”
“You don’t have to explain anything.”
“It could be worse.”
“I never said it was bad.” Beverly was still staring at the opening.
“It could be Richie.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Your children would be ginger loudmouths. Impossible to ignore.” Bill had to spread his fingers over his lips to stop the way laughter broke inside of him, loud and bright, eyes shining.
“I’ve decided I hate you,” Beverly murmured, affronted and only a little amused.
“Brave decision.”
“Can you let me talk?”
“Oh, please, do.”
“Richie wouldn’t ever have a crush on me.” Though she wasn’t quick to share a secret that didn’t belong to her, Beverly had always suspected that the other’s heart had been captured before they had even met. He was taken in all regards but the literal.
Eyebrows lifted as she spoke, lips pressing into an uncomfortable twist as Bill grimaced.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.” Her brow crumpled, a hand moving to lie flat against her stomach as she was trying to placate the raging seas that bore against her bones. They’d have to be blind, or Richie, to ignore the way Ben puppy-followed her around.
“If he really loved you, he’d want you to be happy.”
Beverly’s features pinched. Stepping away from him and into the darkness, she began to pile hay into her hands, dumping it into another wheelbarrow. They’d have to bring more up soon. “Thanks, Bill,” Beverly murmured, halfheartedly.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No. Not wrong. Just - rose-coloured.” Bill didn’t say anything, so Beverly continued. “Of course he’ll want me to be happy. But he’ll also want himself to be happy. People can feel more than one thing at once. And I just don’t want to see him hurt or upset because of me.”
“You don’t have to hurt him,” Bill said. There’s a long pause. Bill bit his tongue, before sighing. “I mean, wouldn’t being with him be better than being lonely?”
“I’m not lonely. I’m surrounded by people I love, all the time. People who love me. There’s no loneliness in that.”
“People can feel different things at once. You can be lonely and not lonely at the same time, for different reasons.”
Bill thought on how he had a support system holding him up, six shoulders to cry on, and yet a part of him was hollow. There was a scrap of his heart that belonged entirely to his brother, and had been lost with him. Memories of Georgie had already begun to fade. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t remember his little brother, but the memories were flashes, things thought of in relation. It was like he couldn’t isolate the thought of Georgie anymore; he existed as an association.
He was both full and empty.
Beverly’s eyes were wide lights in the darkness, another handful of dirt and hay thrown into the wheelbarrow. “Very cute.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you something better.”
“It’s alright. You did your best.” As they grew, Bill realised all the ways he couldn’t look after his friends. He was only responsible for a small piece of the world. His tribe of young children with stifled innocence were running from his grip, carried away down a river of adulthood, filled with the death-traps of complicated emotions. He longed for the taste of childhood.
“Can I talk to you about something, actually?” Stepping back into the dim light, Beverly examined a piece of glass, throwing it into the wheelbarrow when she realised that it wasn’t something precious.
“You know you can always talk to me, Bill. Go on.”
“It’s a little complicated. I still don’t know what to make of it.”
“I’m sure I can keep up. Tell it slowly.”
Bill wasn’t even sure that he could keep up. The outing to the farm had drawn his thoughts away from the letters, but his mind kept returning to them in useless turmoil. They were a scrawl that foretold death, a command in each, like he was a child in need of guidance in case he stumbled off the right path. And - what if the letters were not intent on leading him down the right path? Perhaps it was a malignant force that was writing them.
Maybe, out in a world left unexplored, there were worse things than monsters.
“I think someone’s playing a prank on me.”
“If it’s Richie, I will pants him for you, but I’ll only do it once, so pick wisely.” Bill stored that ammunition away for later use.
“It’s someone else. Something else.”
Matching unease stretched wide over their features, both far too well-acquainted with things without names. The something elses of the world. Beverly’s tongue felt so heavy in her mouth that she could choke on it. Bill thought back on a rain-drenched memory that had been worn from use, of him and Stan beneath an umbrella and a sky and a hidden sun and a universe of trauma, and his silent promise to not bother his friends with the letters. Every reason why he had made such a promise was wrapped up with delicate precision in Beverly’s paling features.
“Please, keep talking.”
“One of them said that Eddie was going to get hurt, and then - he did. And another told me that I shouldn’t go to Audra’s party.” It was on the tip of his tongue, the third fragment of the puzzle that hinted at Stan being hurt, but he couldn’t breathe the words into existence. That, at least, would be his burden.
“Okay,” Beverly said, voice careful. “And do you have any idea who you think is sending them?”
“I’m going to sound crazy.”
“Tell me.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Really, Bill? After everything?”
“I think it’s me. Me, from the future.”
Before anything else could be said, the stairs creaked, and then burst into life. Richie sprinted up them as fast as his legs could carry him, followed by a less-than-enthusiastic Mike. “Howdy, y’all,” Richie greeted, tipping an imaginary hat at them. “Just came back from my first rodeo and I gotta say, I have my war wounds.”
“A chicken pecked him.”
There was soft discontent ravaging Beverly’s features, but Bill turned his gaze to the two approaching boys. Mike was picking feed from Richie’s hair, both oblivious. He wondered how many secret conversations he would never be a part of.
He couldn’t tell them about the letters; even telling Beverly had felt like a misstep.
“You’ve barely gotten anything done!” Richie complained, hands whipping around the attic. Both of them stepped into the circle of light, four children crowned in a golden hue. “I thought you’d have half the place swept by now. Jeez, were you two making out? Or was Bill giving another boring lecture about morals, and yada yada yada?”
“Wow,” Beverly and Bill breathed. Tucking a hair behind her ear, Beverly lifted her shoulders and stepped towards Richie. Sensing danger, the boy took a step back, a nervous grin over his lips. “We weren’t going to put in any effort before you re-appeared, Richie. There’s no reason to do work if you’re not going to pull your weight.”
“Of course,” Richie said. He offered a parody of a bow to Beverly, before waving his hand at Bill. “I happen to be very interested in pulling my weight. In fact, I could do this all by myself, if you all wanted.”
No one paid him any attention, despite how appealing it would be to call Richie’s bluff.
The shovel was handed over to Mike. He was more used to the hard work of a farm, and seemed elegant in how he wielded it. Richie was left to wander around the edges of the darkness, a forced accent telling them to hurry up at varying increments, while he put in as little effort as possible.
Bill and Beverly tried their best, but all they had were their hands, and an exhausted mind from all the secret-revealing.
They didn’t manage to clear the entire attic. Richie, trying to distract them as his need for attention swallowed him whole, began wandering too close in front of them. As Bill bent down to pick up more hay, Richie very nearly trampled his fingers. In response, Bill threw the wad of hay in Richie’s face. It led to a brief scuffle that Mike poked at with his shovel until they parted.
“Boys,” Beverly sighed. Mike had to agree.
She had been working hard, and the muscles in her back ached. Her arms had grown tired and sore, having to rest by her side after each handful of hay had been stuffed away into the wheelbarrows. Bill rolled his shoulder, feeling the burn and stretch, the soreness of his fingertips. Richie would probably feel the same, if he had put in any effort at all.
A piece of glass was kicked towards Bill by Richie’s careless foot.
Even Mike, who was used to this kind of work, felt his body lagging behind. The vestiges of summer heat were captured in the attic, stifling and suffocating, enchanting the world around them with dust.
The four bodies were slumped forward. Richie’s hair was sticking up in places, which wasn’t unusual.
“My mom was making lemonade this morning, if we want to go see if it’s done.”
The collective sigh could have rattled the foundation of the barn.
“You’re a real champ, Mike. A real champ.” An arm was swung over Mike’s shoulder, Richie tugging him closer until their heads met with a dull thump. They hurried ahead, breaking apart only to stumble down the stairs, before reconnecting. Lagging behind them, Beverly’s hand slipped into Bill’s. Her palm was cold, or the touch made Bill run cold, but all the heat around them seemed to dissolve at the touch.
“It’s going to be okay,” Beverly said. Her eyes were set forward, a frown pulling over her lips. “Just don’t go to Audra’s party.”
“Audra’s party?” Richie, at the bottom of the stairs, whipped around to watch Beverly and Bill walk single-file down. Unable to hold the boy’s gaze, Bill stared at his feet. It made it easier to navigate the narrow staircase, at least.
“Audra’s party?” Mike repeated, glancing between everyone.
“A girl at our school is throwing a party,” Beverly said, with a shrug. As if they were the type of people who were invited to parties. “She wants all of us to come.”
“All of us,” Richie said, with a slight scoff.
“All of us,” Mike echoed, with a slight smile.
“Yes, all of us. Even those of us that don’t attend the school, I’m sure.” Her hand was pulled away from Bill to rest against Mike’s forearm. Her head found his shoulder, smile slight over her lips. Bill missed the touch of her fingers. “But Bill won’t be going.”
Thankful that the decision had been made for him, he nodded.
“What? That’s no fun at all, Bill!” Having only just heard of the party, Richie made the decision that it was a momentous occasion for all of them. Pulling himself away from Mike, he clapped his hands to draw their attention. As if they weren’t already focused on him. “This is probably the only party you’ll be invited to in your entire life. You need to go. We all need to go.”
“I’m nu-not gonna be lectured on my life choices by you,” Bill said, eyeing Richie like one would an agitated housecat. He wasn’t exactly dangerous, but he could still pounce and show his claws. Richie sniffed. “All of you can go. I just don’t want to be there.” It’s the only excuse he could find on such short notice. Richie squinted at him.
“Unless you’re too scared to go to a party without Bill,” Beverly cut in, playing Bill’s hero. With a smirk, she brushed past Richie without waiting for an answer. The boy spluttered, eyes darting from Bill to Beverly, before sadly landing on Mike. He offered no help. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll be going to get some lemonade.”
Walking ahead of them, Beverly’s hands rested against the small of her back, the elegant slope of her shoulders looking relaxed and smooth in the sun. Richie raced past her, elbow clashing against hers in his eagerness to get to the lemonade. Bill was sure he had forgotten all about it, until a competition had been proposed.
Kicking off into a sprint, the four of them made their way from the barn to the house. Bill was leagues ahead of the others, Beverly trailing behind him. Richie would have been first, if he hadn’t managed to trip over himself a couple hundred times. Mike was barely putting in any effort, trailing behind them in a half-jog, half-walk. As Bill’s shoes tapped against the first step of the porch, his arms lifted in celebration, a shout breaking from his lungs. Beverly slid beside him, Richie doubling over to catch his breath.
“Richie,” Beverly panted, reaching out to fix his glasses. “You look homeless with your hair like that.”
“Yowza, Bev, you’re a real sweet talker. You still single?”
Her elbow dug sharply into Richie’s ribs. The boy doubled over again, clutching at himself like he’d been mortally wounded. “Depends. You gonna take me out on a date yet, Richard?”
“No, thank you. I prefer to have all my ribs in the right place.” Straightening himself out, Richie patted at his chest. Beverly made to aim for him again, but the two broke apart when the front door opened.
Mike’s mom looked like a warm hug. She settled the tray of lemonades on the porch step, smiling politely at the chorus of ‘thank you’s and the kiss to her cheek that Mike delivered. Richie leaned forward to plant a kiss as well, but Mike batted him away. Straightening out her apron, she pulled Mike close for a hug. He had the decency to not look embarrassed. Few words were exchanged between them before she disappeared again, and they all dove forward to grab a glass.
They hung around the porch until the sun lowered, moving with the efficiency of tired cats over each other, Richie’s legs pushed from lap to lap, Beverly’s fingers combing through hair, the fit of Mike and Bill’s shoulders drooping together. With the sun disappearing, the clouds brought rain, a chill running through them.
“The weather’s been insane lately,” Beverly murmured, pulling her legs under the shelter of the porch, a few raindrops already splattered across her skin.
“My mom calls it the in-between. The seasons haven’t settled yet, they don’t know what they’re doing.” Everyone basked in the wisdom of Mike’s mom, heads tilted in all directions. Bill counted the raindrops until there were too many of them, too fast, to bother keeping track of.
“We should get going,” Bill said, breaking the thin film of silence. Standing to his feet, he held out his hand for Beverly. She took it.
“A few more minutes.” Pulling herself to her feet, Beverly kept her gaze fixed on the rain. It poured. There was a pause where everyone held their breath so hard that Bill was sure he could hear the dull thump of Beverly’s heart. Tilting his head up, Bill met Beverly’s eyes, and then the two said their goodbyes to the others. Richie was half-slumped against Mike, legs blooming into the space left by his friends as they departed.
The night had grown from grey to black when Richie and Mike went inside.
“Can I sleep over tonight?” Richie asked, the same way he had the past two nights, eyes nervously skittering to the side as he dropped the lemonade glasses into the sink. Being as old as they were, his parents would already be sound asleep, practically dead to the world around them. No one would notice Richie. Not even when he shimmied down the drainpipe in the morning, and knocked on the door with a leaf stuck in his frantic hair.
“Only if you don’t make a mess.”
“I’m not a dog!” Richie laughed, nerves bleeding from him. He barked at Mike when the other pushed him aside to wash the glasses.
It wasn’t until they were in Mike’s bedroom that Richie saw it.
“I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” Mike said, hitting his friend on the back as he left the room. Richie watched him go before walking towards the object of his interest. Peeking out from Mike’s rucksack, the edge of a letter stood tall and proud. It was the most tantalising sight Richie had ever seen. He wouldn’t call himself a snooper, but Mike wasn’t the kind to have - secrets . If the letter was even a secret.
Perhaps it was a letter from his grandmother.
Leaning closer, Richie eyed the letter. It was stuck between two books, as if they were meant to keep it from bending. Richie tugged it free. The envelope was blank, which only made Richie more desperate to know what was inside. It couldn’t have been delivered. His fingers brushed over the deliciously white canvas, the secrets behind practically throbbing.
A low rumble sounded from behind him, the distorted growl of his name. Spinning round on the balls of his feet, Richie blinked innocently. “Micheal,” he breathed. Mike all but charged him, rushing forward to grab the letter from his hand. “Oh, this? This isn’t what it looks like,” Richie assured, though he was breaking out in laughter.
Peppermint spit was sprayed against Richie’s cheek as Mike tried to speak around his toothbrush. With a ‘ugh’, the curly-haired boy broke away from Mike to wipe at himself, nose scrunching up. “That’s so gross!” Richie whined, letting Mike snatch the letter and hold it against his chest.
They stood staring at each other, panting. Mike tucked the letter safely into his pocket, and disappeared back into the bathroom. When he returned, he looked only a tad frustrated, though he pushed too hard at Richie’s chest as he brushed past him.
“So,” Richie said, still panting too heavily. Geez, he felt like Eddie. “What’s in the letter, huh?”
“None of your business,” Mike grumbled, the pleasant edge of his voice having vanished. Now they both sounded like Eddie!
“But what if I told you the fate of the universe depended on me finding out?” Richie considered leaping forward to grasp at the letter, but Mike was stronger, and far more annoyed.
“What if I told you to shut it?”
“Touche,” Richie said.
Undressing together in silence, Richie kept stealing glances at the place where the letter was hidden. As a good friend, he knew better than to pry. As a best friend, he felt that it was his duty to know what was in the letter.
Both boys laid in bed together in various states of undress. Though Mike fell asleep within minutes, Richie couldn’t, itching to crawl out of bed and pluck the letter from his friend’s discarded jeans.
By the time Beverly had made it home, it was dark, inside and out.
She opened the door with her own key. It was only a small taste of freedom, to come and go as she pleased, but it was more than she had ever been allowed - for that, it was the most delicious taste. Shoes and coats were to be taken off in front of the doorway, neatly lined up with the rest of the family’s, a routine that her father hadn’t bothered with. Creeping into the kitchen, she found her aunt at the table, half-dead with sleep.
“Oh, Elfrida,” her aunt yawned. Standing to her feet, she ran her hands down her apron. “I was just staying awake until you came back, you give me such a fright when you stay out so late. There’s some cold pasta in the fridge, if you get hungry.”
“Thank you,” Beverly hummed, stilling as her aunt leaned down to press a dry kiss to her forehead. The tenseness of her shoulders was muscle memory, remembering the stickiness of her dad’s touch, but - her aunt smelled of flour and butter. Her hands were clean and smooth, her touch light and friendly. “Beverly. My name’s Beverly..”
Her aunt pulled away to blink down at her, before nodding. “Of course, of course. I’m sorry. Your hair...” There’s a note in her aunt’s voice that ping-ponged its way across Beverly’s spine. Fingers smooth down her bright curls. “I suppose I’ll go to bed before I bother you anymore.” She padded out of the kitchen in dreamy silence, disappearing into the gloomy hold of darkness.
She didn’t bother with the pasta. Her stomach had been in knots since Bill had talked about the letter, and showed no signs of settling. Instead, she grabbed a few apple slices that had been preserved in lemon juice; if she continued to live with her aunt, she didn’t think she’d ever have to bite into a real apple again. The slices were bitter, and left an uncomfortable burn in her mouth, but Beverly still ate enough of them to start feeling sick. A few in her hand, leaving her palm sticky, Beverly made her way into her bedroom.
Well, not her bedroom. Their bedroom.
The door opened silently, permitting a slither of fine light into the room. It was enough to make her cousin stir, twisting to stare at Beverly’s face, cheeks stuffed with apple slices. Her cousin, Olivia, had been relegated to a mattress on the floor while Beverly had her bed. There had been no contempt about this change. Beverly’s history had been told to Olivia in spurts, and she had taken the role of the good cousin, allowing the younger to have and use anything in her room. Most of Beverly’s clothes had been gifts from Olivia.
She was passively angelic, and looked the part. Even newly awakened, her hair was curled neatly, her cheeks two blooming roses, her eyes a fussy green that seemed to lighten and darken at will.
Beverly tried her hardest to like her, to love her, but she failed miserably. Liking Olivia seemed to only last for seconds at a time, before Beverly’s skin crawled at her charitable nature, at how giving she was without ever seeking reward.
“Oh, it’s rather late,” Olivia murmured, leaning forward to glance at the clock.
“Sorry for waking you,” Beverly said. She wasn’t sure how much she meant it. Her bed, her cousin’s bed, was freshly made, with a corner turned down to welcome Beverly into it. Turning her back to Olivia, Beverly stripped off her clothes; her cousin’s shirt, her own jeans, socks that belonged to her aunt, shoes that had been bought new.
“It’s no trouble,” Olivia said, voice filled with ambivalent forgiveness. As Beverly sat on the bed, she realised Olivia was sat there as well. “A letter came for you this morning.” A smooth, cream envelope was pressed into Beverly’s hands. It smelled like fresh lilac, but that could have been the imprint of Olivia’s skin. It was utterly unopened, looking as if it had only been handled once or twice with vague disinterest.
She wished that Olivia had torn it open on arrival, so Beverly could scream at her.
Beverly needed someone to scream at.
“Oh.” Her thoughts, which were distinctly pleasing and abjectly horrifying, stopped dead as she glanced at the letter. “Do you know who delivered?”
“Why, the mailman.” Olivia blinked at her, a blank smile across her pink lips.
“No. I don’t think so,” Beverly hummed. “Did you see who delivered it? Did it come with the regular post? Did - did anyone see? I don’t want it. Give it back to whoever delivered it.”
“You’re scaring me,” Olivia gasped, drawing her hand to her chest. Beverly hadn’t realised her fingers were circling her cousin’s wrists until she yanked herself free. “You’re clearly tired.” Inspecting the red ring around her wrist, Olivia averted her gaze from Beverly’s wide eyes. Even after such an outburst, her tone was even and warm, perfectly unfractured. In a worse mood, Beverly would imagine all the ways she could ruin Olivia’s voice.
The thoughts were passing, the ones she had of hurting her cousin. It came with an airy vengeance, a pinpoint of anger flaring inside of her, and then it disappeared. In its wake, embarrassment bloomed. She wouldn’t really hurt Olivia. There wasn’t even anything solid to hate about her cousin, not with her aura of pleasantness that every adult commented on. Since Beverly had been forced into the household, Olivia had made every sacrifice for her dear cousin. Her fingers tightened around the edges of the envelope, watching the paper scrunch up.
“We’re both tired.” With barely a crack in her performance, Olivia faked a yawn and shuffled back onto the mattress on the ground. “I’ll see you in the morning, Beverly. Tell me if you get too cold and you can have my throw.”
With nothing to be done until morning, unless Beverly subjected herself to reading whatever was in the envelope, she settled. She sunk two inches into the soft comforter, letter held in one hand, finger rubbing circles over it as if she could read the words in such a way.