it chapter two | reader insert [✔]

two | memories

a/n- i've noticed an immense about of hate around y/n's stutter during this and the last chapter. this stutter is part of the story, and if it bothers you, ignore it or go read something else. ur 'jokes' arent funny to people who actually have a stutter in real life.

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"So you're just- going?"

Mackenzie stood watching you, a concerned, yet confused look etched upon her soft features as she stood at the doorway to your room. You bustled around with shaky hands and legs, threatening to give out any moment as you shoved the necessary items into your bag, preparing your trip back to the one place you didn't even know existed until half an hour ago- yet, one of the most key fractures in your childhood. Apparently. Mike had said he'd explain everything when you arrived. 

After the phone call, you'd quickly cleaned up your elbows you'd used to catch the fall (which were now both covered in bandages where glass had once cut skin) and promised to pay for the door's repair when you got back.

And here you were, in the house you'd once shared with your scum of a husband, packing a bag to race to the restaurant Mike had requested you meet him at along with a collection of your past friends, which you simply struggled to remember. You'd figured out some of their names- of course, Bill, the name that sent a surge of emotions coursing through your veins whenever you'd say it out loud. You also remembered an Eddie, and a Beverly.

You would almost feel excited if it wasn't for the creeping feeling of dread on your back, waiting to pounce on you and strangle you dead.

"Y-yes, Kenzie, there's a-an, um-" you struggled with your words, watching as she waited patiently for you to continue. Something she was used to doing. "Like, a little get-together, I don't u-understand."

"With your old friends?"

"O-old friends? Oh, y-yeah."

Mackenzie helped you carry your bags out to your (ex) husband's navy Ford Explorer. She seemed concerned at first, but watching as you threw the bags into your boot, she shook them down. But you studied her face and she finally spoke up.

"(Y/n), I know how much you need to go, but it's like midnight. Do you really think you should be driving, especially in the position you're in?"

"I'm f-f-fine, Kenzie. I-I promise I'll b-be back soon."

And just like that, you were on the road. You felt incredibly guilty for your confused best friend, since a string of events she would have no idea about had just taken place. You'd showed up on her doorstep, bawling about your cheating husband. Then, you'd broken her glass door. Then, she'd driven you back to your house after you'd received a mysterious phone call, and now you'd left her and driven off in a hurry to a restaurant five hours away. If you wanted to get to the restaurant in time, you had to leave now.

You drove with your windows down, trying to meditate. There was no time for tears right now, so you made an effort to clear your mind and take deep breaths in, something your therapist had taught you, and the feat worked- your breathing slowed until you felt empty, almost.

You found yourself trying to imagine the faces of your past friends. You were sure you'd recognize them once you saw them... you had too, right? Unless this was all just a big trap to lure you to a restaurant you'd only ever been too twice in your 39 years of life.

No. This wasn't the time to work yourself up about shit.

But why didn't you remember them? If you were such good friends, why didn't you remember being with them as a little girl?

It was ridiculous.

Hours passed by, yet you stayed bolted upright in your chair. Your nerves were bouncing across your skin like a wildfire, and you almost felt excitement at the thought of a big friend group you'd once known. As a child, you'd always been the odd one out- constantly alone, sitting at the back of the room- mostly, your stutter made you the center of attention, and you hated that. Kids could be mean.