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chapter seven initiate mission kill bill
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Jealousy was a tricky thing for Jill Samson to comprehend. Anger, she got. She understood if she held her hand above a lighter and let the flames lick her skin, it'd ignite the same feeling rooted deep within her veins when she blew a fuse. Its unruly wrath against her reasoning was not hard to comprehend. It was easy to get lost in its flames and watch her skin burn. Sometimes she found it comforting. After all, she was a child born with a fire enclosing her heart—it had been the only thing Jill knew ever since she was young. Jealousy, on the other hand, was not foreign to her senses, but it was hard to comprehend when in a battle against anger.
One might think jealousy and anger went hand in hand, but Jill Samson thought otherwise. With anger, everything was easy—you break shit, scream, maybe even cry a little. But with jealousy . . . you weren't supposed to express any of that. If you did, you'd risk the root of your jealousy discovering the reason you might have acted differently one day then another way the next. With anger, it was just her and her emotions, but with jealousy, she had to deal with Beverly versus everyone else on top of her fucked up brain. That was what was tricky for Jill to understand. She just wanted to scream, but she couldn't because then Beverly would find out about her stupid little crush on her and then her entire life would be over.
Jill found it especially hard to contain her jealousy that early morning when Beverly called her on the landline and claimed she had something she had to show the group. The group. The group of boys, she meant. That was what pissed Jill off. Why did Beverly have to call them? They had known each other for like two days and suddenly they were supposed to be acting like best friends. Why? She didn't want to deal with Bill that day or even Richie. The others were okay, but they were still gross, annoying boys. They'd probably burp in her face or something. Ew.
Jill forced herself out of bed and threw on some clothes she felt comfortable in. She dressed in a short-sleeve button-up shirt with a splatter paint design paired with some jeans and a white scrunchie to tie back the hairs out of her face. She despised the feeling of hair on her skin, it made her want to pull out her hair altogether or just shave it off. With that, she quickly shoved on a pair of beaten-up shoes and headed for her kitchen. But something stopped her before she could advance in her routine.
