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MARLA DID NOT LIKE TO CRY, especially over boys

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MARLA DID NOT LIKE TO CRY, especially over boys. especially over a certain derry boy belonging to the oh so enchancing name of richie tozier.

so with the remorseful rain splattering, pouring, howling, when richie made a side comment about marla borne's 'suspiciously good english mark' in the hallway, snickering with a grin as he turned to face eddie kaspbrack who was standing with his back against beverly's locker, a film studies book and a biology book on trophic levels clasped tightly in his gloved, fireplace hands, while stating,

"mommy's girl is probably fucking mr levi, anyways," marla slapped him and released a trembling wave of energetic loathing.

and boy, she slapped him good, oh and she slapped hard. so hard that his marveled as well as sculptured head snapped to the right, faster than bill denbrough on the running tracks. an immediate, small red print was marked on his paled, freckled, hollowed out cheek.

with a face filled to the most absolute brim of shock and regret, richie turned to face the borne girl, who had a new fading bruise, that had amelia written all over it, planted across her forehead.

with a maroon face and a single tear running down her cheek, marla borne bolted out of the hallway; ignoring amelia's haunting smirk as she made a bee line towards the girls' bathrooms, the teenage dirtbag with a poem of apologies dancing on his tongue, was hot on her tail, stalking behind her in a rush and with a stomp of his boots

as the girl slammed the navy, rusting door shut behind her, marla stood still inside the cubic bathroom stall and tried to even her ghastly gasps of breath. once figuring out that that was not to happen, she let out a not-so-muffled sob. a sob of anger, perhaps, or even a sob of destruction.

the soft, bucketing sound of the angry rain outside rumbled against the roof, growing louder, growling into the ear of earth's surface as it grew stronger. as it plummeted against the rooftops, richie tozier was stood outside the girls' bathroom door, twisting the rings wrapped loosely around the large knuckles on his fingers.

left right left left right left right, the rings spun around repeatedly on his rough hands, as he continuously tried to calm himself down whilst lifting one palm to cup his champagne stained cheek.

as the sky inhaled, richie exhaled. and as the sky spat out a spear of thunder, richie sucked in a gulp of air, leaning against the old swing door and pushing it aside with all of his every ouncd of body weight, stumbling into the bathroom and immediately regretting it.

as his black chunked out boots knocked against the manky square black & white tiles, the borne girl let out a heavy sob, muffling it with her pleated plaid scarf, wrapped tightly around her naked hand with knuckles stained red from the storm brewing above their heads, crashing asd catapulting small iced balls into the hands of the metal tin roof; much like what marla borne was doing behind the locked store on the floor with her hands catching any unwanted tears as they streamed with an unwelcomed presence down her warm cheeks.

and richie swore he'd never hated himself more than in that very moment.


short chapter, sorry ! i'll be typing up the follow up to this chapter soon.

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