" LIPSTICK " + STENBROUGH

[41]

this chapter is to be taken with a serious attitude. it is extremely important, and something people everywhere deal with everyday. it is not just in fiction. if you ever need to talk, feel free to message me, or talk to someone you trust. do not let your fears silence you

[ warnings : mentions of mental, sexual, and physical abuse ]

bill is not fond of silence.

there are many types, from the peaceful, to the uncomfortable, to the awkward. there is a different weight to each that hangs thickly in the air, and sometimes, the weight is so heavy that bill denbrough is struggling to breath. he respects the tranquility of silence, but only when it's a nice silence. the kind of silence when you're lying in bed in the morning, as the sun is rising and you haven't begun to think of your daily worries. or the kind that follows you as you read a good book, your mind racing with the plot of swashbuckling pirates and gorgeous princesses, or thrilling monsters, or romances on the italian coast. there is only one silence that bill denbrough can stand, and that is a peaceful one.

as for the other silences of the uncomfortable, awkward, heavy manner, well, bill can confidently say—without a stutter, even—that they make him sick to his stomach. he cannot help but feel anxiety rush through his veins as he sits in a silence so unbearable that he would rather die than have to sit through it.

this anxiety is what he feels now, sitting on his bed, legs crossed, across from stanley uris.

the boy in question is staring into his lap, picking at a hangnail. bill has known stanley for as long as he can remember, and he knows that stan  picks at his cuticles when he's anxious, or his ocd kicks in to overdrive. right now, bill thinks it's a mix of both, as he watches the boy in front of him. stan's soft dark hair flop down onto his forehead, curls brushing his eyelashes. bill can make out the goosebumps on his bare arms, the wrinkles between his furrowed eyebrows, the cracks in his chapped lips. the skin is torn, figuring stan has spent his past days gnawing at his lips as he does at his most emotional point. and that is what might break bill denbrough the most; knowing the boy he was once in love with—the boy he still is in love with—is feeling so incredibly sad.

"suh-so, you wuh-want-wanted to tuh-talk," bill's voice cuts through thick waves of tension like moby dick as he jumps and breaks the surface of the water. there is a power to it unlike any other.

stanley nods, looking up into bill's eyes. stanley shows up on a friday night, asking bill if they could talk. bill's mother and father are sitting on the couch as stanley follows bill up the steps, and his mother is sure to give them a questioning glance as they do so. bill merely shrugs, and takes a seat on his bed once he's in his room. stan sits cross-legged in front of him, and that leads them to here. it's been ten minutes, and nothing has been said. the air has not been cleared, the harsh words still remain, the betrayal sits in an oversized recliner that it can't get out, not yet, at least.

"i-i want to apologize," stanley uris says, with a crack in his voice. "i know, i keep saying i want to apologize, but i truly mean it. an-and i know that it's completely ridiculous to ask for you to forgive me—i'm not saying you should, or that you have to—but i want to explain myself."

the hurt that drips from stan's tongue is like a punch to the gut. it's like stan has spent his hold life being caution and wise not to bite his tongue, but once he lets go of the reins he bites himself and everything he's tried to keep hidden bleeds out. bill denbrough nods, as if to say go on, but he cannot bear to listen to stan hurt any longer.