𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 ~ 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

Chapter Three

Chapter Three:
Nobody's Home, I'm All Alone
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Heather decided to just go home instead of picking up the gum. She didn't feel like dealing with Greta Keene's pervy father.

He would watch her extremely closely every single time she entered. Maybe it was because she stole a candy bar that one time. But something inside her said that wasn't the case.

It made her feel gross when his gaze lingered a little lower than it should during the summer.

Heather would always tell him off when he did this, and the man would simply roll his eyes and turn to do something else, pretending it never happened.

Heather wondered just how many girls he did that to.. She hoped he didn't do it to his own daughter. Young girls is bad as it is? But if he looked at his very own daughter like that?

Heather almost threw up at the thought. She shook her head as she rode her bike past the pharmacy, avoiding hitting anyone as she did.

Heather wondered if she'd see Bill again this summer. He was nice to her today, and she appreciated that.

She hoped she would see him. He was nice, and his friends were, too. Sort of. Richie was questionable to her, but he didn't seem too bad. Yet.

Heather turned on to her street as she began to peddle faster. Not necessarily to get home faster, as she didn't exactly want to get home faster.

But the quicker she got home, the quicker she could leave and go to the pretty bay by the lighthouse.

She was ready to bask in the sunlight and let all her worries fall away. Heather was tired of worrying.

You see, she was always worrying. Worrying if she was gonna run into Henry Bowers and his gang of crazies,  worrying if she was gonna get cornered by a Greta Keene who had finally snapped, worrying if she would come home to an angry mother, worrying if she'd come home to a drunk father, worrying if she'd come home during one of their fights.

The last one was the most prevalent because that happened the most frequently. Heather had the scars to prove it.

She had gotten in the way of her mother throwing a bottle at her father, and it cut her upper arm up pretty good.

Heather didn't like to show her arm that much, hence why the leather jacket always rested on her arms during summer.

She liked to go to the bay alone, and she only brought people she trusted there. Which, wasn't many. In fact, it wasn't any. No one had seen her special little slice of heaven.

It wasn't that Heather didn't trust anyone, she didn't have trust issues. Heather trusted people. It wasn't hard to gain her trust, either. No one's tried, though.

It was just that she's never exactly liked someone enough to bring them. Heather wondered if she'd ever bring someone there. She hoped she would. She hated feeling so alone in the world.

Heather wanted someone to share memories with, to share her travels and experiences with.

Heather shrugged all of those thoughts off as she rested her bike against the house. She carefully climbed the rickety old steps, not wanting them to fall through.

Heather's yard was.. unkempt.. to say the least.. The grass was overgrown, weeds had managed to grow through the concrete, and vines had taken over the mailbox post.

She quietly opened the door, not wanting to disturb anyone if they were home.

Her nose scrunched up at the strong scent of alchohol and smoke. She hated how alchohol smelled. And when it was mixed with smoke? It made her gag and want to throw up.

Loud snores from the living room alerted her that her dad was home. Heather sighed, letting her school bag fall quietly beside the door.

Her tattered red converse carried her into the living room to assess the damage caused by her father.

Empty beer bottles and beer cans lay strewn around the room. Heather frowned, but began picking them up anyway.

She counted each as she did. It was a habit she picked up after cleaning them up so many times.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten... Eleven... Twelve... Thirteen... Fourteen.... Fifteen... Sixteen.

Heather sighed as she carefully walked into the kitchen, the bottled clattered together, causing her to cringe with each sound. She didn't want to wake him up.

She worried for the man. Everytime he stopped snoring, she worried that he had finally drank himself to death.

She didn't particularly love the man, but she didn't want him to die either. Then she'd be left with her mother.

Heather let her mind drift back to Bill. She wondered how he was doing. She knew he was still hurt and still looking for Georgie.

Heather wanted to know how he continued to keep his faith and confidence that he was still alive.

She wondered how he could continue to search for him day after day after day.

Heather wouldn't be able to keep that up. And there was no way she'd believe he was alive after eight months.

Eight whole months. That must be devastating for him. Heather knew that Bill and his little brother were close. She could see it whenever she saw them at the park.

Heather walked into the living room and began picking up the cans. Once again, she counted them.

One.. Two. Three. Four. Five.

That's twenty-one in total. Sixteen bottles and five cans of beer. Heather wondered how he could drink that much and not have anything happen to him.

Carefully, she again carried the empty cans into the kitchen to throw them away.

Heather opened the trash can and put in the cans one by one in order to not make any noise.

She closed the trash can quietly and turned to open the fridge. Her eyes scanned the shelves until they fell upon her desired item.

She pulled out the coca-cola and shut the fridge behind her. Heather quickly, but quietly, rushed out of the house.

The loud slamming of the door sent nervousness through her body. She stepped over to the bike, threw the coke into the basket she pushed off.

Heather began biking away, faster than she ever has before, hoping to be out of sight before her dad appeared.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

{ Word Count: 1095 }

{ A/n; Hi sorry no Billther content this chap!! its 5 am btw and i should be asleep lol }

{ Edited: No }