a corruption of the mind [r.t.]

5

— December 4th, 1992

     A day like every other, you walked home from Richie's place after a nice early Friday movie. Richie was gonna have to stay home instead of normally walking you home, having to set up dinner with his Mom. His therapist said that he would feel better about his situation if he spoke with his Mom in a way that they could bond and also seem normal. Long story short, they didn't do it the last time he told them, so noe he was coming over and helping them out (another way of saying that he was gonna make sure they actually did it.) You could still hear his worried voice in the back of your mind, and you smiled at his worried self. Maybe you had found the right guy. Maybe you would be able to open up to someone, finally. After waiting years of recovering from what happened with your Dad, maybe you could trust men again.

     "Is this the real life, is this just fantasy, caught in a landslide, no escape from reality," your voice was the only thing that echoed throughout the quiet streets, so quiet it was making you nervous, "open your eyes, look up to the skies and seeee, I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy-"

     "Well, well, well, look who we hsve here," the booming voice of Henry Bowers shot through your body, making your eyes wide and the smallest of gasps to escape you, you hadn't noticed you were passing by Henry's house, that meant you missed the turn on Hargrove to get to-

     "Hey, I'm talking to you here, I don't know who you think you are, but I don't like it," he got close to you, slightly hearding you near his porch, his cynical plans already set up for you, "looks like I'm gonna have to punish you for that, Mrs. [Last Name]."

     "Please Henry, just let me go, I've gotta get home right now a-and my Mom will freak if I get home before curfew so csn you please-" he started laughing at your petty excuses, making you all the more nervous. Your heart pounded in your chest, knowing what he was capable of doing after the rumors of him shooting stray cats for fun went around. Even if it wasn't true, you still feared him. Sometimes he would get really close to you, and even touched you under the tables when he sat next to you in science. It made you uncomfortable, but he would threaten you under his breath the whole time, making you shut up while your tears built up inside.

     "You think I'm dumb [Name]? You think I don't know that that fucking curfew is just a little thing the police say to keep all the worried parents quiet? That your Mom is always out, and you have no one to come home to except your fuck toy Trashmouth?" He grabbed your arm, tightening his grip rapidly, the light in your eyes becoming a figment of hid imagination. You flinch at one point, and look down to see he was growing excited of your reactions. "Don't ever fucking try to lie to me, it won't end well. Now I believe that being naughty comes with a punishment, don't you think? Well I do, and that's all that matters."

     You got pulled into his home, now letting out a screech of pain as he never stopped crushing your forearm. He laughed out loud, your eyes filling up with tears. You had suspected what would happen next, and somehow you weren't surprised. He had grown to be a big and burly man at the age of sixteen, his arms and legs were all worked out from do much farm work, and you swore that you even saw him lifting weights when you passed by the boys weight training. You didn't want to find out. Your small figure bounced when he threw you on the bed, trying to not set him off. He disappeared into the small lookin bathroom connected to his room, then came back out with the thickest rope you had ever seen.

     "What's gonna happen is that you're not going to tell anyone that I fucking raped you, cuz you know it isn't gonna be fucking rape you fucking slut," he tied you hands and went down to your legs, making sure to run his rough hands over your smooth, creamy skin, "now I'm gonns fuck you every single way that I want to, and you're not gonna mention this to anyone or else I'll talk. I'll tell everyone that you rubbed yourself on me, that you got on your knees to fucking suck me off, that you told me about how many guys it took you to learn to suck a mean dick. That you're nothing but a fucking slut, and will take anyone into your bedsheets if they have the money. Don't believe me if you don't wanna, but you'll find out once someone comed up to you with a $20 and a condom."

     He had his way, pushing inside you more times than you would probably have let in your life. His hands touched every little square inch of skin that he exposed and when you got a little rowdy in the beginning, he decided to show you who eas boss with his switchblade. The blood from your chest and lost virginity spread on his white sheets like ink spreads on paper. It felt like hours, but his pace never stopped. He found another way to use you, and once he stopped, your fate was already decided. You would die a suicide victim, and it would be okay. As long as you didn't have to be in a world with the fucking devil of Earth, you were fine.

     You felt the tightness on you hands unravel, and you turned around to look at Henry's sweaty face with an expression of satisfaction, making you practically throw up in your mouth. He had you get out of his house, but not before he pushed you down on the bed and forcefully kissed you. Your first kiss. Destroyed by Henry Bowers. This is the reality you lived in, and you really didn't like it. You couldn't even stand up after that, but you did anyways, desperately wanting to get away from there as fast as you could. Please.

     After that, you ran as fast as you could, despite the fact that your legs esnted to give out, and your blood dripping panties. You were disheveled, and that didn't matter because all you wanted to do was run. Run away from this life, this terrible, terrible life.

— March 7th, 1993

     Another one of thode days where Richie skipped and you would go find him at the back of the school, smoking a blunt. It never got old, and by now your gym teacher expected not to see you at her class. You got out of science, trying to walk as fast as you could since he was in that class, but as normal, you never msde it far enough to avoid his reach. First was the hand on your shoulder and next was the squeeze on your butt. You knew it was wrong to keep letting him do this, but the thought always occured to you. That if he were to spreaf those rumors, maybe Richie wouldn't want to be near you. He would be disgusted and not want to talk to a girl who not only cut, but also jumped on every guy she saw. You couldn't risk it.

     And so, like every time he skipped, you got to him with pain in between your legs, puffy eyes, and already snatching that blunt out of his hands. Just like normal.