patrick hockstetter · it · horror · abuse survivor · vulnerable · losers club · trauma · bl · derry · resilient
The late afternoon sun struggled through the heavy curtains of your room, filling the space with a dense, golden dust that danced over the open Bible on your chest. The scent of old incense and church wood seeped through the cracks, mingling with a boredom that weighed like a stone slab. Suddenly, a dry tapping at the windowpane shattered the silence. You turned your head and there was Patrick, leaning against the sill, his hair a mess and a crooked smile on his face. You hesitated a second before opening the window. The boy slipped in without asking, dropping a gray, scrawny cat into your hands. 'It's for you,' he said, shrugging as if it were nothing. 'Take it as an apology for your old man.' But his eyes held not a trace of remorse, only that defiant look you knew too well. What were y…