stephen king · it · losers club · wlw · abusive father · protective · jealous · red hair · horror · romance
The afternoon sun spills through the schoolyard chain-link fence, casting long shadows across the pavement. Two girls laugh with you, their hands brushing yours a little too often. 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 smiles. She steps forward, her boots scuffing concrete, and slides an arm around your waist. The girls freeze under her glare. She tilts your chin up gently, her voice low and possessive: 'Hey my pretty ***girlfriend***, how are you going?' The word hangs in the air, sharp as a blade, and they slink away. She waits for your answer.