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chapter ten the possibility of more
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Jill used to have this aunt—her Aunt Maureen—who would always use the phrase 'say when' when she was pouring a drink for her. Of course, she never did actually tell her when to stop because there was something about the possibility of more that just drew her in. She never said when because she wondered what would happen if the juice flowed over the brim of the glass. It might have spilled, but maybe not. And even if it did, maybe she'd like it that way. It was a small act of chaos, but that wasn't why she never said when. Chaos or not, more was always better. More alcohol, more cigarettes, more love. More was better. It was as simple as that.
So later that night, Jill Samson sat on her bed, staring at her reflection in her floor-length mirror as she took sips from a wine bottle she found hidden in the fridge. She kept taking swigs of the substance, groaning as it burned her chest, but she didn't stop because more was better. More alcohol meant less feeling, less pain, less thinking, more floating in an abyss of nothingness.
By the time she was half-way through the bottle, her head started to feel a little fuzzy. She wasn't drunk, she knew that, but she wasn't completely sober either. She was walking the tightrope between slurred words and blacking out. If she kept going and stole another bottle from the fridge, she was sure her head would be killing her in the morning. But for right now, Jill stuck with the one bottle and let it carry her away. She felt cloudy . . . no . . . she felt like she was sitting on a cloud, floating away from all her feelings, all her problems. Jill laughed. She liked floating.
A knock at her bedroom window ripped Jill from the void, forcing her to come back to reality. It was raining outside, encasing the town of Derry in a storm, so Jill almost suspected the knock to be the cause of a rogue tree branch or a rock hitting her window. But when she turned to look at the glass panes, the face of Beverly Marsh was hidden in the shadows of the darkness.
Jill quickly set the wine bottle on her nightstand then sprung from her spot on her bed and unlocked the window, pushing it open so Beverly could climb through. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice dripping with concern. If Beverly had enough guts to walk to Jill's apartment in the pouring rain then something must have been wrong. "Are you okay?"
