˚ʚ my heart beats for you in threes - stenbrough ɞ˚

chapter ten

tw: homophobia, bullying, blood mentions??? its a henry bowers chapter so yk what to expect 😭 also stanley thinks a bit suicidally at the end, so if that's triggering, go read some nice fluffy stories instead of this. please don't read this if it's triggering!

   i was at an all-time high, dangerously so. i had just told richie.. everything? almost everything.

   unfortunately, a high like that can turn into a low very quickly.

   the walk home from the park was absolutely dreaded. the familiar stars in the night sky above me no longer seemed as friendly as they were before. they were no longer a beautiful background of the conversation with richie, they weren't just these miniscule lights in the sky anymore. if anything, they now reminded me of how miniscule i was. they seemed like millions of judging eyes, watching me and whispering among eachother.

"flamer!" they whispered, and were they wrong? i'd always been so quick to deny that. every single time, i'd sit and dwell on it and take it as an insult.

   i wasn't a fag or a flamer. i knew that. i would even spend nights looking at my reflection trying to figure out why they even thought that to begin with. me? the rabbi's son? of course not. but now that i realize maybe i am one. i'm a faggot. i'm a flamer. so what was i spending those sleepless nights thinking about? maybe it wasn't about if i was gay, but why it was so wrong if i was? what was wrong with liking boys?

what is wrong with liking boys?

   the walk was slow, as i was trying to bring myself down from the high, instead of letting someone else knock me down from it instead. i found that if i was an asshole to myself, i would be unphased by anyone else being an asshole to me. i was far worse to myself than anyone could ever be, because frankly, i hated myself.

i hate myself.

   and hating yourself is worse than anybody else hating you, because it's easy, and somehow, you can find comfort in that self-hatred, and that's what makes it so dangerous.

   i continued walking, pushing the thoughts about my sexuality right back down. i felt guilt and regret for even talking about them to somebody. i mean, what if i was just confused? my mind reminds me of the several instances in which i have actually had crushes on girls. girls are pretty, anyways, who wouldn't have a crush on them? so obviously i am straight. i like girls, it's settled.

   well, maybe not. i think boys are pretty too.

no, stanley, just pick one. just be straight, it's the right way.

   and with only a half hour of being alone with my own thoughts, i had already made myself feel like absolute shit. that might be a new record.

   i watched my feet shuffle on the concrete below me, the old derry street lights shining onto them. the only noises of the night were the occasional cricket chirps and my shoes dragging across the pavement. i never want to go home. i don't wanna knock on that door, i dont want to sleep in that bed. i don't want to make up some lie about where i've been.

   i don't want to be stanley uris anymore.

   suddenly, i hear the sound of a twig snapping and something rustling through the bushes behind me. but before i could even turn around, hands hit my back. the force pushed me forward until i was on the concrete ground with my hands bleeding from the attempt to catch myself.

henry bowers.

   the same boy who had done nothing but pick on kids who already picked on themselves enough that summer.

   somehow, i have gone two years not seeing him. i didn't think anything of it. i just assumed that maybe he'd been put in prison or something. i mean, rumours went around the town for months, making up different stories about how he killed his own father, and every different way he could have done so. after that, i sort of became hyper-aware of myself. a murderer had been picking on me for years. i was around him so much, maybe i was going to turn out like him. maybe, somehow his personality and illness had spread to me.