They were supposed to be packing, slowly peeling off to go back to their lives. Bill had dashed off, mentioning his wife and his film (and his ending), Richie had disappeared, and Mike was back at his place. It felt like so few of them. The five who survived.
That was a book title for Bill, right there.
Now, she realized as she looked at her long-dead phone (there's no cell-phone reception below Derry, it turns out, let alone blue tooth) and dreaded the inevitable barrage of texts and voice mails from Tom, calling her a slut and a whore, threatening to kill her, to kill himself, and soon he'd be crying, desperate to get her back until he cycled through his feelings again.
This time, she wasn't going to take him back. She'd taken her ring off, and she wasn't looking back. Tomorrow she'd call up her lawyer, start the long, messy process of divorcing your business partner. That was tomorrow. Today...
Well, tonight.
She'd already taken an hours long shower, it felt like, washing every inch of her body, tracing over the outline of the turtle tattoo she had on her foot. She'd cried, finally, alone, able to let out the gut-wrenching sobs that Eddie deserved. Eddie and Stan both.
She could just go to bed. Grab a bottle of whiskey from the bar downstairs and pour herself a bottle and watch Law & Order re-runs on USA until she passed out. She was half-way through that plan when she realized that staying in meant she had little excuse not to look at her phone and deal with the monster that was Tom Rogan. So she paused in the hallway and found her way outside the room she knew Ben occupied. Raising the hand that wasn't holding two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, she knocked on the solid wood door.
"Ben? It's Bev- can I come in? I brought a present. That I..." she looked over at her hand. "Stole from downstairs."
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Ben! (cw: it's fucking IT, ya'll)
That was a book title for Bill, right there.
Now, she realized as she looked at her long-dead phone (there's no cell-phone reception below Derry, it turns out, let alone blue tooth) and dreaded the inevitable barrage of texts and voice mails from Tom, calling her a slut and a whore, threatening to kill her, to kill himself, and soon he'd be crying, desperate to get her back until he cycled through his feelings again.
This time, she wasn't going to take him back. She'd taken her ring off, and she wasn't looking back. Tomorrow she'd call up her lawyer, start the long, messy process of divorcing your business partner. That was tomorrow. Today...
Well, tonight.
She'd already taken an hours long shower, it felt like, washing every inch of her body, tracing over the outline of the turtle tattoo she had on her foot. She'd cried, finally, alone, able to let out the gut-wrenching sobs that Eddie deserved. Eddie and Stan both.
She could just go to bed. Grab a bottle of whiskey from the bar downstairs and pour herself a bottle and watch Law & Order re-runs on USA until she passed out. She was half-way through that plan when she realized that staying in meant she had little excuse not to look at her phone and deal with the monster that was Tom Rogan. So she paused in the hallway and found her way outside the room she knew Ben occupied. Raising the hand that wasn't holding two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, she knocked on the solid wood door.
"Ben? It's Bev- can I come in? I brought a present. That I..." she looked over at her hand. "Stole from downstairs."