Bruised 🎈Eddie Kaspbrak Fanfiction 🎈

°🎈31🎈°

🎈CHAPTER 31🎈

°•°Vanessa's POV°•°

The Inn's lobby was dim and quiet, a stark contrast to the raw terror still screaming through my veins. I pushed the door open, my body trembling with a cold that had nothing to do with my soaked clothes. Clutched in my hand, the sodden bundle of Eddie's letters felt like a lead weight.

Beverly was sitting alone on the bottom step of the staircase, her knees pulled to her chest. She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and haunted.

"Hi," I croaked, my voice rough.

"Hey," she replied, her gaze dropping to my drenched state, the mud caked on my jeans, the wild look in my eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I lied, the word tasting like ash. "I just need a shower. I've never felt so dirty in my life." The feeling of Its grip, the graze of those teeth on my wrist, the churning quicksand-it all felt like a film of filth I couldn't scrub away.

I didn't wait for a response, darting past her and taking the stairs two at a time. I needed to get behind a locked door. I fumbled with the key, my hands shaking so badly I could barely fit it into the lock. Finally, I stumbled into our room, slamming the door shut and leaning against it, breathing heavily.

I didn't waste a second. I let the hot water run until the bathroom filled with steam, then I threw my filthy, quarry-soaked clothes into a corner like they were contaminated. I stepped under the spray, gasping as the scalding water hit my skin. For a few precious moments, I just stood there, letting the heat sear away the memory of the cold, clutching mud and the colder touch of It. I scrubbed myself raw with a rough washcloth and a bar of cheap soap, as if I could erase the encounter layer by layer.

I was rinsing the suds from my hair when I heard the room door burst open and slam shut with a violence that made me jump.

"Eddie, is that you?" I called out, my heart leaping into my throat.

"Yeah!" his voice came back, sharp and strained. "Can you hurry up? I need to take a shower too, or I'm gonna get sick!"

There was a frantic, almost hysterical edge to his tone. I quickly shut off the water, wrapped myself in a towel, and pushed the bathroom door open.

The sight that greeted me stole the breath from my lungs.

Eddie was pacing the small space between the beds, but he wasn't just dirty. He was covered, from his hair to his shoes, in a vile, chunky, off-white slime. It dripped from his chin, soaked his shirt, and filled the room with a stomach-turning, sweetly rancid odor. It looked like a drunk had vomited over him. Repeatedly.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice a horrified whisper. My own ordeal at the quarry suddenly felt distant.

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped, his movements jerky and panicked. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "But if you'll excuse me, I'll be in the shower." He brushed past me, his body rigid with tension, and locked himself in the bathroom. The sound of the shower starting again was immediate and frantic.

I stood frozen for a moment, trying to process it. What nightmare had he walked through? My own fear was quickly being eclipsed by a deep, protective worry for him.

I got dressed mechanically, pulling on soft leggings and a large t-shirt. If we were going to die tonight, I refused to do it in uncomfortable clothes. I was just pulling my hair into a tight, severe ponytail when a blood-curdling scream tore through the room from the bathroom.

It was Eddie.

I was moving before I could think, throwing the bathroom door open. The scene inside was a new level of hell.

It wasn't Eddie in the shower. It was Henry Bowers.

He stood under the spray, fully clothed, his prison jumpsuit soaked through. A kitchen knife was buried to the hilt in his chest, dark blood mingling with the water and swirling down the drain. And he was laughing, a wet, gurgling, maniacal sound that was worse than any scream.

Eddie was backed against the sink, his face as white as a sheet. A deep, vicious gash ran from his cheekbone down to his jaw, bleeding profusely, painting his neck and shoulder crimson.

"Oh my god, Eddie!" I screamed.

Henry's laughing eyes, glazed with insanity, slid from Eddie to me. "Well, well," he gargled, blood bubbling at his lips. "If it isn't my little cousin, Vanessa. Come to join the party?"

I ignored him, my entire world narrowing to Eddie. I grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. "We have to go! Now!"

Eddie, in a state of shock I'd never seen before, allowed himself to be pulled. As we stumbled out of the bathroom, he looked back at the monstrosity in our shower and, with a surreal, shaky bravado, said, "You should cut that fucking mullet. It's been, like, 30 years, man."

"GUYS!" I screamed into the hallway, my voice raw with pure panic.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Beverly and Ben skidded to a halt outside our door. Beverly let out a short, sharp scream at the sight of Eddie's face.

"Jesus, Eds. What the hell?" Ben asked, his eyes wide.

"Bowers is in our room!" I yelled, pointing behind me.

Ben's face hardened. He moved toward the door just as the sound of shattering glass erupted from within our bathroom. Henry was gone.

I turned my full attention back to Eddie, guiding him to sit on the floor in the hallway. Beverly knelt beside us, her hands fluttering nervously.

"Oh, my god," she breathed, seeing the wound up close. It was deep. Too deep.

"Vanessa, is it bad?" Eddie asked, his voice small and childlike. His eyes were wide with a terror I knew wasn't just from the pain. It was the terror of a boy who'd been told his entire life that a simple cut could kill him.

I channeled every ounce of strength I had left, pushing my own panic down. I couldn't fall apart now. "No," I said, my voice miraculously steady. I cupped his unhurt cheek. "It's not bad. It's fixable. Let's get you fixed up, okay?"

He gave a weak, jerky nod.

With Beverly's help, we raided the inn's tiny first-aid kit. I cleaned the wound, my hands steady as I wiped away the blood to reveal the clean slice. It needed stitches. Using a needle and thread I sterilized with a match from Ben's pocket, I did what I had to do. Eddie winced but didn't make a sound, his hand gripping my knee like a vise. When I was done, I bandaged it carefully.

"Okay," I whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You need to go back in there and actually take a shower. Get clean. I'll be right here."

He nodded, looking drained and pale, but he obeyed.

Richie was still missing. Bill was nowhere to be found. We were fractured, bleeding, and hunted. But we had to move. As Eddie washed away the physical remnants of his nightmare, Beverly, Ben, and I shared a silent, grim look. We had our tokens. It was time to go to the library. The ritual was waiting, and It was done playing games.

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