Chapter Text
You slowly crept up to the mirror, staring at your reflection. Your breathing was labored. It felt like you were almost giving yourself an attack; just random leftover anxiety coming to bite you in the ass. When you ever dared to look into your own eyes, you saw evil. Elaboration? Something crawling around deep within, maybe even spreading itself. Things dont feel right, at all. Sometimes, when you held your breath enough (you did this often, its not like it mattered) you could feel the entity lift itself off of you – it was reassuring. Your lungs lighting up like a match afterwards was the only way you could remind yourself you were still human.
You rolled your tongue against your teeth and leaned closer, enough to see your irises. They were spastic in comparison to your eyes, twitching like you were mad. It could almost make you sick, often did. You sighed at yourself, cupping your hands around the cold sink. When leaning backward, your hands squeaked as they slipped against the cheap porcelain. You took a quick glance down towards your body, (s/m/l/xl) as usual. To no emotion, you hoped it would stay that way for a while; atleast until you could get over this unnatural presence.
Gritting teeth, you meekly combed your hand through your hair, feeling that was enough staring in the mirror for a little while. Doing so was almost fear-inducing; like you'll see someone behind you, or learn something has been done to you without any last bit of mind. You lived alone, and felt so everyday. If someone could get in – you thought, they'd probably get bored and fuck off.
You pushed the bathroom door open and slipped out, deciding to search the apartment you've grown to hate for something worthwhile. Maybe one day, people will come and realize there is no guardian here.. But a little while ago, you started to hope they wouldn't. The town was a shitshow – hoping you wouldn't get stuck with some pressies that demanded you called them mom and dad was done religiously.
Lets get to zoning out on the couch, will we? Alright! So, your trauma is oh so deeply rooted into you, because, why?
You draped your neck over the recline of the beat-up livingroom couch, wishing your neighbors could stop arguing for one second. A younger woman was constantly screaming when she was alone, it seemed. Zoning out was the only way to feel at peace in such a loud, yet languish environment. Back to the task at hand; Trauma, trauma. We've known her sweet name for only a few weeks; she was the first thing you learned about before you could drive yourself batshit crazy.
Reminding yourself of things that happened also made you feel a tingle of emotion, usually followed by effortless tears. Parents, just the word made your throat feel dry. You remembered their faces, even their accomplishments throughout your life. They weren't the best, but god, were they something.
The other disappearances soon followed your personal one.
If people around you ever gave a fuck enough to realize Mr and Mrs. (l/n) had 'moved to iowa' without, i don't know, their fucking daughter, it would smack them hard in the face. You wished atleast one of their adult brains would have gathered enough consciousness to have alerted people that they weren't moving that *exact* day, and were just merrily on their way to the store when they kinda-sorta disappeared forever. It was cheesy; perfectly timed. A young girl waits for her parents for 4 days until she realizes she's either been forgotten or abandoned.
Neglect. Ding ding ding.
After listening to the news, it felt almost wrong to blame them. If they did mean to leave leave you, why did your mom leave her purse of credit cards, or your dad – his clothes; still packed tightly into a blue little suitcase. It wasn't a petty little "well, child raising just wasn't our thing" situation, they did it for (y/a) years. Sometimes, you wished you could drink so you could forget about these weird.. connections, they always felt awkward and unneeded; like you were vulnerable, predictable. Unchanging.
The telephone in the kitchen blared. Quite new; state of the art. Still had the plastic over the screen. It played voicemails back to you in almost precise timing.
- " Hello, Mr or Mrs (L/N.).
This is Mrs. Alberger; principle of Derry High. We're.. calling because your child, (F/L), has excessive absences on her record. If there is something scheduled, call us again. We'd like to see you all before summer bre-"
You lifted the receiver and crashed it back down. This is the 4th time she's called this month, the same message over and over; like she was reading it from a card. Now that you've come out of your daze, you've realized the entire apartment was eerily silent.
Maybe you'd speak to the girl one day; seemed your age. Little bird legs, messy, long, auburn hair. Almost weird to see her leave out the front door. She hung outside your part of the fire escape, sometimes it was comforting, other times kind of creepy. Peered in once or twice; each time you were having a fit.
Speaking of her, it sounded like she slammed the door and stomped up the metal stairs, plopping herself right outside of your kitchen window, where you were standing now.
This was the first time you ever got a good look at her, perhaps it was the wrong thing, at the right time. (Or, rather, vise versa), because it was the first time she'd ever catch your (s/m/l/xl) frame in full view. She gasped a bit, scanning all of your body. You slowly reeled your arm back from the phone, ripping your eyes from her. You spun and marched out of vision, wishing that you couldn't feel her eyes burning into your skin.
It felt almost as if she requested that you wait or even open the window for her, as you rushed down the stairs and into the basement.
--
You figured you just layed down on the floor and fell asleep yesterday, too frustrated to bother with things. You put your clothes in the washer and showered, hoping the landlord wouldn't bitch about you paying for the utilities once again, 'where are your parents?' where are your manners, hag?
Only truly feeling and being alive during the night made things quite hard, when civilization expects you to be 'effervescent during the day' – a word your mother used to sound fancy. Bless her absentminded, (h/c) head. You briefly snickered, putting on a jacket.
You wearily skateboarded down the sidewalk that connected your building to the rest of the strip; Dollar store adjacent to an Arcade and a Meatshop. Just thinking of it made your stomach rumble a bit. You used your free foot to accelerate, trying to pass by the sketchy looking boys that liked to hang out in the alleyways. Squinting, you realized they had a kid inhand; no older than you, with glasses and a shitty sweepy coconut-looking hair cut.
You groaned at your immoral compass nearly yelling for you to keep going (which, sadly meant you had to do the complete opposite.)
You grudgingly slowed down and stared at them for a while, your face dull of emotion. When you finally whistled at the bullies and yelled profanities at them, they stopped and turned in your direction, their exaggerated faces spotted with anger and confusion. The boy found they were distracted enough for him to peel Henry's claws off of his lanky frame; In term, his pale skin and suburban dad outfit could only be made out after he scraped around the corner and across the walkway, yelling profanities also. The bullies all cursed, each trying to find a way to come after you or him. You threw the middle finger up and took off after seeing a knife peek into plain view, the bowsers gang clustering after you. You lost them as easily as you got them, with a reluctant glare and their frozen bodies reflecting on what happened. You whistled and swerved over towards the landlord's place, thumping on her door.
She came and accepted your money, quickly dismissing you. You gave your fakest smile and raced down her unnecessary long staircase, hoping to scoop up enough money for food.
You picked up a straying dollar and went into the store, getting some chips and a drink. Pushing the doors open, you began back down towards your apartment, trying to stay hidden from the bullies. You went in through your side of the building; catching the girl sitting on the porch for the first time – but nearly hysterically sobbing. You tried your best to ignore her as you climbed the stairs, hearing more commotion come from the other side.
You snuck up to your bedroom window, seeing a few boys speaking to her down on the grass; the paler one you saved earlier and one, with dark skin and course, short hair. You frowned and looked for curtains to put up over your kitchen window, more annoyed than resentful.
3 P.M The next day.
3 days until summer break.
" ..Who the hell just shows back up at school right before summer break? "
" I heard she parties all day and does drugs. "
” 'heard she stays in the graveyard with her dead parents. ”
You tried to ignore the words the other kids muttered of you, slinging your backpack over yourself. When looking at your beat up pencils and notebooks, it felt refreshing to be preparing to leave school. You began to walk down the desk aisles, being stopped by a presence in front of you. You glanced up, frowning.
It was the boy with a stuttering problem; you've only caught glances of him each day of class.
" Hi? " You grunted slowly, trying to move past him. He looked away and finally got enough courage to talk, shifting in place.
" Yeah- U-uh sorry, I wa-s wondering-.. "
You took an U-Turn and went through the clear aisle next to, unbothered. He frowned a bit and continued, catching up to Richie who was waiting for him outside of the classroom. You could only hear bits of their conversation, followed by some more people joining the cluster of kids going home. The crowded hallways made it hard for you.
You pushed open the big doors and ripped the skateboard from your backpack, putting it down. You screeched past the ginger girl-next-door, continuing down the sidewalk home. You searched your pockets for money, finally pulling out a beat up $5 bill. You tried to grin for the first time in a while, opening the door to the meatshop. After you got off your skateboard, you layed it against an empty seat.
The older person running the shop looked busy, a young boy rushed past you and dropped his schoolbag, uttering something like " I'll help soon, " and jogging into the 'managers only' door. You sat down and looked into the shop's mirror, staring into your reflection again. You reflection smiled, you, however, did not.
You made a disgusted face, and slowly trailed your eyes over to something that was begging them for attention – It was something moving against the window; You tried to get a closer look in the mirror while sitting, then turned to look where it should be. It wasn't really outside, but in the reflective glass, there it stood. It was a balloon, bright as day. It nodded at you, not particularly serving itself as a threat. You got up and moved closer to the mirror, staring into it. You saw the same eyes you've grown to hate, and behind them was the beautiful, bright red balloon. There were words on it, in white. It looked like they were put on with finger paint; Hurt him.
Hurt who? and why? You breathed, shocked. It was nervewracking, almost like a brigading thought. You cursed it, turning to see the boy from earlier emerge from the break room. He had a pick in his hair with a beat-up blue teeshirt on, overalls slung over his waist
" Hello, miss. What do you want today? "
He spoke to you like you were older than him. You gave a quick confused look, looking over to the menu. He stared past you, maybe at the balloon you were worried about. You dismissed that thought nearly immediately, glancing back towards him. He looked a bit sheepish now, but otherwise put a smile back on his face.
" Gimmie... a pound of rib-eye Steak, "
You slowly answered, nodding at the end of your words. This was the most human interaction you've had in weeks, bub. He quickly went back, and soon enough his hand shot from beside the counter; the rib larger than usual. He made direct eye contact, a bit of flush on his face. You slid him the money, hoping he wouldn't speak. He did.
" You've ..
got Mr. Elsh, right? Geometry.. "
he trailed off.
Something in you screamed fucking end him, hurt his feelings. The balloon from earlier's image bobbed around in your head, kids chanting words, 'hurt him, hurt him!'. He soon got confused at you basically dazing off, clearly shaken up. You snapped out of it quickly and took the bag, trying to crack a smile. It was enough to make the past you pop a vein.
" Ye-ah, -Yes. Mic..hael. "
He smiled at you knowing his name, placing his hands on the counter.
" 'Gave you 1.5. " He gestured at the meat in your hand, you nodded, your struggle smile slowly etching away at itself
" Ill.. see you around? "
You looked back down at the bag and gave a exhaustingly bad attempt at a thank you, jogging out of the store with your board. That was enough interaction for a Week at least, you thought, I'm never going back there again.