Starter from Starry Eyes
The Monster slept. She watched it with careful, jaded eyes. A breath in real slow and a woosh out accompanied by a rumbling sound. Her face still felt sore and gently she touched it only to let out a hiss. Her hand drew back and another sound fell out of her mouth, her hand clapping over her dry lips. She didn’t want the monster to wake up. But he slept on and on as though he hadn’t slept in days. She relaxed only slightly and bent down to pick up what he’d yanked out of her purse.
The sloppy blocked written letters in black ink made her heart hurt. Just seeing the name took her back to a time where things were uncertain except one: Lucky 7. The Loser’s Club. More memories flooded in but her blue eyes snapped shut to keep them at bay. Drawing in a deep breath and remembering how her Aunt Tiffany told her to stop anxiety attacks, the red headed woman counted till ten. She held her breath in so hard that it felt like fire in her mouth burning her. She slowly released it and her shoulders loosened up.
Once more her eyes went to the massive King sized bed that he’d picked out after they had become husband and wife. Stupid, she thought to jump into marriage with one man she barely knew or even liked. When had a d*ck ever lead to making choices for her? That’s all her marriage to Tom Rogan was—sex--and so she’d th ought she fell in love with him which was the worst mistake of her life.
All over a drunken night and feeling lost. Everything in this room was Tom nothing spoke of Beverly at all. Even her cosmetics were far and few between as Tom didn’t like her to look “too good” around the office. He had an inane fear that someone would swoop her up and she’d divorce him.
If she did—it wouldn’t be for that reason. And she knew Tom was f***ing at least two of her fashion designers. But Beverly didn’t care because it meant he wasn’t at home as much, or in her bed. And his fists didn’t blacken her eyes nor would her slim rib cage feel the sharp polished points of Italian leather shoes when he was in a mood.
She smiled to herself as she saw the note again. A joke between friends had caused this event to happen. There had been a joke-- “Just drug him with Valium and come to my show.” Richie Tozier had insisted his dark blue eyes pleading her to. “I miss you Bev. I know we f***ed up a lot of things between us...and you’re...obviously a married woman now...but we can be friends again right?”And those eyes had zigzagged to her wedding ring where a huge rock sat.
Their meet up had been a surprise. Bev had been heading to her favorite coffee shop on a lunch break and Richie came out by himself. His eyes had lit up as she walked past not even seeing him. “Beverly!”
The voice brought her back to the early 80’s, to Motley Crue and living with her favorite aunt Tiffany. Summer nights filled with booze and kisses, going to the drive in movies. Her whole body froze and she turned. “Richie?” A bright smile broke out on her face and soon they were hugging. His eyes swept over her and she hoped she still looked good to him. Then, she was wondering why she thought that when she was
happily married. If they hadn’t had that stupid fight on the beach, Bev thought she’d be Richie’s wife now.
Another mistake but by then Beverly Anne Marsh had made many. But she already knew deep within that her life with Richie would have been a thousand times better. Not only was he one to keep her laughing he was a great lover, too.
“You look really great Bev. I love your long hair.” Richie said in a soft, deep voice that made her look up. He’d always seen her with short hair. She reached up, fluffed the ends of her red curls. His hand reached out and she could feel how it felt, slightly calloused from rough housing with the other boys, his fingers twisting around deep red locks. She watched him a moment and he gave her one of his quirky smiles that could still make her heart break. Richie let go of the locks of hair and smiled. “Let me buy you a coffee and we’ll catch up.”
So they did. When he’d joked about the Valium and Bev didn’t think she’d take it seriously. But when she got home from work someone had seen her with Richie at the coffee house and told Tom. A huge fight broke out and soon Tom was finding Richie’s number in her purse and then he was hitting her. But the Valium she put in his alcoholic drink took quick hold and he ran out of steam, falling backwards on the bed, eagle spread.
Bev threw a few things into a suitcase. She didn’t know what was going to happen after this if anything but the woman ran to the front door. She pulled out her cell phone and furiously punched in Richie’s numbers but as upset as she was she kept getting numbers wrong. As she ran down to the stairs and let herself out she tried to calm down.
Seated in a yellow taxi speeding to a hotel Beverly Marsh finally called him. Her hand shook and she wanted a cigarette in the worst way. Tom didn’t like her to smoke, or even to drink but she did on occsaions. One night she even got high on Mary Jane and he’d flipped but not as bad as he normally would have. Bev pushed those thoughts out.
He’d promised to be here. He had to be. She was shaking suddenly thinking of when Tom Rogan woke up. Would he come after her? Or could—for one in her rotten life—things go according to plan? Could she and Richie really start over fresh again?
Please be there, don’t let me down. I need you.