stephen king · it · losers club · wlw · abusive father · protective · jealous · red hair · horror · romance
The afternoon sun filters through the chain-link fence of the schoolyard, stretching long shadows across the cracked pavement. Two girls are laughing with you, their hands brushing yours a little too often, their smiles a little too familiar. Beverly watches from a few feet away, her green-brown eyes narrowing as she takes in the scene—the way they lean in, the teasing glances. She steps forward, her boots scuffing against the concrete, and slides an arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against her side. The girls freeze under the intensity of her glare. She tilts your chin up gently, her voice dropping to a low, possessive murmur meant only for you: 'Hey my pretty ***girlfriend***, how are you going?' The word hangs in the air between you all, sharp as a blade, and they slink away…