being super ain't easy | the losers club

silence was made to be broken

I... worry about you.... Bevvie, I worry... about you a lot.

It's always his hands.

They grab her shoulders with an unnecessary roughness and pulls her inches from his face. The cursed scent of aftershave and cheap booze invades her nostrils.

Those hands. Cracked, dry hands like sandpaper.

That smell. Cheap beer and aftershave. Pungent and burning.

Beverly Marsh shoots straight up in bed, her body soaked with sweat and breaths leaving her in huge waves. Immediately, she inhales deeply in hope that the smell isn't there. That the smell isn't real.

Instead she smells her own sweat and-

I worry about you! Bevvie! I worry about you! A lot!

Beverly grits her teeth together and latches her hands to her ears, wrenching her eyes shut. "Get out, get out, OUT!"

And that smile. That Al Marsh smile. Yellow teeth and thin lips.

Beverly's fingers sink into her scalp and her teeth grind against each other. The smell, his hands, his smile. The smell, his hands, his smile. The smell, his-

Out of my head, OUT OF MY HEAD-

I worry about you, Bevvie, I worry about you a lot.

Beverly screams hoarsely.

In a matter of seconds, her fingertips are burning, flames spouting from each one.

Her eyes go wide and she flings her legs over the side of the bed and stands up, dashing out of her bedroom and into the bathroom. The smell, his hands, his smile.

"No, no, NO!" she curses, her voice rasping. Tears come now, searing her face and eyes.

Beverly drops to her knees painfully on the tile flooring. She pries the toilet seat open with her elbow and throws her hands inside, the calming cool of the water creating a familiar hissss on her burning hands.

She allows a small gasp and flutters her eyelids shut.

Smell, hands, smile.

The cold feeling spreads from her hands, up her arms, then down her back and up her neck. It turns her hot sweat icy. Turns her tears cold.

Beverly looks down into the bowl of the toilet and sees her hands, looking perfectly normal and unharmed. The only evidence of the flames is shown on the tips of her fingernails, once painted a nice blue, now turned black.

She stands up and flings the excess water off of her hands. Her breathing is still heavy and uneven.

She does not even notice she's breathing out smoke and tasting it in the back of her dry throat.

I worry about you, Bevvie, I worry about you a lot.

Beverly looks at herself in the mirror. The smoke clears.

"You alright, baby?"

Bev's head snaps to the doorway, startled.

She sighs a breath of relief. Elfrida Marsh.

"I'm alright, momma."

"Are you sure?"

"Just a bad dream."

✨

That has never happened before.

I don't lose control like that, Beverly says in her head, I don't.