hidden ~ stenbrough

Chapter Thirteen: Stan

[a/n: warning for self harm and sad Stenbrough. I'll have a summary of what happened plot-wise at the bottom in case you want to skip it.

I really, really, really don't mean to offend anyone, misrepresent anyone or hurt anyone. I want to create a story with captivating characters and intense plot, but if the rest of the book, some of which has mentions of alcohol, drugs and suicidal thoughts (from an outsider's perspective) makes anyone feel uncomfortable or annoyed, let me know and I will change it immediately.]

"You know my name, not my story."

Trashmouth 🤬

Trashmouth 🤬: stan you won't believe it

Stan: What now?

Trashmouth 🤬: bill is so good in bed 🍆

Stan: What the fuck?

Trashmouth 🤬: hes a yummy daddy🤤

Stan: What are you talking about?

Trashmouth 🤬: we fucked last night

Stan: And? Why are you telling me?

Trashmouth 🤬: just thought u might wanna know ur boyfriend is a cheater

Stan stared at the phone screen in his trembling hands for several long moments, wondering what to think. He wished he could simply focus on the fact that Richie knew about their relationship...but he couldn't. He could only focus on the icy truth glowing from his screen. Silent tears dripped down his face.

Bill wouldn't cheat...would he? Stan suddenly remembered Spin the Bottle at the sleepover, and how happy Richie had been. He also remembered a sad Eddie muttering something about Bill and Richie a couple weeks ago, before seemingly forgetting about it.

Bill betrayed me.

He's my boyfriend, while being Bev's girlfriend, while fucking Richie.

And then Stan found the blade and added new marks to the long collection of his scars.

Along his wrists, up his arms...faded cuts from the Bad that had never truly gone away.

His past, laid out on his skin, deep in his heart, now returning.

He felt himself sink into that perilous, impossible Bad, and he couldn't cope, and he simply cut to see the blood and feel the pain. That was all he could do.

•

Stan felt an itching on his cut wrists when he came face-to-face with Bill, the door locked of the other boy's room. They were alone in the half-light, alone in the house, and a small smile lit Bill's lips.

How could he smile knowing he had just cheated...cheated more?

Stan couldn't find the energy to smile, just like the old days, pre-dating.

They kissed and talked and Bill seemed so happy, but Stan felt himself slipping away. How could Bill be so pleased with himself? How could no shame or regret be hidden in the depths of his green eyes?

How could he not feel bad?

"St-Stan, what's wr-wrong?" Bill asked.

The fucking liar (who yes, was actually fucking) would never admit it. Stan had to draw it out. And while he was at it, perhaps he could shed his last secret and show Bill fucking Denbrough what it meant to be an honest human.

"Remember that night in the closet, at the party?"

"Y-yeah?"

Stan closed his eyes, for he couldn't bear to see Bill's face. Slowly, he explained. "I wasn't only talking about being gay, or about liking you. I was talking about this..."

And just like that, his sweater was pulled up, his secrets were gone, and the countless tiny scars that marked the person he used to be were visible.

"St-Stan..." he heard Bill stutter, sounding so distraught it almost broke his heart. And yet it couldn't break his heart more than the news of Bill's cheating had already.

The boy opened his eyes and saw the little red cuts, mostly faded, except the fresh ones, red and slightly swollen, showing on his skin. He looked up and noticed the tight distress lining Bill's beautiful face.

"Wh-what?"

"I'm just getting out of a bad place," Stan whispered, "and this is the proof."

"Wh-why th-the f-f-fuck d-didn't y-you t-tell m-me?" Bill asked, sounding horrified, stumbling over every word. "Y-you h-have th-this f-f-fucked-up h-habit a-and y-you n-n-never m-mentioned..." He trailed away, probably seeing Stan's face.

Stan stared at him, frigid shock and anger coursing through his veins. Deep down, he knew Bill was just shocked, confused — but why the fuck did it matter? What excuse was that?

"What the hell, Mushmouth?" He had never teased Bill for his stutter. But he had also never told Bill about his self-harm. Perhaps a change was needed. "You accuse me of being dishonest for not telling you my most private secret, and meanwhile you're happy while you're fucking Richie?" He was near screaming. He was near breaking. Or maybe, he was already broken, and this was just a way of throwing out the pieces and showing the sharp edges that remained.

Bill's face froze.

"Oh yeah, that's right, you never m-m-m-mentioned your late-night activities with Tozier, did you now?"

Bill's face convulsed into one of complete surprise. "Wh-what a-are y-you t-t-talking ab-about?" 

"Hmm, I'm t-t-t-talking ab-about," Stan answered coldly, ruthlessly mocking Bill's speech as the other boy collapsed into a nervous stammer, "your little secret with Richie. Yeah, he told me. You fucking cheater!"

"Wh-what? St-Stan, I n-never..."

"Sure," Stan snapped, pulling his sweater on, shoving Bill so the taller boy fell backwards against his dresser. There was a clatter as Bill's belongings tumbled to the floor. "Why don't you go and make excuses to Bev, too?"

Bill shook his head, desperate. "St-St-Stan, w-wait..."

"I'm fucking through with you, Bill." Stan had never felt so angry, so hurt, so mean. "I'm fucking through with you and your bullshit."

He turned around, he whipped around and he left and he made no plans of ever turning back.

[plot summary for those who wanted to skip the mentions of self-harm: Richie texted Stan that Richie and Bill had sex (remember, Bill doesn't like Richie). Stan reacted by going back to self-harm. The next time he saw Bill, he confronted him, revealing his secret by taking off his sweater. Bill freaked out, in a cruel way. Stan yelled at him for cheating on him, shoved a shocked Bill into a dresser, and stormed out.]