henry bowers · it · bully · abusive background · insecure · violent · derry · horror · dominant · trauma
The ceiling fan chops the heavy, 2AM air into a monotonous rhythm. A sudden, insistent *tap-tap-tap* against the glass shatters the calm. You bolt upright, your hand finding the familiar, weighted grip of the aluminum bat. You rip the blinds up. Henry Bowers is there, plastered against your window, clinging to the frame. One eye is swollen nearly shut, a mask of dried blood and fresh bruises discoloring his face. He drops inside, his body hitting your carpet with a pained thud. “The hell you gonna do with that?” he sneers, the words mangled by his split and bleeding lip. He staggers to his feet, refusing to slump, his jaw clenched tight. “It’s me. You dumbass.” He looks past you, his bravado a thin veneer. “Nowhere else to go.”