The first few weeks fell into a semi-regular routine rather quickly, all of the Losers having found their niche inside the house.
Eddie insisted on throwing together a shower schedule so that the hot water wouldn't run out for anyone at any point. Richie made a comment to Mike about how he was going to, "fuck the schedule hard, but tenderly," because he showered maybe once every three days at any and all hours of the day. Stan had awoken one night to get a glass of water and heard him singing/screaming, "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" at 3:45 in the morning. He wasn't off key, however.
Eddie showered in the mornings, around 6:30 am, then Stan around 7:45 am. Bill and Bev were afternoon people, usually around noon and 2:30 pm. Ben and Mike were avid nighttime bathers, taking short yet thorough showers that left the mirrors unfogged and the walls practically dry. Whenever Richie took the time to actually shower, he would let his long thick hair drip in torrents over the floor, and in the morning, Eddie would scream 'Stella'-esque, "RICHIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!" as he nearly tumbled down on the slippery floor.
Stan and Mike thought it would be a nice idea if they all had breakfast or dinner together occasionally, but more often than not it was only dinner, what with Stan and Eddie usually being out of the house before 9 am, when Ben and Bill would be rousing. Beverly would usually sleep until 10:30 or 11, sometimes noon depending on how late she was out the night before.
She had got a job at a bar downtown, serving drinks to older rednecks and on Thursday nights, College Night, the bar would fill with a vast mixing of all of the twenty-somethings from Bangor and the surrounding areas.
Beverly was one of those types of beautiful that was almost ethereal, and she rolled in the tips because of it. But she also had her fair share of creeps, guys who would ask her what time she was off, did she have a boyfriend, was she looking for a good time. One night when Ben had dropped her off and come to pick her up around 2:30, a drunk co-ed tried to follow her to the bike, and when he grabbed her arm, Ben had taken a quick step forward, but Bev had it handled. She rounded on the guy, hitting him so hard with a southpaw punch that he fell flat on his back and lay there for a few minutes. "If a girl tells you no, you fucking stop." She spat, standing over him. She and Ben had sex fast and loud that night.
Richie had an interesting sleep schedule, in that he never seemed to actually sleep. He could often be heard listening to music or playing video games at all hours day and night, and then he would take classes Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. Yet he wouldn't stumble down for breakfast until nearly 11 am every day, looking hungover but without a headache. Most of the group pondered aloud if he was a vampire.
Dinners however, were definitely a family affair. Minus Thursdays, karaoke night at the bar, either Mike or Stan would cook, or they'd call for takeout. The second night they had all been there, after the housewarming party, Stan and Mike worked together to make up a three course meal, complete with a vegan chocolate and strawberry mousse. The strawberries had come picked special from Mike's family's farm, and apparently Stan was a master culinary artist and made the mousse from scratch. They had salads and pot roast, which Mike had let simmer in the crock pot for four hours along with some diced baby red potatoes, thyme, sage, a few cloves of garlic, and lemon juice. They also made up a vegan cheese quiche, since both Stan and Mike weren't huge fans of eating meat. It was probably the best meal any of them had had in years. Richie had wiped at his eye and said, "Goddamn this meal looks so good I could cry. It's like looking at Eds' mom's pus-" and Eddie had cut him off with a quick slap of the hand over his mouth.
Now it was just whatever they had time to make, or order. Chinese or pizza or Jimmy John's. Eddie had made goulash on one particularly rainy day and they had eaten the leftovers for five days after. Bev was a big fan of chili but she wanted to wait until football season started to show off her skills.
Most nights everyone was home at the same time and they even had a few days during the week where all of them were off, but that only happened once in a blue moon. Everyone had a job, Richie included, and helped contribute to the bills. Turns out electricity and water for seven people can get up there in price.
Richie worked several jobs, jumping to and from the individual places - a Pizza Hut, a Target, a WalMart, a gas station, and briefly, he would tell them, as a nude model at the Arts Center of Derry.
Stan got a job at the modest zoo not far outside of town, really an animal rescue for wild animals of the area but he still loved it. He got to work with the birds who were in rehabilitation, three in total as of right now - a barred owl (Strix varia), a mourning dove (Zenaida macroura), and a small orphaned glossy ibis (Plegadis falcinellis). He had named this particular one Icarus.
Ben was working with a construction crew as their assistant head architect; they were planning to build a new bank downtown and he had big plans for it. An entirely glass front with double paned windows, a ceiling twenty feet high with chandeliers, and perhaps even the vault on the lower level. It was his first real gig doing this sort of thing and he was so excited about it. When he landed the interview, he and Beverly planned his outfit for days, practicing what the interview might entail and revamped his resume until it glistened.
Bill was writing freelance for the Bangor Daily News. He had also picked up a job at the elementary School teaching summer classes as a substitute. The pay was modest but he brought in his share for bills. At $25 a story he knew he wouldn't be able to add much, but he usually still had extra after putting his share for rent and the like in the crumpled manilla envelope on top of the fridge.
Eddie got a job at the pharmacy, taking and giving out prescriptions to the Derry citizens concerned about their health. Once or twice a week, a young man with frantic looking eyes would come in to pick up an asthma prescription or a menagerie of pills. Eddie had, terrified and nearly in tears, told Bill and Mike that it was like looking back in time and he just wanted to reach out and grab the kid's hand, tell him he would be okay.
Mike got the job at the Derry Public Library, though he admitted he spent more time reading the books than putting them back on the shelf. He helped with the Kid's Corner, reading illustrated works to kids aged 2-5 every Tuesday and Thursday. Whenever he came home on these days, he would sweep Stanley up in his arms, away from the prying eyes of the others, and kiss him gently, whispering about he couldn't wait to have some of his own. Stan would blush and make a backhanded comment about a lack of uteri, but it didn't matter. His heart would swell.
On the first month anniversary of them all having lived there - Beverly wrote out the reminder in swooping letters on the calendar they posted on the front of the refrigerator - they decided to have a movie night and dinner to celebrate.
"Do we want to make a big fancy dinner?" Mike asked, rinsing a plate under scalding hot water and then handing it to Eddie, who was drying them as they went. Eddie sat the plate in the dish rack and turned, facing Bill and Beverly and Richie. Stan was on his way home from work and Ben was down at the bank, discussing security measures with the crew. Bill held a copy of the newspaper in front of him, a red felt-tipped pen in hand, circling errors as he found them. He drew a loop around a spelling error on an ad for the circus - featuring Pennywise the DancERing Clown - and capped the pen. He looked up and shrugged.
"Do we have time for it? I know I work in the morning on Friday." He said.
Mike wiped his hands on a towel and tossed it on the counter. "I'm off and so is Stan, so we can start cooking that afternoon if you want. What movies do we want to watch?"
Richie, who had been texting hurriedly, fingers seeming to barely touch the screen of his phone, spoke without looking up. He was wearing hole-ridden black gym shorts and a denim bomber jacket over his bare chest. Eddie thought if he was so damn cold why didn't he just put a shirt on? "Scary movies!"
"You always want to watch scary movies, Richie." Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest. A little smile pulled at the corners of his mouth though.
Richie looked up now, tossing his phone on the table. The screen was shattered like a spiderweb, no doubt due to one of these haphazard tosses. "Scary movies are the BEST movies, Eds! You cuddle me when you get scared." He mocked pouted.
"I do not." Eddie replied. He had given up a long time ago on asking Richie to stop calling him these annoying pet names - Eds, Eddie Spaghetti - there was just no reasoning with him.
"What if we do a mix of things?" Beverly suggested through a mouthful of toast.
"Like, what?" Richie said, shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his sharp nose lense-first. Eddie made a grumbling sound and stepped forward, taking them carefully off of his face. He wiped them on the hem of his shirt, holding them up to the light, then wiped them some more. He replaced them slowly back onto Richie's nose, who smirked. He pushed them back up, lense-first.
Eddie rolled his eyes and went to the counter, hopping up onto it.
"I dunno, some action thrown in there. A classic maybe." Beverly shrugged.
Richie scoffed, throwing his feet up on the table. Eddie took lead and pushed them off. They hit the floor with a thud. He put them back up, shaking his head. "Classic equals Breakfast Club, and we have enough of that shit erryday in this house."
Beverly looked at the ceiling briefly, sighing and chewing loudly at him. She adjusted her septum piercing and looked at Bill. "What do you think, B?"
Bill blew air out through his lips fast and hard, raising his eyebrows. "I would say this is more like 'Animal House' ninety percent of the time."
Mike chuckled, going to the fridge. "Richie can be Bluto."
Eddie flipped one of the mismatched chairs around, sitting with the back pressed against his chest. "He uses his mouth for talking more than eating."
"There are lots of other things I can do with my mouth, Edward." He winked.
Beverly was the one to say, "Beep beep," this time. She bumped him with her shoulder and he leaned into it.
"No but seriously! What the dick are we gonna watch though!" Richie laughed, waving a hand at Mike, who was eating a handful of grapes.
"I say one scary, follow up with something like 'Fast and Furious' - the new one just came out - and maybe we finish up with 'Princess Bride' or something."
Eddie perked up a bit and pointed at Mike, "Oooh yea I like that idea!"
Richie threw his head back cackling, black ribbons falling over his shoulders.
"If Eds wants to watch fucking 'Princess Bride' then goddammit we will watch 'Princess Bride'." He winked at Eddie, who put his hand over his cheek to hide the crimson that arose there.
"A scary one for sure?" Bill said, squinting at the paper and making a small checkmark next to the fine printed letters of the word "MediterranIan".
Richie looked at Eddie again. "I promise I'll hold your hand through the whole thing, Eds." Eddie put his head down and let out a long winded sigh.
So they had decided that Mike and Stan would make dinner, nothing terribly fancy but not just pizza. Richie insisted that 'Princess Bride' was on the list movie-wise, for Eddie of course, and they chose 'The Babadook' as their scary movie. Beverly was choosing the action portion of the evening, trailing her finger over the movie cases Ben had posted up on the bookshelf in their room. It took her two days to choose and she ended up going with 'Battle Royale', even though she knew Richie would complain that it involved reading because, "Tits, Bev, you know I can't read that fast!" to which she would reply, "Oh shit I thought you just couldn't fuckin' read, Rich." She knew it would essentially end with Eddie whispering the lines to him throughout the film. But that was fine, they would all enjoy it. And probably after a while Richie would stop listening and just watch the violence unfold on screen.
Friday arrived, after what felt like months. Bill and Eddie walked in the front door, Bill texting as Eddie blathered on about bills, shuffling through a handful of mail.
"No one ever sends letters anymore. That makes me sad." He said.
Bill murmured at him, not paying attention.
Eddie peeked out of the corner of his eye at Bill's phone, the name 'Audra' at the top of the screen. It made Eddie's heart pound excitedly and he smiled.
They could hear Mike and Stan talking to Ben in the kitchen, the smells of salted water and garlic bread filling the air.
The two of them came into the room and the others smiled at him. Stan clapped his hands together.
"Pasta!" He shouted, gesturing at the stovetop.
It was indeed pasta, three pots of boiling liquid simmering with what looked like spaghetti noodles, an alfredo sauce and a deep red sauce with fat chunks of garlic and tomatoes floating around inside. No doubt that would be for Mike and Stan.
"We were thinking of doing some chicken as well, but Stan didn't want to touch it." Mike chuckled, nudging the blond boy with his elbow. Stan shrugged.
"Gallus gallus domesticus." He said matter-of-factly, and smirked at Mike.
Eddie and Ben looked at each other, confused, but they always seemed to be doing this when Stan used Latin around them. Eddie joined him at the table, Bill still texting away on his phone. He snorted quietly and continued typing.
Ben nodded at Bill. "Who's he talking to?" He whispered.
"Audra," Eddie replied, raising his eyebrows at Mike and Stan. They all nodded in understanding and smiled. Bill was talking to a girl!
The front door slammed open, Richie and Beverly shouting at one another, the intake draft bringing in with it the stale scent of cigarette smoke.
They too came into the kitchen, Beverly's face flushed with laughter. Bill looked up briefly then back at his phone.
"Is it time for dinner?" Richie shouted, ruffling Eddie's parted hair. Eddie attempted to flatten it down again and fidgeted in his seat, pulling the hem of his plain white t-shirt down over the lip of his jeans.
"Fifteen minutes," Stan said, stirring the pot of tomato sauce aimlessly. "Enough time for you to change."
Richie looked down at himself. He was wearing cutoff jeans, sewn up with patches for 'The Misfits' and 'The Dead Kennedys', scribbled from top to end with the colorful phrase, "Give me head 'till you're dead". His sleeveless denim vest hung loosely around his shoulder, a black Converse shirt underneath.
"I look fucking good today, thank you very little, Stanley." He crossed his arms and tossed his hair out of his eyes with a flip of the head.
Stan raised his eyebrows, not looking at him. "I'm sure you and all the kids at Bible study think so, Trashmouth." Richie laughed.
"You're so fuckin' chuckalicious, man. Call me when it's ready. And you!" He said, jabbing Beverly in the chest softly as he moved towards the entryway. "We ain't fucking done, missy!"
She rolled her eyes. "Rich, give it up. Meg is ten times hotter than Jack. That's just science!" She moved to Ben at the table, sitting on his lap and giving him a quick peck on the mouth.
Richie was already halfway down the hall. "At the end of the day, I'd still put my cock in both of the-"
"Beep beep, Richie!" Mike, Eddie, and Stan shouted together.
Dinner was called twenty minutes later. The garlic bread had taken a little longer to bake than initially anticipated, Stan wringing his hands in front of the oven. While the other Losers set plates and glasses on the dining room table, Mike came up behind him and squeezed his arms, whispering, "Just bread, babe. Just bread."
They all sat down, Bill at the head of the table, Beverly on his left, then Ben then Mike, Stan, Eddie, and Richie. The early evening sun shuttered through the blinds, casting a dusty light over the table. Bill, who had finally put his phone away - though the other Losers could hear it buzzing excitedly in his back pocket - looked out over his best friends. It was crazy to him to think how they had all come together so many years ago, a ragtag group of kids who got picked on way too much in the hallways at school, who had a penchant for causing mischief down in the Barrens, seven kids who grew up to be this mismatched clique of young adults sitting before him.
"Thank you for cooking you guys," he said to Stan and Mike.
Mike was passing around the pot of noodles after putting a small helping on the plate in front of him. "It was the least of we could do."
Stan nodded, taking the pot next. "Thank YOU for finding this place. This has been one of the best months of my life."
Bill blushed. "It was a huge fluke, man. I can't believe you actually said yes." He looked at Ben and Beverly. They were holding hands looking at him.
"Shit a huge house with all my best friends? What could we possibly have said 'no' to?" Ben laughed. He was beaming at Bill, then to Richie next to him. Richie returned the smile, stifling back an inappropriate comment, Ben was sure.
Once dinner had been passed all around they sat waiting, and Stan said, "Should we pray?"
For a moment everyone was quiet and then the room filled with booming laughter.
"Yes pray to us in Hebrew!" Richie said, wiping an invisible tear from his eye.
Stan shook his head. "Sorry, can't remember a lick of it."
And they dug in.
The food was fantastic, even if it was just simple spaghetti. Ben and Mike helped themselves to seconds, Ben attempting a third but deciding against it. Halfway through, Richie suggested a food fight, but the looks he got from Eddie and Bill shot that idea down rather quickly. Eddie took it upon himself to start clearing the table even amongst the protests of Stan and Bill, Stan who was saying how HE had cooked the dinner he had to see the night through and Bill who said Eddie p-p-fuck-please sit the fuck down it doesn't need done right now. But he did so anyway, scraping the remains of sauces into the trash and rinsing the plates under the faucet. He wanted to wash them right then but Beverly, post-meal cigarette dangling between her fingers said, "If you try to wash those fucking dishes when we have movies to watch, I'll kick your ass." He left them sitting in the sink.
They waited for Richie and Beverly to smoke, a quick seven minute break, and Ben fiddled with the television, making sure all of the cords were hooked up to the right ports. Bill pulled the drapes over the window, blocking out the setting sun's rays and Mike flipped the lights, cutting the room into darkness. Eddie was setting up blankets and pillow into a nest on the floor to hide away behind in case 'The Babadook' got too scary. Stan was bringing in drinks, some beer for Bill, Ben, and Mike, Coke for himself and Eddie, and a bottle of wine he knew Beverly and Richie would pass between the two of them. He had these packed under his arm, a bowl of popcorn in his free hand. He set it on the small wobbly table on the left of the couch, and sat down next to Mike.
It was a huge couch, one that looked as if it had been part of a wrap-around at one point, tattered blue suede torn in some places. Mike smiled at Stan and they snuggled in next to each other, Ben on Stan's left. Bill took up a place in the armchair, phone in hand again, smiling quietly at the screen. Eddie nestled into the blankets as Richie and Bev came into the room. Bev sat next to Ben, picking up the bowl of popcorn and tossing her legs over the arm of the couch, leaning her back into the crook of Ben's arm. Richie flopped down next to Eddie, trying to lank an arm over his shoulders. He wriggled out from under him.
"Don't do anything stupid, Rich." He pointed playfully.
Richie put a hand to his chest. "I would never. As long as you promise to read to me during the subtitled shit."
Eddie pressed his back against the couch, posted inbetween Ben's legs. "You can read plenty fast, Rich. I saw you finish 'War and Peace' in four days." Richie laughed and Bev passed him the popcorn bowl.
"I was studying." He said in a sly whisper.
"For fucking what?" Eddie replied.
"We ready?" Bill said, standing and going to the tv, which was blaring a bright blue screen out at them. They all nodded in confirmation, and Bill grabbed up the remote, closing the Blu-ray player's mouth and starting the disk.
The first movie wasn't too scary, they decided after it was all over, but there were definitely parts that made the group of them jump.
Bill had put his phone away, tucking his legs up closer to his chest so he could hide his eyes behind them occasionally. The only part that made his chest seize up was the car crash scene, taking him back eleven years, his tiny brother ripped from his life. Eddie saw him panting, and reached out his hand, setting it gently in Bill's own. Bill smiled and squeezed it, letting it fall and setting his chin on his knees.
There were a few parts where Eddie, in his fear, buried his face in Richie's shoulder, peeking up timidly to access the situation. Richie let him do it, smiling to himself, snarking hushed tones of "You can hide your face in my lap," Eddie replying but smiling in Richie's shirt sleeve, "Beep beep, Trashmouth."
Bev would jump occasionally and then giggle uncontrollably, Ben pulling her closer into his chest. He nuzzled his nose into her hair and kissed her, staring at her in awe as she shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth. She would occasionally take a sip of the wine - a sweet white - and pass it off to Richie, who would practically chug until she snatched it back again. Ben had seen the movie before and it didn't scare him as much as the first time, but the sound of the monster's voice creaking out of the speakers - "Babadook-doOK-DOOK" - still gave him goosebumps.
Mike sat quietly on the end of the couch, sipping occasionally from his beer. Stan had his legs pulled up crossed in front of him, tucking the blanket he had stolen from Eddie around his shoulders. He would occasionally say something like, "This makes no sense," or "Why doesn't she just move?" and at one point, "Burn the fucking book you idiot," and when she did he said, "See? Easy fix."
Mike's hand had found its way underneath the blanket and their fingers grazed one another's, Stan's twitching whenever something jumped on screen. Mike wanted so badly to grab it, lace his fingers around his boyfriend's, pull him into his lap like Beverly was in Ben's, kiss his curly hair and let him hide his face in the place where his collar met his throat. But he couldn't. Not yet, at least.
After it ended, Eddie pulled himself up away from Richie and coughed. "Well that was fucking scary."
Bev laughed, standing up and pulling her arms above her head in a stretch. "It wasn't awful. We've watched worse." She lightly slapped Richie's shoulder and he stood too.
"Eds you want scary I've got some homemade videos of me and your mom upstairs." Beverly punched him in the arm and they went outside, Eddie groaning and sliding down the front of the couch.
Mike stood, patting his legs. "Anyone need anything?" He said.
Bill looked at the two empty beer bottles on the side table. "Got any more beer?"
Mike looked at his own empty bottle and Ben's two as well. "I can grab some more. Eddie, you need anything?" Eddie shook his Coke can, empty now.
"I gotta pee before the next one, but I'll take a Tanq and tonic if we have any!" He bolted up, headed towards the hall where one of the bathrooms was.
Mike chuckled. "I'll figure something out."
Stan looked at him. "I'll help." Mike smiled coyly and nodded. They went to the kitchen and Ben got up to put the next disk in.
The second movie was fun, fast and different and loud. Eddie read most of the first scene to Richie before he said, "You know what, you can fucking read, I'm missing all the action." Richie pinched his cheek.
"Fuckin' cute!"
The movie went on without incident, the sun having completely set and darkness encased the house. As 'Battle Royale' came to a close, no one moved.
"Are we ready for 'Princess Bride', Eddie?" Bill asked, standing to change the disk. But he did not answer.
Bill looked at his friends. They had all passed out clean. He had wondered why it got so quiet - Bev and Richie usually talked a lot through action movies. Stan was the one who talked during paranormal films, pointing out the inconsistencies and obvious "electric issues" that could cause a haunting. Eddie was a romcom talker, saying how the girl was being stupid or how the guy should find a man, stuff like that. But they were all dead asleep.
Bill looked at the clock on his phone. It was a little after midnight. Audra had gone to bed around 9:30; she had to work early the next day. Beverly's legs were still folded over the arm of the couch, her chest rising and falling with sleep, laying over Ben's lap. Ben himself had his head propped up on his hand, eyes closed and fluttering, dreaming. Mike and Stan had fallen asleep with their heads leaning against one another, Stan sort of cuddled up to Mike. Richie and Eddie were the only ones who looked like they'd fallen asleep with a plan, Richie's head leaned against a pillow placed at the foot of the couch, his long legs spread out in front of him, uncovered. Eddie's head was on a pillow he had placed on Richie's chest and his leg was thrown over Rich's waist. They all looked so peaceful, silently in the throws of dreams. Bill just smiled at them.
He didn't feel tired just yet, so he put on 'Princess Bride' anyway. His eyes drooped as he carefully stole away a blanket and pillow from Eddie, who made a grumbling sound but did not wake up. He wrapped himself up in a cocoon and pressed play, falling quickly into sleep before even the first, "As you wish."
Ben huffed out hard, wiping sweat from his eyes and taking a long swig from his bottle of water. The heavy July sun was beating down on everything, he and Mike included. They were working on the house, Mike leaning dangerously over the top of the portico, which sagged a little under his weight, and took an extra bottle of water from Ben.
The two had been up on the roof already today, a little past noon now, and had already replaced the missing shingles up there. It had cost a pretty penny to get all of the extra supplies but Ben had borrowed the tools needed from work. Ben, wiping away a stream of sweat from his brow, looked at Beverly. She was lounging out under the sun with Stan, her freckled porcelain skin shining alabaster. Ben looked at her, whispering to Stan about his book. The two looked content and Ben's heart still caught in his chest when he looked at her.
Things had changed so much over the past twelve years, but Bev was still as beautiful as day one. Ben thought of all the Losers he had changed the most. Granted he was still a poet, still a man who enjoyed math and geometry, still stupidly in love with Beverly Marsh.
He pulled his sweat-ridden grey shirt over his head, tossing it on the porch. His body was soft, lightening strikes of stretch marks cast across his stomach and pulling up through the top of his jeans. On the right side of his stomach was a thin scar of the letter 'H', crudely carved into his skin by one Henry Bowers. He had extra skin that fell in a small pouch near the top of his pants as well, but he didn't mind it. And no one else seemed to mind either. He looked good - shit - he felt good. His arms were swollen up from all the lifting he had done since sophomore year, his legs thick and toned as well from running track. His light brown hair was cropped up close to his head, making the heat a little more bearable. He wore a thin five o'clock shadow across his face.
"Do you think we'll have time for the turret this week too?" Mike asked and they looked at it.
Ben shrugged. The siding would take time, what with the slats being rounded. "Depends on our work schedules I suppose. And what plans the other guys have. We don't want to wake Richie up at 7 in the morning again with our hammering."
Mike laughed, taking another drink of water. "He's at the back of the house, he'll survive."
Ben nodded. He tossed a glance back to Bev and Stan. They had their heads pressed in close together as if they were sharing some daring secret. He didn't feel jealous. Shit, Richie actually straight up hit on Bev and he never felt anything but humor towards the situation. He knew Bev could handle herself and that his best friends wouldn't actually try to pull anything. It was easy being in love with her, simple.
When they were kids, he always worried that she didn't love him like he loved her. He had always noticed how she and Bill doted on one another. When she moved away after his thirteenth summer, all he could think is that he would never see her again, that he had built his love up for the beautiful fire-haired girl only to lose her as a friend. But she had come back the following summer, taller and more vibrant than ever. She had kissed him that summer, after he told her how he felt. She had interrupted him halfway through saying, "Ben I've known. I've known for a while. But have you known that I love you too?" Then the kiss. Soft and subtle, it had filled his chest with radiating lightening, and from then on they were an item, even as so unofficially. She left at the end of that season, starting her freshman year up in Portland. He had stayed, fourteen, nearly fifteen, and starting to get restless in his legs. He grew slowly, still chubby, but growing into his face a little more.
In the spring semester of his freshman year he was getting roughed up particularly badly by a bunch of seniors and Mike hadn't been around to help that time. The track coach had broken up the fight, but made a snide comment when it was just them about how he brought it on himself. That was the first time Ben Hanscom had ever really seen red. Rage surged through every inch of him. The coach was walking away and Ben took a step forward, grabbing him by the arm and twirling him around.
Finger pointed like a dagger, Ben promised him - he couldn't even be bothered to remember the man's name now - that he would show him. The following spring, he would be out on the track, beating his best. The coach had laughed in his face and that seemed all it had taken to snap Ben into gear.
He started lifting, running, doing squats, barbells, lunges - anything and everything that could give him the strength to outdo the best. He started slow, granted, but by the end of that first summer's training he could nearly outrun Silver as Bill pedaled as fast as he could, and by winter, he had jumped a whole foot, his long legs out-sprinting Mike as he practiced for football.
That next spring, he showed up on the field at the first track meet of the season. The coach had seen him standing behind the runners, pulling his leg up behind in him a stretch. It had probably taken him a moment to recognize Ben, what having grown a full foot and packing muscle under his shirt instead of baby fat. When the starter gun went off, Ben waited a few seconds to let the other runners get a few yards out, and then he took off in a dead sprint. The coach, standing at the finish line, watched him with a furious curiosity, as he pulled up in front of the fourth place, third place, second place runner, until he was fifty yards in front of the first runner. As Ben passed him, he took a quick moment to pull his left hand up into a middle finger, dragging it past the coach's flabbergasted face as he crossed the tape.
After the others had crossed the finish line, Ben waltzed up to the coach, a ringing in his ears and the hoots and hollers of Mike, Stan, Bill, Richie, and Eddie in the bleachers cheering him on.
"What the fuck did you just do, boy?" The coach asked, his face a dark blood-beet color. Ben, panting, pointed at the actual track kids, who were staring at him, hands on their knees.
"I just beat your best," he said. "That's what the fuck I just did." He laughed in his face, much like the old man had done not a year ago to him.
That was when he was taken in the jaw by a swift sucker punch, nearly laying him out on the AstroTurf.
Police had been called, a report was taken, but Ben didn't press any charges. It wasn't worth it, he had said to Richie and Bill, sporting the split and swollen lip with proud indignation, but the coach was still fired anyhow.
And at the end of that year, sixteen years old now, Beverly had come back to Derry. The boys had been waiting at the quarry, early June sunlight peeking out through the clouds when they'd heard her pull up in her jeep. They all turned and looked, watching as she slammed the car door and jogged towards them, a sheer white swimming suit cover billowing over her bikini. Ben had stood first, then the others, Ben dusting the dirt off his trunks. His heart had been pounding so hard, nervous to see what she'd think for some reason.
She pulled up to the group, a smile wide on her face, a stud in the right nostril of her nose. She stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes fell on him, a bright rose color taking to her cheeks. His face reciprocated the action and he looked away, embarrassed.
"Ben?" She said, her voice almost womanly. She put a hand to her mouth, a smile glowing behind it. He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. She was looking at him up and down, naked except for his swimsuit. The other boys just stood looking between Ben and Bev, just waiting.
Bev broke the silence with a high-pitched scream, throwing her hands into her hair and laughing.
"Oh my fucking god what did you do!" She ran up to him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling her legs up around his waist. She was lighter to him now, his strong arms tucking up under her butt. The other Losers were watching, smiling. When he set her down, she couldn't stop looking at his eyes, her's an endless ocean, his a swimming galaxy. They had stared, in stunned silence, at one another, until Mike suggested they go swimming. They had, but Ben and Bev could not take their eyes off one another.
Later that evening, when they were all heading home - Richie and Stan packed up in Richie's truck, Eddie, Bill, and Mike walking, and Ben riding along with Beverly - his mind was whirling. He couldn't stop thinking about the way she screamed, how excited she was. He thought about the previous summer, how she hadn't been that excited, and for some reason the thought made him sad. Would she love him more because he was thin? Did she ever actually love him, really? Or was she taking pity on the awkward fat boy?
He sat with his hands in his lap as she drove, the radio playing something he didn't recognize. He felt her looking at him occasionally but he was afraid to make eye contact with her. He had just stared out the window as they came up on his house, his mother sitting in the living room with the blinds open.
"Ben, what's going on?" She asked as she threw the vehicle into park. He sat up, as if he had just awoken from a nap and looked in her direction. His stomach ached, fear bubbling in it.
He shook his head, looking anywhere but at her directly. "Nothing, just a long day."
Beverly pursed her lips at him, cocking her head. "That's bullshit and you know it. What happened? Something happened between me getting to the quarry and now."
He sighed, wiping his hands down his legs. "Bev," he paused. He leaned his head against the passenger side window briefly, then pulled up again, gathering the courage to look her in the eye. Her eyebrows were knotted down in frustration at him and he felt a pang of guilt.
"You know I love you right?" He said, barely above a whisper.
She made a clicking sound with her tongue. "Yes. And I love you."
Ben shook his head slightly. "No like I'm in love with you. Stupidly so."
She blew air out her mouth, a short laugh. "Yes, I know."
He looked at his fingers. They looked huge to him all of a sudden, too big for his hands. He felt like he should go for a run.
"I have loved you for three years, Ben." Her voice caught him off guard, and he looked up at her, swallowing the knot in his Adam's apple.
She was smiling softly at the steering wheel, running her finger over the faux tiger fur she had put there. She and Eddie had spent nearly 45 minutes trying to figure it out as the others had watched from the lawn of Stan's house, laughing as Eddie tried to just slip it on, but it kept falling off. Mike had got it to stay, and the two of them had been so mad at how simple it was.
"And I don't mean love like I love Stan or Rich or Eddie or Mike or even Bill. I'm in love with you too." She looked at him. Her eyes were soft.
He shifted in the seat, the seatbelt snugging around his shoulder. "Do you love me more because I'm not fat now?" His voice was even quieter this time.
She turned fully in her seat, pulling a leg up. "Did you not hear what I just said?" There was no malice in her voice, just slight impatience.
He looked out the windshield, searching for something to say. How could he explain this fear? That he was only important and wanted because he was thin? How do you explain that to someone who has always been thin and beautiful?
"I just don't want you to like me more now that I'm not fat." He turned again, and her hands squeezed the sides of his face. He was forced to look into her eyes.
She searched his own. "There's nothing wrong with being fat. I loved you then and I love you now." She sighed. "Now kiss me, goddammit." So he did, weaving his hand into her hair.
The kisses became heated, panting and pulling, the windows of the jeep becoming filmed with fog. Beverly's hand was on his thigh and his was on her chest. She pulled away, eyes half-closed, lips swollen and pink.
"Let's go somewhere." She said, and he nodded. They had driven an hour outside of town, and laid out under the stars, holding hands and talking about every single thing they could think of until they had fallen asleep, the two of them curled up with their noses touching, arms wrapped around one another.
Ben had decided the next morning, waking up next to her, dew gathering on the grass, that he was going to marry her.
"Stan!" Mike called down, and Stan looked up, covering his eyes with his hand.
"Do you know when Richie works this week?" He asked.
Stan looked at Bev, and they whispered for a second.
"He just got a job at the radio station I guess, so maybe he's off Tuesday? He works the ten to four shift."
"So he'll sleep during till like 2?" Ben said, not really to anyone but himself.
Stan shrugged. "Probably."
Ben looked at Mike with a wicked grin. "Then I guess we'll work on the turret that day."
Mike choked a little, laughing.
Ben looked at Bev and Stan, who were shaking their heads.
They lay in bed that night, trying to catch their breath and pressing their sticky skin as closely together as possible. The window above the bed was open, letting in some desperately needed fresh air. Ben had his arm wrapped around Beverly, who had her arm tucked up around his neck. He kissed her gently on the head, inhaling fully and sighing.
He hadn't planned on them making love, but Beverly had a tendency of making plans for them this way.
They'd been in the kitchen, standing at the island, Bev eating a slice of cold pizza and Ben looking over a mock up for an addition to the library. He had picked this up after the library project supervisor had seen his additions to the bank. Eddie and Stan were going over a budget, a calculator pulled out in front of them. Richie and Bill were out buying groceries and Mike was out at his parents, helping fix their tractor.
Ben hadn't been looking directly at her, but he could see her pacing in front of him. He peeked over the blueprints and there she was, just looking at him, her eyes narrowed. She had a tiny grin on her lips, an eyebrow raised at him.
She spoke in a hushed voice at him, leaning her elbow on the island. "You looked good working on the house babes." He smiled and cocked his head, looking over at Stan and Eddie. They were wrapped up in their numbers and calculations.
"Did I?" He said, looking back at her. She nodded.
He smirked. "You looked good just laying around, baby girl."
She tossed her piece of pizza on its plate and chewed slowly. "Wanna make out?" She asked.
He laughed and began rolling up the blueprint. "Um, yes." He stood abruptly and turned to go upstairs, Beverly not too far behind him.
"We'll be back later guys." Ben said, taking Beverly's hand.
"Ok, have fun." Stan said, looking over the tiny reading glasses he wore at the paperwork.
"Try to keep the screaming to a minimum." said Eddie, leaning over the edge of his chair. Stan laughed.
They had got upstairs, their clothes barely making the entrance, and then they were on one another. It was fast and dirty, something just to be able to touch each other.
And now they lay next to one another, soaking in the smell of each other's sweat and the summer rain on its way.
Ben was staring dead ahead at the popcorned ceiling, his eyes wide. He couldn't slow his heart. He was nervous again.
"I love you Beverly." He said, his voice wavering a little.
Her chin pulled up on his chest, looking at him. She smiled meekly and cuddled her face into him again, breathing him in deeply. "I love you too baby."
He sighed again, trying to choose his next set of words. He gulped, his free hand tracing the 'H' on his abdomen. He did that sometimes when he was thinking, or scared, the motion taking him back to the Bowers gang, to real, tangible fear.
He could feel his fingers shaking against his skin. He couldn't concentrate on any one thing, ten hundred things swirling around his mind. The only thing he could do was go for it.
"Bev."
"Ben." She said in the same tone.
"Bev, I want to get married."
The room swelled with a palpable silence, and Beverly froze against him.
He couldn't seem to catch his breath, suddenly wishing Eddie had a spare inhaler hidden away somewhere in the house. He couldn't look at her either, he was terrified waiting for her to speak. But she hadn't made any sound, so he started to wonder if she had even heard him.
"Bev?" He said quietly, turning his chin down to her.
She wasn't looking at him, instead her gaze was planted on the door to the bathroom, her eyes glazed over with a far away look. Her eyebrows were pulled down, almost angry...or like she wanted to cry.
"Hey," he said, sitting up a little bit, putting a hand on her cheek. She jerked back from the sudden movement, and he recoiled his hand, guilt coming over him in a wave.
She sat up fully, pulling the comforter with her. He sat up against the headboard. He wanted to reach out and place his palm against the flat of her back, but he was worried she would pull away again.
"Bev, baby, what's wrong?" He said.
She turned her head towards him but didn't speak. Her hair was slicked against her forehead with sweat, the liner bleeding a little under her eyes. She didn't look directly at him, either.
"Baby, talk to me." His knees folded against his chest and he wrapped his arms around them, curling his toes underneath his cold feet. He couldn't stop staring at the back of her head.
January embers.
She breathed hard. Pulling the blanket up over her left shoulder. Ben scooched up closer to her, leaning his crossed knees against where her back met the curve of her hips, and he caressed her bare shoulder. She looked over it at him.
"Bev -"
"No."
He paused, his breath hooking around his tonsils.
"What?"
She twisted fully so she was facing him, the blue comforter falling softly over her breasts. She stared at her fingers, screwing with a loose thread on the edge of the sheet.
Her eyes turned up to him. "I said no." Her voice was small, almost drowned out completely by a deep roll of thunder in the distance.
For some reason, Ben couldn't wrap his mind around the words.
No. She had said no.
"Okay." He replied, his mind not really working with his voice. The response echoed around the room, a huge catacomb, the air suddenly stale and dry.
"I'm sorry." She said. She made a move to get up, and he was motivated to grab her arm, to stop her. But he didn't. He let her get up. Pull a shirt over herself, pull panties and a pair of sweatpants on. He couldn't stop staring at a spot on the messed comforter. It looked like old blood, but he couldn't be sure.
After she finished cinching up the pants, she ran a hand through her hair and twirled on her heel, glaring hard at him. He was looking at her face but couldn't see any her features. He realized it was because his eyes were blurring with tears.
"Aren't you going to ask me why?" She said, her voice louder than it had been previously. It shook him a little bit, and he absentmindedly rubbed the thin white scar again.
"Why not, Beverly?" His voice cracked.
She exhaled loudly, and went to the window that faced the east and yanked it open. She sat on the sill, taking a pack of Camels off the dresser and grabbed one, lighting the tip, she took a long drag and began pacing.
"I just... you just... I can't..." She took another drag.
She paused to make eye contact then went back to it, creating a small pathway of ruffled fibers in the rug. "Marriage, Ben? Are you serious?"
He couldn't put the question into terms. Why was that so ridiculous? They'd been together nearly seven years. They loved each other, were in love with each other. Marriage? Out of the question?
"Absolutely." Ben replied.
Beverly laughed, a sickening sound, unnatural coming from her.
"Ben we cannot get fucking married." She pulled the cigarette to her lip again and inhaled, the thick fumes curling around her head and into the air. He usually didn't mind the smell, he could even say he liked the taste when it came from her mouth. But right now it was just giving him a headache.
"Why not?" He asked. His voice was unwavering now, like a church mouse.
"Ben," she scoffed, incredulously, "We're 23! We're fucking kids! We haven't - " she pulled at her own hair, searching, grasping, begging the word to come to her, any fucking word. "We haven't done anything! Jesus. Marriage. You know who else was married?"
It clicked for him then. Of course. "Your parents?" He finally caught her eye. She stopped pacing, mouth agape, staring at him. The air was tense, heavy and thick, tension sliceable with a knife, a sharp serrated blade.
"What did you say?" Her face was twisted up in anger and melancholy.
He stood, stark naked as he walked to the dresser and grabbed a pair of shorts. "You heard me." He didn't mean to sound cruel, his voice did that all on its own.
"My parents have nothing to do with this -"
"That's a lie, Beverly. I'm sorry, but it is." He wasn't even angry. The voice coming from his mouth wasn't angry, it was something entirely different but animalistic nonetheless. It was pain.
Her cigarette was practically all ash now, her having let it burn down with her constant puffing on it. She was shaking, her tiny ring-covered hands clenched into fists. The girl he loved. Small, but fierce.
He was beginning to wonder, in an aching feeling that gnawed at the back of his skull, if she really did love him. He felt every inch of his stretch marks now, sure that they blazed in the dim lighting of their bedroom, THEIR bedroom, the one they had made their own with the stupid drapes and rug and the stark black and white photos of all of them - the Losers - framed up on the wall. It was theirs.
He just needed the clarification. He understood, even if she didn't think he did. Even if she didn't want to admit it to herself.
Sometimes she knew him better than himself, but he was the same for her.
Her daddy was a rabid man, not much of a drinker, but damn if he couldn't pack a punch. Her mom wanted so desperately to escape - he hit them both of course - but where could they go? How could they survive? He held the bank accounts, he had the car title. Everything was his.
Ben knew about all this. Beverly had told him every piece of this, he and she both sobbing. Her daddy, she came to realize when she was older - "Thank Christ", she had said, taking a drag off of her fifth chain smoke - that he had much more sinister plots in mind. But she had escaped to her aunt's in Portland with her mom before anything could go that far. Her mom had cried for weeks about how sorry she was, how she should have protected them better. But Beverly didn't blame her mom. She blamed her daddy, the bastard.
She was afraid, Ben thought, that they would get married, have children, and then maybe...he would start hitting her. The thought made his stomach burn, and he fought the urge to start bawling. He wanted to keep his head clear so he didn't fuck this up.
"I don't need your fucking protection, Benjamin." She snapped at him, flicking her cigarette out the window. Rain had started coming down a bit now, thunder rolling occasionally.
He shook his head slowly. "I never said you did. I never wanted to protect you, or fix you, or any of that. You know that."
"If you're under the impression I think you'd become my dad-"
"That's exactly what I think, Bev." He had tucked his hands behind his head. His chest hurt. Everything was stacking together in a tightness that crowded his lungs. He wanted to reach out and hold her - she trembled madly all over now - but he was afraid she'd pull away.
She just stared, her eyes hollow points in her face, and she didn't speak.
"I'm not trying to fight," Ben said. "If you don't want to get married then fine." He paused, the tears threatening the lashline now.
"But if that's the case, then I need to think about some things." He tried not to watch as her face fell, disappointed and frightened.
"Are you...are you breaking up with me?" She asked, her voice practically a squeak emitted from a closing door hinge.
He shook his head, going to the bed. He grabbed a pillow and a blanket. Every step he took felt like he had added back on fifteen pounds until it was almost too much to lift his feet. He caught her blues, she was biting the corner of her mouth to keep herself from crying.
"I don't think I could if I wanted to, and I don't want to. But my offer stands. So I'm going to give you some time. To think about what you want, what I want...what we can do." He crossed the room to her and tried to bring her lips to his, but she didn't reciprocate. He kissed her gently on the forehead instead.
He went to the bedroom door, his hand tentatively on the knob, turned partially in his hand. The blanket tried to tumble out from underneath his arm and he shifted his grip on it.
"I love you Ben." She said, her voice breaking.
He looked at her, the door ajar now. He knew he didn't have to go but it had to work for the night. "I love you too, Beverly. Take your time."
He went out in the hallway, ignoring the fact that he could hear someone on the other side of Richie's door, many someones, and down the stairs, to sleep away from the love of his life because of a fight for the first time in seven years.