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"Hold still" Bev hissed as she placed a cold compress, soaked in Jack Daniels on Stan's forehead, each and every last scrap of pressure was an icy wind choking the breath from his lungs and making a noose around his neck.
It was a savage, bitter blast that cut right to his bones and gripped his brain in it's freezing claws, but not because of the well deserved beating, but because of the guilt. His heart constricted in it's wake as if not sure if it should go on beating.
"I am, ow" He complained as Bev tried to burn off his scalp. Stan was almost a hundred percent she was doing it on purpose, probably to singe through and dissolve his brain that made him so fucking stupid for attacking Richie.
"You're not!" She insisted, moving his head to the side so she could wipe off the dry blood behind his ear. "If your parents don't kill you, I think I will, what the fuck Stan?"
"Don't" Stan spoke firmly, gripping onto her arm for support "Don't tell my parents...they'll only be worried and try to send me back to therapy"
Bev sighed "That isn't a bad thing Stan" She pressed "If you're struggling with control, you need to tell someone, you've never gone after Richie before, not even after his one-man-musical"
"I'm fine" He lied, looking away, letting his thoughts shift and crack between the formation of the night sky. If Stan had to explain, he would tell you that his IED was crafted like that night sky. Just like those clouds, his insides were in a chaos.
A mess. Something was bothering him. Something was hurting him. Something ached inside him. Something felt so wrong, so invalid but he couldn't tell what. He tried to pin point the cause for this unexplained pain but failed.
He tried to reason this unbearable burning but didn't find any. Everything felt so confused, just like a jumbled set of a puzzle. And the, beneath it all, the web that everything was ingrained into, was OCD and it burned everything, because if his mind was a puzzle, it was also obsessed with solving it, couldn't let it go.
So consequently, through this mess and this inability to solve it, the outset was worse, the conclusions that he'd draw, the anxiety and fear of what was going to happen, haunted him. He was stuck in this puzzle, and it was torturing him because he couldn't solve it.
"I'm fine" He replied, but he kew, not even the moth on the wall was convinced.
"I'm not letting you go, until you promise me, that whatever's happening in there, isn't going to make you loose your bestfriend" Bev said and Stan closed his eyes, leaning his head on the back of the bar, which they were still behind.
"Too late" He muttered "I fucked up everything"
Bev shook her head "You know Richie loves you, you were practically married when you were seven" Stan let a small smile slip through.
"I know I fucked up, and he has every reason to hate me...but I can't loose him Bev" He explained and Bev nodded, resting her hand on his shoulder.
