Chapter Text
It was nearly 2 a.m. and I was deciding whether I should sneak out of the house or sit here and wallow in self pity. For some reason, the second option was slightly more appealing.
If I were to sneak out, I’d just end up wandering Derry with Richie, that idiot I call my best friend. Sure, I had the rest of the Losers, but I’d known Richie since the first day of pre-school when he grabbed my hair with his sticky child hands.
For some reason, that sealed my fate. I would be stuck with the town trashmouth as my closest companion. He lived down the street from me which just made it all the more simple for us to meet up at the crack of dawn.
But, in all honesty, I was feeling a bit too much right now to joke around or smoke or do anything I knew Richie would do. So, option two wins, wallowing.
Over what you may ask?
My mother. The complete and total bitch had left me and my dad when I was eight, which was stupid, she should have done it before I could remember her so I could mope over a single surviving photo of her like they do in the movies.
But no, her face was crystal clear, burnt into my mind. I really do wish it wasn't kind of depressing to always remember the face of somebody who hurt you the most. But according to the sermon from last week, it’s important to cherish the memories we’ve had with these ‘lost souls’.
Load of bullshit if you ask me.
And with that, I kicked my blankets to the floor and rolled out of bed. I had school today, the last day of the year and then it was summer. I couldn’t wait, I mean, what kid didn’t like summer? I loved it, my favorite part of the year. I got to bike around with my friends, get ice cream, I didn’t have to see Bowers that often.
Now, back to the wallowing. I had a tendency to smoke with Richie, he thought it made him cool, I did it so I didn’t wind up dead in my bathroom. Not to sound like a loser or anything, but I’d been known to cut my wrists before. I did it most when I was 11. It used to help me calm down but then I realised how shitty of a thing it was to do, so I tried my best to stop.
I'm still trying.
It’s been a few months though, that’s a record for me. Anyway, I usually wore long sleeves at home, so my dad didn’t find out. My friends kind of know, they don’t really bring it up anymore. Bill does sometimes, he’s sweet for that.
I know it would break his heart if he knew I hurt myself. So, I do my best to hide it. It makes me feel less guilty about having done it if he doesn’t know.
Not that my dad would care that much, he’s an ‘alchie’ as my school counselor calls him. I say he has untreated depression that he thinks vodka can solve. Newsflash, it can’t. But he’s nice enough when he isn’t drinking, which isn’t that much anymore, he got a new job so he’s pretty happy right now.
I looked back at my alarm clock, the bright red 2:17 glaring at me through the dark room. I rolled my eyes at it, not that the alarm clock really did anything to me. I just find eye rolling to be therapeutic. Most nights I actually slept pretty well, but every once in a while I’d get flashes of the night my mother left and wake up in the middle of the night.
It was one of those nights tonight. Another weird thing about tonight, it was unbearably hot in my room. I felt like I was melting against the hardwood floor. Sure, the wood was cooler than the bed but I could still feel myself burning up.
I pulled my sweater over my head, leaving me in shorts and a bra. It didn’t help, everything was still overwhelmingly hot. I was getting a headache from it so I pushed myself off the ground to grab the water bottle off my nightstand. It was empty, shit.
“C’mon, man,” I muttered, addressing whoever in the universe that was overseeing my life, “kind of inconvenient.” I dropped the bottle, pulling my hair up into a ponytail to get it off my neck. Then I felt it, something light grazing my back. At first I ignored it, playing it off as a breeze that came in through my window.
But then there was something wet rolling down my back and I jerked away, whipping around to see what it was. I really, honest to God wish I hadn’t.
It was something close to a human, but also just not at all. First off, it was like double my height (and I’m not that short, Richie’s a liar) and overly boney, its ribs were jutting out like knives. I could feel myself shaking as I took a step back. It copied my action, stepping in time with me. I swallowed the dryness in my throat, glancing around the room.
It kept its faceless face trained on me, no eyes, no smile, nothing. Just a dark shadow. I considered screaming for help but in every slasher film I’ve ever seen that just got them killed faster. I looked the thing over, noticing how its hands were more like claws and its legs alone were over my height.
“Dad?” I choked out, my throat burning from the sharp smell it brought along, keeping my voice low in my best attempt not to trigger the killer switch on this thing. It tilted its head at me before getting closer, its face barely an inch from me. It let out a screech that made me want to throw up or cry. Probably both.
Instead I screamed, tripping back onto my bed. Again it followed, caging me against the wall.
“Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off.” I begged, covering my ears.
For a second, nothing happened, I thought I might have died just then. What a way to go, a day before summer break. But, to my surprise, I was still very much alive.
I heard my bedroom door slam open, snapping my head up from where it had been tucked between my legs. My dad stood in the doorway, a knife in hand. For some reason, that was what broke me, that was what made me cry.
I broke down, pulling my knees to my chest in some pathetic attempt to hide. My father rushed over to me, grabbing my face and turning it every way to check that I hadn’t gotten hurt. I fell forward, crumpling into his arms as sobs racked my body. I felt his arms wrap around my shoulders and I felt like a little girl again.
I hated it with every bone in my body.
“Winnie, you okay?” He cooed, rocking me gently. I couldn’t find it in me to respond so I just kept crying.
I could smell the beer on his clothes, but hey, at least he wasn’t yelling. At least I was alive.
We sat like that for like twenty minutes before he kissed my forehead and laid me back down.
“You should get some sleep, alright?” He whispered, wiping my face lightly.
“You-you didn’t see it?” I sniffled, tucking my arms around myself. He rose an eyebrow at me, the concern in his face changing to doubt.
“See what? There’s nothing in here, you’re just tired.” He assured me, but his voice lacked the comforting tone it just had. I nodded hesitantly, maybe he was right, I was insanely tired. It was two in the morning, I was probably delirious.
“Yeah, night Dad.” I responded, burying myself in the blankets. The burning smell, the one that smelled of blood, had faded. But at this point, no matter how uncomfortably hot it was, I wasn’t leaving this bed again tonight.
── .✦
“Rise and shine, Winnie the Pooh! The love of your life is here.” Richie sang as he opened my door. I snapped up, on high alert after last night. Thankfully, the only threat I was currently under was losing intelligence.
“Please go fuck yourself, Richie. It’s so early.” I groaned, rolling over in my bed to face him. He was in an obnoxiously bright Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, terrible style. And his insane coke bottle glasses because the kid was honestly blind.
“Why go fuck myself when your mom exists?” He teased, coming to sit next to me on my bed. Richie was probably the only person who got away with bringing up my mother, and definitely the only person who would ever make jokes about sleeping with her.
“Why are you in my room?” I asked, stretching out so I kicked him in the side. He shrugged, laying back on my bed like he owned it.
“What? You don’t wanna get on this ride?” He joked, I’ll admit that made me laugh. I shoved my pillow into his face, earning a very dramatic and poorly acted death from him. He sat up eventually, grabbing me and pulling me into a hug.
“What are you doing, you idiot?” I huffed, trying to shove him off.
“I just wanna hug my very best friend in the whole world, what’s wrong with that?” He pouted, pushing his glasses up his face. I hesitated, my hands flexing on his shoulders as I mulled over telling him. It could help, he might know what to do. Or he’d call me crazy.
I decided on keeping it to myself.
“I need to get dressed, Rich. Let go.” I complained, shoving his face back. He eventually did let go but not before giving me a pinch to the side. Richie was touchy, which was admittedly annoying and had gotten us into a billion lectures from our parents.
But Richie never liked me like that. I don’t think Richie really likes any anyone like that, besides Mrs. K of course. But in all seriousness, we just let people think what they wanted, because whenever we didn’t it just complicated things and usually ended with people calling Richie a queer.
Because that’s what Derry does.
“Oh but how I’ll miss seeing that ten-year-old-boy-equse chest! The pain, I shan't make it!” He moaned, putting on an awful British accent. I rolled my eyes at him, throwing him a middle finger for good measure. I dug through my closet, pulling out my The Clash tee and a pair of jean shorts.
“Good?” I asked him, holding the outfit up.
“A little bland but for you, perfection.” He teased, adjusting his glasses.
“Shut up.” I sneered, pulling the shirt over my head. He shrugged, digging through my nightstand. I pulled my shorts down, kicking them over to my pile of laundry I really need to do before switching into the jean ones.
“Richie, hairbrush.” I instructed, quickly feeling something hit the center of my back, “I meant hand it to me, you little shit.” He grinned at me before settling into my bed with a comic he’d found. I ran the brush through my hair, wincing at the particularly harsh knots. Eventually, it was good enough and I turned around to Richie who was now upside down and hanging off my bed.
“Ready, Ms. Malkin?” He asked, now using a country accent.
“Very much so, Mr. Toizer.” I replied, copying the way he was speaking. He stood up, walking over to where I was. His hair looked like shit so I ran a hand through it, and he scowled at me.
“Stop it, I was going for something.” He mumbled, batting my hand away.
“What, homeless?” I scoffed, taking his glasses to wipe them off.
“What- can you stop? I’m not four.” He complained, reaching blindly for his glasses.
“You act like it.” I informed him, sliding the glasses back on. I smiled at him, before grabbing my backpack from the floor. I wanted to tell him about what happened last night but we’d already fallen into our routine, his arm over my shoulder as we debated over who the best character was; today was Chris Chamber (me) versus John Bender (Richie).
I always won.
“Dad, we’re leaving! See you tonight!” I called out.
“See ya, Mr. Malkin! I’ll bring her back by midnight.” Richie informed him, earning a grunt from the living room where my father was. I rolled my eyes, following him out of the house.
“You should really get your own bike, Win.” Richie told me as I climbed onto the back of his.
“Nah, I’d rather tag along on yours.” I shrugged, holding onto his under shirt while his button up flew in the wind behind him. He kept talking but I wasn’t listening, I’d much rather watch the town go by as he raced down the streets.
As shitty as the people were, Derry was beautiful.