superstitious, bill denbrough

CHAPTER ONE

My mouth formed to speak, to spit the words out so harshly. I wanted to say the words that jabbed in my mind. But nothing came out. I held my tongue, looking to the ground as I pursed my lips.

"Nothing to say now, huh? Say something. I dare you. Anything that comes out of your mouth, I won't hesitate to hurt you."

"Hey, asshole!"

A voice was heard from behind Henry, catching the attention of the small circle to look up at a group of boys. I slowly sat up, Henry's full attention now on the one who spoke. "This isn't any of your concern. Turn around before I beat your ass up."

"Oh, please. Save the bullshit for your mom." The one who spoke had dark rimmed glasses, his lens making his eyes look like bugs. I could feel the giggle behind my throat, but right now wasn't the best time.

"Go fu-" Henry's voice was cut short, a man with a cops suit slowly take two steps to us. His hardening glare towards Henry made the boy stop in his tracks. Hesitant, he took a step back. He mumbled something to the boys, giving me his infamous glare as his friends and him walked away.

My throat was scratchy, my eyes brimming with the familiar wet tears. But I quickly blinked them away, wiping the one strand that seemed to fall down with no intention. One of the boys grabbed my headphones from the floor, handing it to me as I shyly took it. I dust the small powder of dirt from my skirt, pushing a hair behind my ear.

Awkwardly crossing my arms, I let out a small sigh. "T-thanks, you know. For-"

"No problem, doll. Anything for you," the boy with rimmed glasses states, swiftly nodding his head up. My brows scrunched up in confusion, ready to already leave the uncomfortable situation.

"You're M-M-Monet right?"

I knew who this boy was. I always did. Ever since the second grade. Ever since the one day I've gotten to talk to him, everything seemed to freeze within the time I had with him. Even if it was a mere question on the math homework. The very easy, now doable  question. I quickly snapped my head, nodding.

"I really should get going. Thank you, again." I didn't even take one more glance to the ones who helped me, but just abruptly turned around. With my feet walking into a faster pace, I didn't even take the look back as it dug into the back of mind, bugging me to look around. Way to be awkward, Monet. As I pressed the 'play' button on my Walkman, the voice of the Jackson 5 releasing the tension I held.

As I thought of the ways I would spend my summer, nothing seemed to crowd my mind. To say the least, nothing came to mind. Another summer with just Frankenstein and my camera. Not to add, but my father too. Nothing bothered me that I spent every moment with the only friend I had. And I wasn't even talking about that best friend almost anyone would have at school, or the park. My dad was my best friend, and that was all I needed. As long as I never left his side, I was pleased with the lifestyle I had.

The feeling of wanting get home was neutral. I always looked forward to walk into the comfort of my own house, to feel welcomed by the objects or the bed that awaited me all day. With the thought of knowing that I won't be waking up any time early, a skip was added to my step, practically jogging towards the few things that I enjoyed, and knew appreciated me.

...

HAPPINESS. THE SMALL spark that plugged within the brain that could make you feel this way. It was something that was like dopamine to my brain. The one thing that I craved actually wasn't something to gain, though many may think different. But to me, one thing could light the spark so easily. It wasn't anything big, yet small. It wasn't the food I was given, or the things that were bought, but it was true. The true feeling that was felt when with the one loved you.