Fear Complex | p. 1
word count: 3,310
! trigger warning(s): self-harm, strangulation, near death, guilt tripping, mentions of suicide, pennywise is his own trigger warning
prologue
The screeching of the chairs against the linoleum floor and the indistinct chattering of your classmates mixed together like a raucous song. The passing comments of faux sympathy went in one and out the other as you stared at the graffitied top of your desk, the dirty brown wood casting the horrid memories of last week against it like some old projector screen.
“Earth to (Last/Name).” You snapped your gaze to the bespectacled girl that sat beside you, her eyes peeking over the rim of her glasses to observe you in your trance. “Gee, it only took me calling your name a million times to get your attention,” she huffed.
You cleared your throat and hurriedly wiped your desk with the sleeve of your jacket, sweeping your memories to the ground beneath you before anyone else could see them. You bit the broken skin on your bottom lip out of habit, meeting her worried eyes for only a second before the need to release your bottled emotions became too unbearable. You looked away and began to flip through the pages of your textbook to avoid meeting her judging gaze again.
“Sweetie, are you alright?”
No. That’s what you should’ve said, but you’d already convinced yourself that telling someone of the insanity you were experiencing wasn’t going to help you. It was a fact – at least in your mind – that nobody would believe you. That you would only be ridiculed and thrown into some insane asylum as a result. The thought alone of being seen as crazy was enough to convince you that it was better to suffer in silence.
So, you didn’t utter a word of it. Not to your aunt, who had saved you from that never-ending interrogation at the police station that night, or to your friends, who tried visiting you the week after only for you to turn them away at the door. You decided it was best to keep your madness to yourself.
“I’m fine.” The words felt as dry as they sounded, and you knew as soon as you said them that it was the most unconvincing lie you’d ever told.
“Fine? No sane person would be fine after witnessing a fucking murder.” Her tone was mocking but you knew she didn’t do it on purpose.
Luanna, your best friend for as long as you could remember, was fluent in the language of sarcasm and banter. Conversations with her were never what most people would call pleasurable, and they surely weren’t anyone’s first choice to pass the time. But the thing about Luanna was that she was truly dependable, never choosing your feelings over the truth. You could always count on her to tell you the truth, and whether it hurt your feelings was not her problem.
“Look, (Your/Name)…”
Shivers crawled up your spine when she uttered your name. She never called you by your first name, always your last, or sometimes even sweetie. But never your first. Only on rare occasions did she ever, and it always meant one thing: she was about to be brutally honest with you.
The air clogged your throat as you tried to brace yourself for whatever Luanna was about to toss at you, but luckily for you, the universe was just as unwilling to listen to one of Luanna’s lectures as you were.
The sudden eruption of shrill voices speaking at the same time interrupted your train of thought, and consequently Luanna’s too. The three girls that’d been huddled at the front of the room jumped to their feet, blocking the doorway as they ran to greet the boy who had just walked in. Your view of him was obscured at first, but the amount of comfort that his aura alone brought you told you exactly who he was.
You sat on your leg, craning your neck in search of those warm eyes amongst the heads of your classmates. You needed to meet them just once, just to feel the normalcy for your crumbling life once again. You needed to see them to assure you that this terror you were living with was only temporary.
But when you did, the fear that consumed you snared its claws deeper into your veins. You didn’t see peacefulness or normalcy. You didn’t see the gleam in his eyes, the one that always gave him away whenever he was excited. The gleam that had the power to make everyone around him happy. When you saw him, it was almost you were looking in the mirror, because what you saw was paralyzing fear. You saw dread and sadness and anger, all mixing together like an amalgamation of despair.
Kai! We’re so glad you’re back!
I wrote down all of Mrs. Beck’s notes for you, maybe we can go over them during lunch.
Come sit with us. We’ll help you catch up.
Kai had been trying to push his way past them to reach the empty seat in front of you, but the girls wouldn’t let him out of their grasp long enough to free himself. You were the only person who could understand what he was going through. You were the only person he wanted to talk to, the only person he thought of in days… but you weren’t even looking at him anymore. Instead, you were buried nose deep into your textbook. He swallowed the hurt of being ignored by you and allowed himself to be dragged into the cold and unfamiliar seat at the front of the classroom.
The room buzzed suddenly then filled with a high shriek as the school’s intercom system kicked in for the morning announcement. You could hear the quiet murmuring of your principal as she quickly gathered her notes, completely unaware that her morning aid student had already begun without her.
“Are we on, already? Oh… Gooood Morning, Derry High!” Her booming voice forced everyone out of their tiredness, their ears perking with attentiveness for only a second before they went back to the bobbing mess of sleepy students. “It is Monday, a fine day to begin the week. I hear our two beloved seniors have returned today, please give them a hand and let them know how much we’ve missed them.”
Your stomach lurched as half of the class turned to look at you, clapping half-heartedly, the other half choosing to clap for Kai. Some immediately retracted their attention, but the gaze of others lingered on you for a moment too long. Your thoughts felt like a malfunctioning carousel, flinging wildly improbable theories of why they were staring at you all over the place, each one more worrying than the last.
“In honor of them and the late Noah Rivers, let us please have a minute of silence.”
The silence settled in far too quickly for your liking, its cold fingers tapping the bare skin of your neck as it whispered the horrible retellings of that night. Your heart was accelerating alongside your mind, and your stomach heaving as though it was trying to rid itself of the anxiety that had begun to burrow inside you.
The silence stretched across the entire room, seeping into the hallways as everyone stopped in their tracks to remember the middle school student who had passed away last week. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep it together, and this minute of silence began to feel like an eternity.
You tried to focus your breathing, looking out into the yard toward the school monument sign. You hoped to replace the cruel voice of survivor’s guilt with images of whatever else you could occupy your mind with. The singing birds or the falling leaves or even the littered water bottle that rolled across the pavement with every slight breeze.
You looked away from the outside world, realizing that your wish to be in it only worsened your anxiety. Your eyes darted around the room, refusing to focus on something for longer than a millisecond.
You opted to close your eyes instead, but something caught your eye in the tall rectangular window of the classroom door.
It’s yellow eyes locked onto you, unmoving as they watched your every muscle fight the paralysis of fear. You could see its pointy discolored teeth that lined the inside of its mouth, the string of drool that told you it watered for a taste of you.
Your knee hit the desk as you scurried to your feet, barely managing to catch the chair that you knocked over. You could see Luanna talking to you, trying to make sense of what had set you off, but nothing she was saying was registering in your mind. Her voice was garbled and undecipherable, and you had become hyper focused on the glowering gaze of the clown that sat at the window.
Your principal’s voice reverberated against the classroom walls once again, and for a split second you felt the end of this nightmare approaching. The clown had gone in a blink, no longer creeping in the window, and the world felt like it was stabilizing for the time being. But for some peculiar reason, you couldn’t get your heart to do the same.
The shock wave of having seen the clown in front of so many people sent you spiraling toward the edge of a panic attack. You were hanging on the ledge, your fingers slipping the more you struggled to reassure yourself that it was gone.
Mrs. Beck, your homeroom teacher, started toward you, her polka dotted dress billowing behind her as she made her way to where you had cornered yourself in the back of the classroom. Luanna knelt beside you, the pad of her thumb gently wiping away the tears from your cheeks.
“Luanna, does everything seem to be alright with Ms. (Last/Name)?” Your teacher asked, her voice full of worry. You looked up at her, hoping to match the gentle face of your teacher to her sweet voice, but it was nothing like you remembered.
Her lips were contorted into a wet grimace, dry white paint cracking at the corners of her mouth as though she had tried to wipe off her makeup in a hurry. Her eyes were a nightmarish yellow and they were locked onto yours steadily. The scream in your throat tightened, pressing down on your lungs until you could no longer hold it and were gasping for breath.
And then she giggled. Not the kind that was lighthearted and vibrant, like the kind you would hear from a child, but the kind that was full of venom and hunger. It was a guttural sound, coming from deep with the depths of a dark and horrid place. A place that only someone – or something – truly evil could reach.
“Stoooop!” You wailed, pressing your palms against your ears to drown out the gross sound of your teacher’s voice. You knew it was in your head, you were certain of it, but still it felt so real. The real Mrs. Beck, not the possessed version that was tormenting your already broken self, tried to reach for you in an attempt to force you back into reality, but what you saw was an exposed alien-like hand with murder written all over it. You screamed, springing to your feet as you wasted no time dashing out of the room and into the girl’s bathroom across the hall.
You locked yourself in the middle stall, plopping yourself on the toilet seat as you plunged into a full-scale panic attack. Your eyes were shut tight, your breathing loud and hoarse as you repeatedly slammed your balled fist into the metal wall of the stall, every shooting pain that ran up your arm from the force of the strike creating a faint, sporadic light that lit the way out of your mind.
Bang.
You groaned in frustration at yourself, your knuckles cracking against the metal as you struck the door with as much force as you could muster.
Bang.
Your fist dented the metal of the stall, but you could clearly see the exit in your mind. Your sanity was so close.
Bang.
Blood ran down your fingers, staining your skin and consequently the stall door as well.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Pain was temporary, but fear? Well… no one ever managed to outlive fear.
The stall to your left suddenly slammed against the metal lock, shaking the entire stall structure violently. You gasped in alarm, the throbbing pain of your knuckles grounding you into reality as you wondered if another student had heard the insanity of your panic attack. You ran your finger across your mouth, shame setting in when you recalled the show that you had put on in front of the entire class.
The restroom was silent, save for your heavy breathing, and you decided to leave before anyone else could see the mess that was your current state. You reached for the lock, the coolness of the metal refreshing against your warm, almost scorching skin. Your fingers lingered for a second, and you wondered if it was a good idea to go back to class to gather your things. It was not. You weren’t sure if you were stable enough yet to face the judging gazes of your classmates. You let the idea die and undid the lock.
A pair of black tattered boots blocked the stall door from opening, and you felt your heart plummet into your stomach. You tried to back up, but by then it was too late.
You felt your throat suddenly constrict against a thick and rough cord, your body slamming against the stall wall as it pulled you toward your attacker. You clawed at the rope that tightened around your neck, the fibers digging into your skin and drawing blood. You were lifted off the ground and you kicked your legs, frantically searching for something to stand on. Your shoes slipped off the ceramic edges of the toilet, and your breath escaped in blubbering gasps.
You were running out of time quickly, running out of breath. Your legs became dead weight, your muscles too weak to lift your heavy limbs. Your vision was darkening, but you fought to keep your eyes open. May Noah Rivers rest in peace, but you were determined to not end up like him. Dead by a clown. Not you.
“Oh, what’s the matter Jelly Bean? Having trouble catching your breath?” Your blood ran ice cold at the familiarity of the voice. It was deep and hoarse, like that of a person who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, and their breath smelled of alcohol and… what was that? Sewage?
The stranger’s grip on the rope faltered for a second, long enough for you to manage to slip a finger behind it and allow yourself one full breath before it tightened again.
“W-who?” You managed weakly.
They hummed, and brought their face closer to you, just enough for you to see them from your peripheral vision. Your eyes stung from how far they had to reach for you to see them, but you caught a clear glimpse of them.
It was your dad… your dead dad.
“Jelly Bean, why did you let me die all alone?” The rope tightened further, causing you to make a gross nasally sound. You pushed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, the words you wanted to say escaping with every short breath you exhaled.
“I was so sure you’d go with me that day.” The rope tightened again. “You should have gone with me that day! Why did you let me die all alone?” Your dad’s voice was deepening into a harsh growl, deepening until it longer sounded like your dad, but like the clown that had been tormenting you.
It laughed maniacally, the bells on its clown suit jingling with every erratic movement it made. “You let him die, huh jelly bean? Oh… what kind of daughter does that?” It jeered, the vulgarity slipping off of his tongue in a way that made your skin crawl with disgust.
You shook your head, tears flooding the little vision you had left as the guilty feelings of that day, two years ago, came back like raging waters. Everyone told you it wasn’t your fault, but you could never fight the nagging feeling that it was. Your mind was clouded with what-if scenarios and you yourself had come to the conclusion that if you had gone on that car ride with your dad that day then maybe he wouldn’t have taken his own life.
And now those guilty feelings were going to be the death of you. Maybe this is what I deserve, you thought. Maybe this is what I get for choosing my friends over my dad.
You fell to the ground suddenly, your head banging against the closed stall door. You were surprised to find you were still conscious, and you took this as your opportunity to crawl out of the stall from underneath, screaming for help at the top of your lungs. You felt a pair of cold hands pull you all the way toward the large wooden door of the restroom, her small frame using all of its strength to help you to your feet while fending off the newly injured clown.
You stood, turning around to get a good look at the situation. There was a broken broomstick wedged between the ribs of the clown, and it had a scowl on its face, as though it was in pain. You didn’t know it could feel pain. Beverley Marsh, the girl who had saved you from death not even a second ago, tugged at your arm as she dashed toward the exit, you following closely behind her.
You never thought you’d find comfort in the nasty smell of hormonal teenagers that wafted through the main hallways of the school, but it felt like breathing fresh air when you made it out.
You crashed into someone as you passed the threshold of the restroom, their arms quickly engulfing you. You looked up to find Kai’s worried eyes frantically searching your face for any signs of injury, but it was full of grief. He sighed and pressed your head against his chest as he hugged you hard, thankful you were okay.
“God, are you ok?” He whispered.
You shook your head, tears staining his shirt as you sobbed. “I ca-I can’t breathe.”
Kai grabbed your hand and pulled you alongside him as he made his way outside. His fingers were intertwined with yours and he didn’t let go, not even when you stood on the concrete steps of the school, basking in the warmth of the sun. He watched you closely, wondering silently if you had gone through what he had in the past week.
The heat of the sun felt like soft kisses against your cold skin, drying your tears and encasing you in a protective blanket. You felt Kai inch closer to you, his fingers running up the back of your head as he planted a kiss on your forehead. Your breathing was ragged, the residual trauma still pestering you even after having made it out safely.
You wrapped your arm around his waist, your other hand still holding onto his, and you rested your head against him. “I’m so scared, Kai.” You whispered.
He swayed the two of you gently and whispered back: “Me too.” You swore if he kept it up, you would surely fall asleep where you stood, but he suddenly pulled away from you, meeting your confused gaze.
His face was serious. Concerned. Scared, which in hand scared you. You were unnerved to say the least, and you felt like you were on the verge of passing out. And in the most foreboding tone he told you: “I saw It too.”
