chapter two
the five stages of grief

☼ ☽

When Jill was a child, she broke one of the bones in her ribcage. She'd been dangling off the fire escape rails because her father, David, had previously scolded her for doing it the week before and god forbid if Jill ever listened to the man. She supposed she should have, because one minute she was laughing with her head tilted back then the next she was falling two stories to the ground. The whole recovery was a blur but she distinctly remembered Beverly staying home from school to watch Looney Toons with her so she wouldn't have to be alone.

Since the bone had broken through her flesh, the skin tissue had healed over into a gnarly scar just diagonal of her sternum. Beverly had told her so many times the scar occurred because her heart was too big for her body in an attempt to make her less insecure over the large blemish. Jill would have almost believed her, too, if she didn't remember the pain and the sudden flashes of her life right before she smacked the ground.

While the two were soaring down Maple Street on their bikes that late afternoon, Jill was certain she was on her way to knocking on death's door for the second time in her life. Her life flashed right before her very eyes like it had when she was just a child. The streets blended together in her peripheral as she peddled closer to home, the wind brushing past her as the sun's rays shined atop her brown hair. Beverly Marsh rode a little way in front of her, her copper hair whipping behind her as she glanced back at Jill and laughed a laugh which sounded like a melody the brunette could listen to all day. There was no other explanation other than Jill had died and gone to paradise because surely Beverly Marsh was some type of angel too ethereal to exist in a place like boring, old Derry.

The two picked up their pace when the view of their apartment building stood before them in all its old and grimy glory. It wasn't as glamorous as the houses the other kids lived in, but not everyone was as fortunate as those spoiled little assholes, especially Jill and Bev. That was one of the reasons they'd become such great friends—they just understood everything the other was going through, whether that was financially or not. Jill just got Bev, and Bev just got Jill.

Beverly peddled faster, letting out a devious burst of laughter when she passed Jill. She skidded to a halt in front of the building before her. They had this thing (they had a lot of things) where they'd race each other home and the loser would have to buy the other a milkshake of their choice. It might have been childish, but in a boring town like Derry, it was a necessity to be young and dumb if they were ever going to survive the summer.

"I win," Beverly teased, sticking out her tongue as she excitedly jumped up and down. "Now you owe me a milkshake."

Jill hopped off her bike and threw it to the ground. "Bullshit! You didn't say go, therefore, I win," she corrected, pointing to her chest as she screwed her lips into a thin line. Really, she was just trying to keep herself from bursting into a fit of laughter because there was her best friend, Beverly Marsh, jumping up and down because she won a silly race. Jill adored it.

Beverly stopped jumping and put her hands on her hips. "I said go. Your old ears must not have picked it up," she said with a smirk and shrugged one of her shoulders.

Jill's jaw dropped and she scoffed. "Hey, now, I'm younger than you."

"Not in my eyes, grandma," the redhead teased, covering her hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

Jill raised a brow. "I'd bite your tongue, peaches," she said, looking the girl up and down.

"Oh, yeah?" Beverly prompted, stepping closer to the mess of gangly limbs. "Or what?"

The brunette could have sworn her heart jumped out of her chest right then as Beverly stepped closer to her, stopping when they were merely a few inches apart. She could see the flecks of green in those blue eyes she'd discovered were unlike any other color she'd ever seen before. The smell of the ginger's strawberry-scented shampoo encircled them. She even smelled like an angel, Jill thought, but then quickly shook her head. She couldn't be thinking about her best friend like that; it hurt too much to even dwell on the idea.

"Well . . . " Jill trailed off, trying to come up with a response, but she couldn't think straight with the redhead standing so close to her. Especially when Beverly's mouth was perked into a small half-smirk and all she could think about doing was smashing her lips onto them.

"Just admit it," Beverly said, snapping the brunette out of her trance.

Jill's eyes flickered to Bev's face. Her heart dropped a second later. Had Beverly seen her staring at her lips and realized after all these years Jill Samson was a total cliche and was totally, embarrassingly head over fucking heels for her best friend?

Jill cleared her throat. "Admit what?" she asked, trying to play dumb but even she wasn't buying it. And Jill was even a good liar—the best maybe, but around Beverly . . . she turned into a mess.

Beverly furrowed her brows and laughed. "Don't you remember? After we talked to the new kid, Ben, I said if I beat you home, you'd finally admit Pretty in Pink is a way better movie than Friday the Thirteenth," she explained, and Jill nearly fist-pumped the air. She was safe for now. Her best friend didn't know she was a fool for her . . . yet.

"Funny," Jill tapped her chin in thought, "I don't remember agreeing to that."

"Admit it and I'll buy you all the milkshakes in the world!"

"In the world? Damn, Marsh, I had no idea you were a millionaire," Jill teased.

Bev playfully rolled her eyes. "Oh shut it," she groaned, lightly slapping the brunette on the arm.

The Samson girl chuckled, turning on her heels and making her way to the fire escape steps. "Molly Ringwald is totally bitchin' but Jason Voorhees outweighs any babe," Jill called back, already halfway up the staircase when Beverly finally decided to catch up.

"Huh, I thought surely your thing for redheads would outweigh a fuckin' serial killer," Beverly bit back, swinging on the railing as she made it to the flight of stairs where the brunette stood waiting for her.

Jill scoffed and put her hand on her chest. "I'm offended," she said in disbelief. "Jason is not just a serial killer you know? You're lucky you're my friend, Marsh, or I might just go all Friday the Thirteenth on you."

The Marsh girl stared at her friend for a second too long, a dazed look on her face as her eyes roamed over the brunette's smug smirk. "I don't believe you, sunshine," she finally said, her voice softer. "You'd miss me too much."

Jill didn't respond the whole way they walked to their apartments. She knew Beverly was right so there was no point in arguing with the truth. Without Beverly Marsh, the whole world might as well had not existed. Jill knew that way of thinking wasn't the best, because what if Beverly got a boyfriend and forgot about her? Or what if Beverly decided having a friend who liked girls was not what she wanted? Jill didn't know if she could live with herself then. And yeah, that wasn't how she was supposed to think, but this was Beverly Marsh she was talking about. This was the girl who had always seen the best in her. The girl who had been there for her through everything. This was her best friend, Beverly Marsh.

The two girls stopped on the level the Marshs' apartment was located and stood there for a second before Beverly turned to Jill and smiled. "Um," the ginger bit her lip, "you wanna' come in?" she asked as she opened the door.

Jill didn't even have to answer, she only nodded and walked through the threshold of the door with Beverly trailing behind her. They walked down the hall until they reached Beverly's apartment. Beverly quickly unlocked the door to her apartment and swung it open as Jill walked through the door. She heard the door lock behind her, but she didn't wait for Beverly to join her, instead, she took off toward the ginger's room and flopped down on the bed.

"Tired?" Beverly laughed as she walked into her bedroom and saw the brunette sprawled out on her floral covers.

The brunette tossed her backpack to the ground then grabbed one of the pillows and held it close to her, nuzzling her face into it as she curled into a ball. "It's comfy," she mumbled into the pillow, peeking at her friend through the blanket of hair covering her face. The pillow even smelt like her. Like strawberries and cigarettes.

Beverly shook her head and plopped down on the bed next to Jill. She snuck a glance at the brunette, eyeing the cuts on her knuckles from when she punched Greta earlier. She sighed, but didn't say a word and instead fixated her attention to her long ginger waves. Jill watched as she did this, figuring it was best to stay silent since every time Beverly messed with her hair, it meant something was on her mind. But what was it today? Jill wondered. Her dad? (He was a dickweed, so Jill got it.) Maybe her mom? (But then again, Elfrida Marsh hadn't plagued Beverly since she died years ago, so maybe not.)

When Beverly had finished twisting her hair into a braid, she collapsed back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Jill propped herself on her side and rested her head on the palm of her hand, peering at the redhead with wide eyes.

Jill plucked at the fabric of the redhead's dress. "Hey," she said softly, earning the attention of the ginger's blue eyes. "I'm here for you . . . always."

A smile broke out across Beverly's face as she shifted onto her side and stared at the girl. "It's not me you should be worried about," she said, glancing down to the brunette's bloodied knuckles, again. "You can't just go around punching people. You'll get hurt. Even more."

The Samson girl furrowed her brows and glanced down at her knuckles. Shit, she thought when she saw the broken skin. She hadn't even noticed the damage she had done to herself until that moment. She had been so caught up in punching Greta Keene, she hadn't realized what she had done to herself. Maybe Beverly had a point, but it didn't matter. Greta was a bitch and she was being particularly nasty to Beverly at the time, so if Jill was going to get in a fight, she was glad it was for that reason.

"What? This?" Jill showed off her hand. "This is nothing and you know it. Besides, Greta fucking deserved it. She's a major bitch."

Beverly shot her a look and grasped the brunette's bruised hand in hers to examine it further. Her brows creased as her eyes narrowed in on the bruises forming on Jill's hand. She grazed her fingers around the open cuts, blowing on the raw flesh every few seconds as if that would somehow magically seal them.

"You don't have to do that," Jill whispered (talking normally seemed too abrasive for the situation). "I swear, I'm fine." She wanted to tear her hand from Beverly's grasp, but she didn't and instead let the redhead inspect the wound further until she was satisfied.

"You're not—" Beverly began but she was quickly cut off by the slam of the front door to the apartment.

The two locked eyes, a mixture of fear and realization struck their faces at the same time.

"Is that your dad?" Jill whispered, even though she knew the answer to the dreaded question.

Beverly squeezed her eyes shut. "Yeah," she breathed. "You should probably go before he sees you in here."

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" Jill offered, but it was more of a statement than a question. She didn't want to leave Beverly with that awful man. She would much rather have Beverly come live with her than stay in that god awful house for another night.

"No, it's better if you don't," Beverly objected with a small, sad smile playing on her coral lips. She had that look in her eyes—a look of despair hidden behind a destructive abyss.

Jill sat up and stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. Her father always told her crossing her arms only made the situation worse, but Jill didn't care, she was too stubborn to listen to him about how not to act stubborn. "Bev, I don't like this. He hurts you. I don't know why you won't let me help you," she murmured, a certain ache she knew all too well striking her heart. "I could knock that son of a bitch so hard on his ass he wouldn't know what hit him."

Beverly cracked a grin, but her eyes stayed gloomy. "Look at you, Jillian Samson, my knight in shining armor," she whispered, softly nudging Jill's arm.

"I'm serious, Bev." Jill put a hand on the ginger's shoulder and squeezed.

Beverly dropped her smile. "I know, but trust me, I can take care of myself."

I know, Jill thought. But Beverly shouldn't have had to take care of herself. A father should be there for his daughter, not be the cause of her nightmares.

"I'll see you in the morning, okay?" Beverly murmured.

Jill nodded picked up her backpack then she moved to quietly open the bedroom window before the devil incarnate walked through the door and raised hell. "Just—" Jill spun around and locked eyes with Bev, "just climb out the window and knock on mine if anything happens. I'm here for you, okay? Even if it's four in the morning, I will be there."

Beverly smiled. "I know, sunshine."

Jill saluted a goodbye before she swung her leg out, then flung her whole body out the window and landed on the landing. She trotted up another flight of stairs, walked down the hall, and made it to her own apartment, unlocking the front door with the key she had stored away in the front pocket of her overalls. She slammed the door loud enough for her father to hear and kicked off her second-hand converse shoes that were practically ripping at the seams. She didn't bother calling out to her father because dealing with him was worse than dealing with Greta Keene. He wasn't a bad dad, she'd give him that, but shit, was he so overbearingly annoying.

David Samson was a simple man. He was a man who fell victim to divorce or separation or whatever the fuck you call your wife running off in the middle of the night with a note left on her side of the bed. But he was still simple. Light blue eyes and receding blond hair, he looked like practically everyone on the face of the planet. But he had a beard so that made somewhat of a difference. He had a simple job, too. He worked with the kids in the elementary school, but not for the money (because everyone knew teachers in Derry were paid nothing more than a few chocolate coins); instead, he worked there just to put a smile on their faces. Jill couldn't see how that could bring anyone joy. Kids sucked. It was as simple as that.

On the other hand, there was Jill's mother who—to be honest—was smart to get out while she still could. Yes, her mother left her, but Jill still thought every day that the woman never meant to leave her behind, just her father. Which she got. David had the tendency to isolate himself to the point he made everyone else feel so useless around him that there was really no point in interacting with him anyway. It was like he loved his job more than his wife, so Jill couldn't even blame her mother for wanting to get the hell out of Derry. . . . Also, David was annoying. Boys were annoying. No wonder her mother left. But anyway, Elizabeth Phenny was one hell of a character.

Elizabeth. Liz. Beth. Lizzie. Or whatever she went by now was not a simple woman. She was a woman who left her husband and daughter behind to run off and chase her dreams . . . or whatever. Of course, her dreams were always changing, almost as fast as the seasons passed. One year she'd want to be a darling starlet, the other, she'd be going on about having her photography displayed in a museum. But she never acted on them, until the day she left. Jill hadn't seen her since. She hadn't heard from her either, but it wasn't like she cared . . . right? Because, honestly, a girl didn't really need her mother, especially Jill Samson. Jill could take care of herself. She didn't need anyone, not even her mother. But she still missed her like hell even if she wouldn't admit it.

Okay, so, don't get her wrong, Jill so totally didn't need her mother, but there were times where she'd fantasized about how much better her life would be if she was living with the Phenny woman. Jill wouldn't be Jillian Samson, she'd be Jill Phenny. Jillian was what her father called her. Jillian wouldn't exist. It would be just Jill. And she'd live in a lavish Beach House off the coast of Florida, not in a dirty old apartment in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, Maine. And she and her mom would go shopping on the weekends and have dinner on the beach. God, she'd love it. So, yeah, Jill hated her life, because it wasn't like how she wanted it to be. She hated her apartment, the stupid scar on her chest, and her fucking dad.

Because, as she had previously mentioned, her dad totally sucked.

And, yeah, she knew it was wrong, but she hated her father more than anything. It might not have been totally his fault, but he was the whole reason her mother left. He was the reason she was so miserable; the reason she was stuck in Derry. And she hated him for it, possibly even more than she hated Bill Stenchbrough.

So her deep-rooted hatred for her dickhead of a father was the exact reason she started opening and closing the cupboards loud enough for her father to hear and possibly even get ticked off by. But David Samson has learned to control his anger, which Jill thought was stupid. How could someone just never be mad? Jill was always angry. Her father had learned to be calm. He didn't understand, and he never would.

"Jillian, honey, is that you?" her father called from his office. He must have come home early since it was the last day of school. That mean Hell from Jill.

Jill rolled her eyes, but kept her mouth shut. She began rummaging (very loudly if she was honest) through the fridge for a packet of Capri Sun. She stabbed the packet with the straw, kind of surprised she hadn't burst the thing with how much force she used, and sipped on it.

David came into the room, dressed in his work clothes and slicked-back hair. He looked stupid. He always looked stupid. But then again, boys were stupid, at least, that was what Jill thought.

"Hey, how was the last day? Did you and Beverly make your mark on the school or anything?" he asked, sending her a smile. Jill wanted to punch the smile off his face.

Jill narrowed her eyes and continued sipping on her juice.

"So I was thinking this summer you could stay with your Aunt Maureen for a few weeks or so . . . if you wanted. Maybe you two could go see those turtles you love so much," said David.

Jill immediately burst into flames. She had been irritated before with all the shit she had to deal with about her mother, but now she wanted to scream and throw a tantrum. He so clearly wanted to ship her off to her aunt's for the summer so he wouldn't have to deal with her, just like he drove her mother out of town. He was trying to get rid of her or get her to see that literally anywhere else was better than Derry so she'd willingly leave and let him live out his days alone like he liked it.

"I bet you'd like that, huh, David?" Jill said, her voice slicing through the air like a knife.

David narrowed his brows and tilted his head. "What does that mean?"

"Mom would know," she said, throwing the juice packet in the trash then crossing her arms over her chest. David didn't like when she crossed her arms. Jill did it anyway.

"Your mother left because—"

"I know why mom left. It's why anyone leaves anyone. You forgot to pay attention to her because you were too busy working that she just got so miserable she had to leave or she'd go insane," Jill spewed, her face heating up. Fuck, she was going to cry. "I know why she left and I don't blame her. In fact, I applaud her. I only wish she had taken me with her instead of leaving me here with you."

David opened his mouth, then closed it. He did that a few times until Jill was certain he had turned into a fish. "Your mother was very complicated."

"Are you serious?" Jill screeched. "You neglect her for years to the point she felt so helpless she couldn't even bear to see your face anymore, and it's her fault?" She wasn't sure if she was even talking about her mother anymore. And she didn't quite understand why she was so angry now. She was always angry, but right now it was worse; right now she felt nuclear.

David looked a little irritated. He was doing that rub-his-face thing he always did when he was frustrated. "Do we have to talk about this right now? Why don't you tell me about your day or maybe we can talk about what's bothering you."

Jill wanted to punch him. Yes, she may have been overreacting, but whatever. "You're what's bothering me."

"I know you're angry, but I'm your father," he said as if just because he was related to her that automatically gave him the right to know her deepest, darkest thoughts. Well, Jill thought that was stupid, so, fuck that.

Jill flipped him off.

David sighed. "Jillian, I thought we talked about expressing our emotions through healthy behaviors."

Jill shrugged. "Freedom of speech." With that, she turned the corner to her room and slammed the door shut. She threw her backpack to the ground and groaned. She sighed and moved to lie down on the bed. She frowned at the ceiling. She hated her life. She hated it so much she was sure she hated hating it. Don't get her wrong, she knew she had it better than most people, but whatever, she was miserable and that was all she could think about.

Jill let her mind wander which was evidently a bad decision since the second she fed into her other thoughts, Ben Hanscom, the new kid, popped into her mind. She met him earlier and even he had managed to get a reaction out of Beverly. Did Beverly like him? Shit . . . did Beverly like him?

Jill reached for her pillow and covered her face with it. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed. Fuck this.

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         About three hours into her night, Jill had slipped on her pajamas which consisted of just an oversized shirt and cotton shorts. She sighed and slipped under the covers of her bed. Her hair was still damp from the shower she took only an hour ago, but since her hair was short, it had almost dried to her scalp. She should have been asleep, but it was the summer and Jill Samson never shied away from staying up all night and writing in her diary. Okay, so maybe it wasn't a diary per se. It was more of a journal dedicated to her best friend where the brunette would write letters to Beverly Marsh, rip them out and hide them in a box she kept under her bed. Pathetic, she knew, but it wasn't like she could just tell Bev about her feelings. She had to keep them secret.

Sometimes she kept pictures she took of Beverly on her camera in the box as well, to remind her of the memories she tried to convey in her letters. And sometimes she'd give a few photos to Beverly because the girl was always asking to hang up a piece of Jill's photography on her wall. It was a silly and quite a childish routine, but it was the only way the girl could express her feelings, and it had worked . . . so far. Also, Beverly liked the photos, so if she liked them then they must have been worth something.

The brunette sighed and opened her journal to a blank page while she scrummaged around for a pencil. She figured while she had it out, she'd write a letter since she was feeling extra weird that day.

Hey, Killer Queen,

It's me, Jill, your best friend.

Jill continued writing for about a half-hour before she finally finished and put the journal to the side. She reached under her bed and pulled out the box. A fake ribbon was placed on the cover of the periwinkle colored box to give it the disguise of just an ordinary shoebox so no one would find out about her stupid little crush on her best friend. She pulled off the top with a tight smile and plucked one of the photos resting at the bottom of the box.

The photo was old. She had taken it last year when she and Beverly skipped school to go to the Quarry for the day. She remembered that day so clearly. It was by far her favorite memory with Beverly since she was certain it was one of the moments when she realized she wanted Beverly to be the one. Yeah, it was cliche and totally cheesy, but her best friend was the only one for her. That was it. The end. Even if Beverly never felt the same, Jill knew Beverly would be the first person she ever loved as well as the last person. That was about the only thing Jill knew for sure.

But, anyway, the photograph.

You see, Jill had a knack for photography and she was quite good if she was being honest, so it wasn't a bad picture. (It also made her feel closer to her mother since she was a photographer, so, yeah.) Maybe a little torn at the edges, but it was still a decent photograph. Plus, the photo was of Beverly Marsh, so that automatically made it ten times better in Jill's eyes.

In the photo, Beverly was standing on a rock, one hand on her hip and the other outstretched as if she was about to take off flying superhero style. She was pretending to be Wonder Woman because the two girls had recently gotten into comics around that time and Diana Prince was their favorite hands down. Anyway, Jill found it adorable, so she just had to take a photo. She loved it even more now that she had realized her feelings.

Jill couldn't help but smile.

As time passed and she stared at the photo of Beverly Marsh in her hand, she realized one thing. There wasn't enough film in the universe to capture all of Beverly's beauty in one photo. No angle or color could compare to the real girl whose hair burned like a blood moon and eyes sparkled with stardust. She was just captivating, and Jill couldn't help but be riled in. And she wouldn't call it an attraction or even a crush, no the girl simply lived with the redhead's face etched onto her heart. And it hurt. Oh, how it hurt. But it was a pleasant kind of ache; the kind that came with loving someone too much to the point nothing else mattered except for hearing the chime of their voice.

"You're one beautiful girl, Beverly Marsh," Jill whispered to the black-and-white photo of her red-haired friend.

The brunette's eyes traveled across the photo, her fingers grazing the sheet slightly as she traced the outline of Beverly's smiling face. But as her fingertip reached the edge of her lips, the corners of the redhead's lips slowly inched up her face until they touched her eyes.

Jill gasped and nearly dropped the photo, but she stayed frozen. The hairs on the back of her neck raised as her heart hammered in her chest like it were about to pound out of her.

Jill blinked once. Then twice. Then three times until she was sure she wasn't dreaming. This wasn't normal. No, it definitely wasn't normal. This was something straight out of a horror movie. And anybody who knew the Samson girl knew Jill was a fanatic for all things gore and horror, but as she stared longer at the girl, she felt her heart race and blood run cold.

Slowly, photo-Beverly began to move. The redhead's neck craned to the side as those blue eyes locked with the wide brown ones staring in shock at the photo.

The wide smile dropped into a frown and the ginger began to suddenly weep. "Jill, why couldn't you be better?" photo-Beverly asked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why couldn't you save me?"

Jill opened her mouth. "Save you? What do you mean?"

"You let me die."

"No." Jill shook her head. "No, you're alive. I could never let—"

Before Jill could protest, photo-Beverly slashed her nails, which looked more like claws, over her throat, blood seeping out of the gash. Jill clamped a hand over her mouth and croaked, the pleads escaping her lips as Beverly shrieked in agony, tears sliding down her freckled cheeks. Just as Beverly's eyes turned from vibrant to dull blue, Jill let out a strangled cry of her own and dropped the photo onto her bed.

"Bever—"

A knock on her bedroom window interrupted her cry, but she didn't move from her spot. She didn't speak. She barely even breathed. She only caught her breath and let a few tears fall as she turned her head to see who was at the window. Much to her surprise, there was Beverly Marsh, standing behind the barrier of the windowpane, a small smile on her face as she waved to the brunette.

What the fuck?

Jill snapped her head back to the photo, expecting to see a crime scene, but all she saw was the photo of Beverly pretending to be Wonder Woman. Nothing had happened. No one died. Beverly wasn't dead. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Had she dreamt the whole thing? But Jill didn't feel like she had just woken up. She felt awake. Very, very awake.

Another knock on the window came again. Beverly looked confused and worried, which Jill didn't like, so she stalked out of bed, trying her best not to fall over, and unhinged the window.

"Finally," Beverly said, climbing through the window and into the brunette's dimly lit room. "What's got you so scared? You look freaked."

Jill gulped and stared at the redhead in front of her, trailing her eyes over her to see if it actually was her and not some imposter. "Are you real?" Jill questioned before she could stop herself. It was a stupid question, but her heart was still hammering in her chest, so she didn't care.

Beverly narrowed her brows. "Am I—" she cut herself off and stepped forward, but Jill took a step back. A pang of embarrassment struck Beverly. Why had Jill moved away from her? Did she repulse her too, now? "Jill, you're not acting like yourself. Are you okay?"

The brunette squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them, then she opened them, expecting Beverly to morph into some kind of corpse, but she stayed the same breathtaking Beverly she had always known. But she needed to know for sure that this Beverly was her Beverly. "Just say something only you would know," said Jill, shakily.

"Okay . . ." Beverly did this awkward laugh. "Remember when we went to the Quarry last summer and a turtle scared the literal piss out of you—" she cut herself off with a booming laugh "—and then Richie Tozier walked by and—"

Yep, this was definitely her Beverly. She laughed liked Beverly, too, so it had to be her.

"Okay, enough, it's you," Jill breathed out, the weight immediately lifting off her shoulders. She didn't say anything else, instead, she sprung into Beverly, wrapping her arms around her neck and inhaling her sweet scent of strawberries and cigarettes.

Beverly wrapped her arms around Jill's waist and pulled her closer, squeezing extra hard like she always did. "Okay, seriously, is everything okay?"

Jill nodded. "It is now," she breathed out as she pulled away from their hug. "Um, not that I'm complaining, but what brings you by?" She knew it had something to do with Beverly's father, but she wouldn't dare bring him up unless Beverly did it on her own. It was Beverly's story to tell, not Jill's to squeeze out of her, she knew that.

A wide smile spread across the ginger's freckle-frenzied face. "I found this edition of Wonder Woman under my bed and we always read these together, so I was wondering if I could stay the night and we could you know read it?" she paused for a second. "Plus, my dad's being a dick, so I figured . . . um . . . sleepover!"

Jill nodded. "Do you want me to kick him in the dick?"

Beverly shook her head, a small, sad smile resting on her face.

"I'm your knight in shining armor, right?" the brunette mused, trying to lighten the mood.

The Marsh girl let out a strained laugh. "Maybe," she said, "but I'm no damsel in distress."

"Oh, I know, but you do bring me a lot of stress," Jill said, shooting her a shit-eating grin.

That made Beverly laugh. God, Jill loved her laugh.

"Hardy har har," Beverly said sarcastically, nudging her friend with her elbow. "So . . . I also got my period,"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"That's totally fine, Bev," Jill reassured, squeezing the ginger's arm. "I have tampons and pads in the bathroom. And tomorrow we can go buy some for you, okay?"

Bev smiled and nodded. "Okay."

"Honestly, Bev, it's normal."

"I know. It's just—" Bev trailed off.

Jill nodded. "I get it. And I'm here if you want to complain about period cramps or whatever."

Beverly snorted. "You're so weird, Samson. It's a good weird though."

The brunette felt her face heating her and hopped the dim lighting would cover up the blush. "Shut up," she said playfully.

Beverly stuck out her tongue before she kicked off her shoes and went to Jill's dresser, sifting through the bunched up clothes for something to wear to bed. She settled on an oversized shirt and shorts similar to what Jill was wearing. She then tied her hair up in one of Jill's scrunchies, and quietly crept to the bathroom to change and grab a tampon.

Jill noticed she still had her box of photos and journal out and if Beverly noticed, she'd be screwed. Fuck! Jill quickly gathered the photo and journal, putting them in the box before she shoved the entire box under her bed.

"Okay, I'm tired," Beverly announced just as Jill finished shoving her big fat secret under her bed.

Jill whipped around, briefly taking in Beverly's attire. She liked seeing her in her clothes. She didn't know why, but it made her feel all warm inside.

"You're tired? But we haven't even read the comic yet," Jill said, a little out of breath.

Beverly snapped her fingers. "Oh, right."

"So what edition did you find?" Jill asked as she crawled into her bed and tucked the covers under her chin.

Beverly got under the covers as well, the comic in her hand. The bed was small, so there wasn't much room to move around, which meant the two of them had to stay very close together otherwise one of them would fall. "The one where Steve Trevor goes to Paradise Island to retrieve Diana after she had her memory erased by the Mists of Neptune," she explained, opening the comic to the first page.

"Can you read to me?" Jill asked, looking up at her friend through her thick lashes.

Beverly playfully rolled her eyes.

Jill pouted. "Please."

"Only if you read to me tomorrow."

A wide grin broke out on the brunette's face as she nodded. "You've got yourself a deal, peaches."

With that the two girls settled into the bed, adjusting themselves so Jill's head was resting on Beverly's shoulder and Beverly was resting her head on top of Jill's. Then, Beverly began to read and the entire world started to dissipate until it was just Bev and Jill versus the world. Jill liked it that way.

It was as those minutes ticked by and Jill listened to the story play out that she guessed superheroes were human to an extent and needed someone by their side to lean on when times got too hard. Hell, even Wonder Woman needed help from Steve Trevor to remember how badass she was. So if even Diana Prince couldn't handle everything on her own, Jill could deal with resting her head on Beverly's shoulder every once in a while.

a/n: i love jillverly so much wow.

ok i had this prewritten a long time ago but i never published it because i went on hiatus. so with that being said i'm sorry updates are slow. i'm still kind of on hiatus, so updates might be even more slow, but i'm committed. also, yes, jill is an asshole. we are aware. and yes, she will have character development, just bear with her hormonal ass. also, also, you will find out what jill wrote in her letters at the end of the story so . . .

thanks for reading!