The Sea and the Sun ━━━━ Beverly Marsh︱✓

𝙞𝙫. methods of catharsis

Fuck, the anger was back.

Jill wanted to punch something, but she refrained. Instead, she pulled open the drawer to her nightstand and reached for a small box hidden in it. She carefully opened the box and pulled out jumbled pictures of her mother. The top photo must have been taken a few years ago at the lake they used to go to on the weekends. Elizabeth was crouched in a shallow part of the lake with a camera in her hands. Her hair was as dark as the night sky, tied into a low bun at the nape of her neck. She was laughing. Like really laughing with her head tilted back and her eyes closed. She seemed happy. Almost free.

Jill wished she could merge into the picture and hug her. Just one last time.

The Samson girl stared at the photo a second longer almost as if she were trying to memorize it before she put the lid back on the box and shoved it into the drawer. With a sigh, Jill moved to grab the camera resting on her nightstand. Her mother wasn't here, but Jill could still remember her through a lens. Plus, she figured why not give it a go since she wasn't falling asleep any time soon.

She walked to her window, ignoring the way the cold floors sent chills up her spine as she seated herself on her windowsill. She let her foot dangle from the edge while the other was bent close to her face. She let out a heavy sigh, resting her cheek on her knee and absentmindedly staring at the pale moon through the lenses of her camera. But it wasn't the silver satellite she saw. Instead, her eyes traced the outline of Beverly's sloped nose in the crevasses of the moon. She guessed her abstract way of thinking in poems was really screwing her over now. She couldn't get the redhead out of her head, and instantly her chest tightened. Her chest felt empty; she felt empty and when Jill was hollow, she had no inspiration.

Jill bit her lip in frustration. Nothing was working out the way she wanted it to. It had been what felt like hours of endless torture since she felt Beverly pulling away from her. It felt the same as it did when they were kids and Beverly started hanging around Bill for the play. For some reason, it felt like Hell. Like a continuous loop of never-ending heartache and Jill was forced to endure it for whatever fucked up reason. But she couldn't just hide away in her room forever, she had to face the music.

Jill huffed and threw her camera on her quilted twin-sized bed beside her open window, then hopped out the window. Her feet hit the metal of the fire escape with a thud, but she didn't dwell on if her father heard it or not, she just kept moving. She walked down the steps leading to her destination without a second thought. Her brows pinched together once she arrived at Beverly's open bedroom window. Beverly never left her window unlocked, but it was wide open and that worried the brunette.

She threw one leg across the threshold and ducked under the window, pulling her body through it and hopping into the dimly-lit room. Her eyes trailed over the empty room. Clothes were thrown all over the place, littering the floors and a few shirts draped over the bed in the middle of the room. A few books were thrown across the room, adding to the clutter. The plastic bag containing the box of tampons was wedged under the bed at an odd angle which made Jill wonder if it had intentionally been placed there or thrown in that direction.

"Bev?" Jill hesitantly whispered into the eerily silent room. She didn't want to be too brash or else Alvin Marsh would hear and holy fuck if she had to deal with that son of a bitch, she might just snap and kill the man. "Bev, where are you?"

No answer followed her whispers.

Jill took a few steps forward until she reached the bedroom door. She slowly turned the knob and opened the door, cringing at the creek of the hinges. She instinctively clenched her fists, preparing herself to punch Beverly's dick of a father in the face if he was waiting around the corner. She blew out air through her nose and peeked her head out of the room.