| It's Always Been You | Reddie Fanfic |

9

TW - GORE

Ben looked down at his scarred wound. There had been an obvious infection, but he wouldn't show his mom. She would worry, she worries a lot. Everyday since the murders, she has been going crazy. She would make sure her son was back by 6 o'clock sharp, and never out before 9 in the morning. She always checked in on him at each time, making sure he was okay. Of course, Ben loved her to death, but she could be a little suffocating. He knew he was lucky to have a mother like he did. She never yelled at him, or hit him. She never starved him, or grounded him. In fact, there was no reason for him to ever be grounded, Ben never did anything wrong or out of the ordinary, until killing a killer clown, that is. His wound was healing, and the H that so hauntedly was torn into his skin was letting loose of the purple and black coloring. It was a soft yellow and orange, like an old bruise settling into his skin.

Ben threw his shirt down, and sunk into his bed. The loose bits of skin drifted to his sides, and he sighed. I need to do something. I'm tired of being the fat kid. Ben grabbed the fat on his stomach, stretching it every which way in anger, wishing he could simply rip it out of himself, painlessly. Maybe Beverly would like me if I lost some of this damn weight. He looked over to a mirror across the room, seeing his face stare directly back. Ben pulled away the fat he wanted to lose behind his back. The mirror showed an almost thin, healthy looking boy. One that Beverly would love. He let his skin loose, and the marks that surrounded his torso came back into focus, and the boy began to cry. He wiped tears across his face, but they continued to fall. Nobody understood because nobody was like him. Everyone had beach bodies and 6-pack abs, except him.

Ben held his tears back. If I want to do something, it's time to do it now, he thought, rolling onto his clean hardwood flooring.

One crunch

Two crunches

Three crunches

Ben groaned. He didn't work out much, he was usually reading or eating. Every crunch, to Ben, was like another pull towards Beverly. Her auburn hair, cut slightly longer than his own, flowing in the wind, or damp from swimming in the cold lake. The way her lips turned a slight purple when she was cold, or the way she frantically ran when she needed help. Ben turned his crunches into sit-ups and he did as many as he could until his side was about to burst. Beverly gave him strength. She made him feel less of an outcast, and more interesting. She always listened to his stories, even sounding interested when he talked about the history of Derry. Never has she complained about being around him, or listening to his stories. She was there for him, without even being there.

But Ben knew she wasn't into him like she was Bill. He had never found someone willing to love him the way he loved everyone else. Everybody he met was disgusted with his size, which he knew was large, and he hated it. Once in his goddamn forsaken life, Ben wanted to find someone to love him, to care for him, not to fucking walk away and love someone else because he wasn't fucking enough. Ben was angry, he had been for years, every time he gets called a name, or has a crush, he hates himself even more. Every damn time he gets a feeling someone could care for him the same way he cares, he kicks himself. Nobody would do that, fatso, Ben thought, every time.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he turned over to do a leg workout this time (side leg raises, the ones every child could do, except Ben.) Get your fucking leg up, you fat ass. Nobody hurt Ben more than himself and Bowers's knife. His fresh cuts on his legs ached, and burned with every movement up and down. He let out suffering groans and even a few screams when he reached 83 on his left side. The boy continued his pain all the way to 100, thinking about his crush. A sense of pride washed over him as he got up, he was finally working towards a goal he'd been wanting for so fucking long.