Bowers Gang+Losers Club Imagines

Henry Bowers

Henry didn't know her personally, but had heard plenty of rumours floating around concerning her background. He particularly admired the fact that, within only three days of attendance, she had been able to convince every single student and staff member of Derry High School, that she was a dangerous individual—through only the way she spoke, dressed and acted.
He had seen her watching and following him from day two, and had already decided that she was either terrible at hiding—or wanted to be seen by him.
By day five she had caught him sneaking out of his bedroom window in the middle of the night, as she simply stared at him from across the field.
It was safe to say that she creeped the fuck outta Henry Bowers, and the fact that she was yet to say a single word to him made it ten times worse.
For weeks after that he would notice her everywhere—lurking around the junkyard or hiding behind trees that she knew for a fact were on his usual route. All the while, he didn't even know the girl's name—yet through her strange behaviour was beginning to believe the strange rumours.
Henry assumed that she must lay low at school, he rarely ever saw her and if he did, she was only watching from afar.
On day 29 she had passed him in the school corridors and seen a distinct, purple and green bruise around his eye socket, knowing full-well that he hadn't been in any fights for at least two weeks. By day 30 she worked out, through hours of deliberation, what the true origin of Henry's injury was.
And on the months anniversary of her move to Derry, the girl snuck up to the window of the Bowers' house and watched the violent events unfold. With every punch, push or kick her anger rapidly increased, and after only ten minutes she had small incisions in the palms of her hands, where her nails had cut through.
The day after that she formulated a plan.

"So what are we doin' tonight?" Victor asked the other three boys, spreading his arms behind the headrests of the back seats.
"I'm down for whatever." Patrick shrugged. He was slouched across as  much space as humanly possible in the rest of the back of Belch's car.
"Me too." Belch said. He was too focussed on the road to yell at Patrick for having his shoes on back of the passenger seat.
"What about you Henry?" Victor asked, looking at the boy sat in the front seat.
Henry shrugged, "I don't wanna go anywhere."
Victor and Patrick exchanged a glance, "Why what's up? It's Friday night, you don't wanna have a good time?"
Henry didn't move and continued to stare at the road ahead, "Need to stay home. Got shit to do."
With that, the other boys got the message and didn't question Henry any further. Though none of them had ever exchanged a word on the subject, each had a vague idea of what exactly it was like for Henry at home—what his father was like. They had never understood before how a young boy like Henry could have so much built up anger, but with time they worked it out.
Five minutes of forced conversation and loud rock music later, Belch pulled into the driveway of Henry's house. As he silently got out of the car, he spied her on the tree-line nearby. He had decided that, once the boys were far enough away, he was going to go and confront her for the first time.
He was stopped in his tracks, however, when Butch came out of the house and yelled to him loudly, "Get your ass here right now boy! You're late!"
Henry trudged over to his father, unknowingly begging to whatever higher power there was that she was too far away to hear.
"Teacher was bein' a pain. I'm sorry." Henry kept his eyes on the ground and spoke quietly.
"I don't want no excuses. If it happens again, you get your fucking boyfriend to drive you home faster." Butch spoke with pure aggression and grabbed the collar of his son's old T-shirt. The girl definitely didn't like that, but she calmed herself and didn't move.
Henry looked around to see if she was still there, embarrassed by the common ordeal.
"Who you looking for, huh? Ain't no one here to protect you." Henry didn't answer, but simply looked to the floor again. Butch finally let go of his son's T-shirt and pointed to the barn on the other side of the small field. "You get over there and stack some bales."
Henry nodded and sped off across the field without a consideration or argument. Butch grunted and made his way into the house, trudging through to the bathroom, as he mumbled a series of unrecognisable sentences.
With a feeling of fire within her stomach, she knew it was time. Time to do exactly what she had planned. Henry was no where to be seen by now and Belch's car was long gone.
With an incredibly swift motion, she crept from the tree line and to the porch of the house. She stood with her back to the peeling paint of the house's outside wall and peered through the window. The lounge was clear and so she made her way inside, stopping abruptly when she heard a noise coming from a room down the small hallway. Realising it had come from behind a thin brown door, she resumed movement and collected a small selection of glass beer bottles from the counter top, as she passed the kitchen. The girl continued to creep towards the room, which cast a dim light around the doorframe. She stood against the wall beside it and waited.
The door burst open only moments later and Butch Bowers clumsily trudged out. She waited for him to walk a couple of steps forward, before smashing one of the bottles over his head. A mixture of beer and glass spread across his hair and the surrounding area, creating a messy compound with his blood, as it ran down the back of his hairy neck.
Butch yelled and turned to her, throwing rapid attempts of punches her way. Only one of them landed, but she was too overcome with adrenaline to even feel it.
"Who the fuck are you?" He yelled, but she had no intention of answering. The girl smashed another of the bottles over Butch's head, leaving only one left in her other hand. He went sprawling over the dark wooden floor and groaned as he hit it. The man's head was surrounded by a large pool of dark blood that was growing by the second.
Butch made an attempt to get up, giving her the perfect opportunity to smash the final bottle right on the top of his head. She did so with an expression of anger that was notably rare within normal human emotional range.
Butch laid limply on the ground and fell silent for the first time throughout the attack.
Though he showed no signs of breathing, the girl stomped on his heavily damaged head a couple of more times for good measure.
All the while, she had no idea that Mike Hanlon, a local boy, had been travelling past the house on his bike only a couple of minutes before and had heard an abundance of loud noises and yelling. He had changed his usual course and gone straight home to call the police, despite hating both of the inhabitants of the house.
Satisfied with her work, the girl stretched, yawned, and then checked outside for any sign of intrusion. The coast was clear, and so she raided the kitchen to re-energise before her next line of work. There was very little food in the house and most of it was out of date or canned. She settled on a bag of cheese and onion crisps and strolled back to the scene of the crime. Only six crisps in, the front door swung open to reveal Henry. His eyes darted between his father's corpse and the girl that had been a mystery to him for over a month. His mouth dropped open and so did hers.
"What the fuck." He said, in a voice that was barely audible. Her shoes and socks were soaked with blood by now and her heart was beating faster with even the sight of Henry.
Flashing blue lights invaded the house through the dirty windows and a loud siren sounded from outside. The girl sighed and walked closer to Henry. He took a step backwards, away from her and onto the porch in front of his own house.
"I did this for you." Were the only words she said that day, and the only words she had ever said to Henry. Astounded, he moved aside for her to exit the house and watched her walk straight to the police car. She announced to the collection of officers that it was her they were looking for, because she had killed Butch Bowers.
They pinned her to the hood of the car and clamped a pair of cuffs and around her skinny wrists. Henry ran down the steps of his porch and watched, as they took her to the back of the car, relaying the mandatory verse to her.
Henry simply stared at her, then mouthed "Thank you God." Without even realising. The back door to the first white and blue car was swung open and she was hurled inside.
"I love you!" Henry heard her yell just before the car door was shut. That car then drove away and the officers from the other car ran to Henry.
"Are you okay son?" One of them asked him, as the other three ran inside the house.
Henry didn't answer, he just stood and stared into space—stunned and in love.