sometimes the monsters live inside us too.
[summary inside]
it2017 | eddie kaspbrak x oc
i do not own the 'it' franchise. i only take
credibility for my origin...
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' ᴄʟᴀᴍᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴsᴛʀɪᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴀᴛs. '↙︎
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VERITY UNDERSTOOD WHY HER PARENTS HOLED HER UP in her arid home for an entire day. They believed something was wrong with their daughter. Quite frankly, she wasn't embittered they didn't believe her. It made complete sense to her. She so vividly remembered coming across a gruesome image of her dead parents. But it happened. It did. How would her parents believe her, though? They were alive and well. Of course she understood how worried they were, and why they didn't believe her.
She sat quietly desolated in the sunroom of her home, but she felt adequate in the space all to herself.
The young Owens girl was home alone with her brother, who had taken it upon himself to begin taking out their, now, deceased cat's belongings out of their home. At first, they'd been hesitant, but came to the conclusion the items only cluttered their home. She found it rather arduous to help, throwing away toys and food trays that belonged to her once cherished cat.
The young girl had been drastically reluctant to stay in the house alone after what she'd been through, so there she waited - with her brother - for their mother to arrive home with groceries they'd been waiting on for a while.
Acquitting a weary sigh, Verity abruptly stood up from the chair, the legs of it screeching blatantly against the wooden floors. She trudged her way toward the front door -just in time- as the faint sound of her mother jigging the keys into the compartment of the keyhole, reached her ears.
"Finally," she mumbled audibly to herself, helping her mother out by opening the door.
"Hey, sweetie, help put these in the fridge," her mother mandated, index finger pointing specifically to a bag planted next to her while she hoisted other bags scattered around her.
"Why'd you get so much stuff?" Verity perplexingly inquired, her neck craning upward to peer at the items inside the bag, which had been stocked with a variety of items, mostly food.
As her mother shut the door behind her, she replied cooly, "We're going to the Halls' for dinner."
"What?" the bag she held dangling from her fingers slipped, descending toward the floor and landing with a bland thud. "Repeat yourself, please. I think I heard wrong."
"I don't think you did. Is something wrong? Do you not get along with one of the Halls?" Her mother questioned, forehead creasing confoundedly as she walked further into the house.
Verity avoided the subsequent inquiry, not at all too adequate or fond in spilling bereaved details to her mother about a boy who broke her heart (she never even dated him), and a best friend who rashly betrayed her. The entirety of the ordeal was a pang to her chest, her ribs, and her stomach, but she wouldn't dwell over it forever. It wasn't worth it. In fact, she barely had dwelled. Being sad over a boy and petty problems was- is stupid.
