Oh No! [IT 2017 Reader Insert]

10 | IT Ends Now

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟻𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟿.

─

You sat in the diner booth you'd been led to about an hour earlier, idly waiting for your mother's shift to end. You simply picked at the fries you ordered, lowering them towards the ketchup before opting to pull your them away. You didn't have an appetite; despite the incident within Neibolt happening long ago, there was still a horror laying low in your gut. Your mother was getting worse by the day, after all; it seemed you being in the house so often was making her mental state decline further. You shifted, hearing footsteps patter towards you.

     "Excuse me, but we're gonna need you to leave if you're not gonna eat. We have people waiting for seats." You looked at the blonde waitress talking to you, and coughed, gathering your things in your arms and getting your crutches on.

     "Sorry, I'm- can you tell me when Ms. [L/N] gets off?" You looked at the waitress with pleading eyes. She looked at you sadly.

     "I'm sorry, honey; I don't know her shift hours." You frowned momentarily but quickly perked your lips into what you called a 'courtesy smile'.

     "Ah, don't worry, I- I didn't expect you too. It's, ah, fine." You offered the blonde waitress a small wave, leaving a 5$ tip on your table- you looked at the name tag: Amber.

     As you walked towards the exit, you heard the phone in the diner ring. You assumed it was for someone else, but grabbed the telephone anyway- might as well start the call off for them for politeness sake. You spoke into the receiver. "Hello?" 

     "[Y/N]?" A familiar voice rang out on the other end, turning your passive face into a scowl.

     "What do you want, Bill." Your voice sounded monotonous, so much so the words out of your mouth came out more as a statement than a question. You waited for an answer.

     "IT took Bev, [Y/N]." Your eyes widened, fear bursting in your gut. Your breath hitched.

     "I'm only coming for her."

     You slammed the phone into the receiver, rushing to get out of the store. You left your crutches; you could do without. Your leg was fairly healed by now, anyway. You were this close—this fucking close— to getting out of the diner before you felt a tug on your shoulder. Your mother.

     Not fucking now.

     "Where do you think you're going?" You looked at all the faces staring at you and your mother, who had just uttered the dreaded sentence. You looked at your mom, schooling your features into a scowl once again.

     "To see my friends, mom." You tried to keep your voice stoic, despite the fear of how your mother would react to your words.

     "Like Hell you are. After what they did to you? They hurt my baby." She said, sounding almost sinister. You writhed in her toughening grip.