chapter nine
f*** the world, you stupid girl

☼ ☽

When someone abandons you, the memories of them don't vanish along with their existence. They stay locked in the part of your brain you try to keep hidden, and they haunt you. The pain is still there. You can still see their face. Hell, you've encoded them in your head right down to the very last freckle on their nose. But they're no longer there to hurt you so it shouldn't be so painful, but it is. It hurts because when someone you love is gone, it's your memory of them that sparks the pain. Jill Samson learned that the hard way.

She was reminded of the pain the moment her eyes fluttered open that morning. The sunlight shining through her window made it hard to see, causing her to blink multiple times before she finally had enough and turned on her side, facing away from the sun. It seemed to want her to get out of bed, but Jill felt stuck. She didn't want to move. She just wanted to go back to sleep. The darkness of her bedsheets would be a much better alternative than forcing herself out of bed and living through the day without blowing a fuse.

You see, only a couple weeks had passed since the Losers' Club saved Mike Hanlon from his bullies and gained a new member. The weeks were long and tiring and Jill always managed to roll her eyes a million times a day when she was around the group of boys. But she had also felt herself smiling more, sometimes even laughing. It was an odd feeling for Jill, but she didn't think too much about it. She'd rather ignore the laughs she shared with the group especially with Richie Tozier than admit she actually liked having them around. But none of that mattered today. It was the Fourth of July and Jill Samson felt like she was going to explode.

Other kids would be ecstatic, raiding the corner stores for fireworks and watching the parade with their families. But for kids like Jill, the Fourth of July was a reminder of all the things she had lost. She wasn't saying the holiday itself had caused her life to be so shitty, but many years ago, Elizabeth Phenny packed up her things and left on Independence Day. So, yeah, the fourth wasn't a reminder of her independence, it reminded her that the world was against her and it always would be.

Jill traced the wrinkles in her bedsheets and let out a sigh. The sun shone on her hand, illuminating the scabbed skin. The skin around her knuckles was bruised, fading from a plum tint to a yellowish-green. Where the skin had split, it had scabbed over and slowly begun to heal as the time passed. It was a confusing feeling she felt while looking at her hand. She had only ever punched one person before that day by the river, and only then it hadn't left that much of a mark. But this was different. She had tried to prove a point, and prove it she did. Her hand was evidence of her point, but it reminded her of the bond she had forged with the group of Losers which led her to the realization she had to get out of bed or they'd all be bombarding her landline with voicemails.

She let out a curse, and shoved the covers off her body, standing to her feet. Her gaze briefly glanced at her nightstand where she found a note from her father explaining how he had gone to work and couldn't be there in the morning, but he had left breakfast in the fridge. Jill rolled her eyes. Of course, he was at work. He always was. Where exactly he was working now since the school's had closed was unbeknownst to her. Maybe he was teaching summer school. Whatever. She didn't care.

She quickly dressed in a yellow tank top and cutoff denim shorts paired with a striped belt to keep the shorts from falling off her waist. She took one look in the mirror and decided her hair looked awful. Not that she'd admit it, but she did somewhat care what she looked like. So, she combed back her unruly hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. A few stray hairs escaped from the scrunchie, but Jill curled them behind her ears. She shrugged at her appearance and went to eat breakfast. Her father had made her pancakes with a whipped cream smile. Jill mangled the smile and scarfed down the pancake. It was cold and soggy, but it didn't bother her. Then she shoved on a pair of old sneakers and walked out the door.

When she exited her apartment, she caught sight of Beverly who was smoking a cigarette as she waited for Jill. Jill plodded down the stairs and sighed when she approached the ginger. "Hey," she muttered, her voice void of emotion.

Beverly turned to look at the brunette. "Hey," she said, searching the girl's face. She put out her cigarette and began walking down the rest of the stairs with Jill following beside her. She knew the fourth was a hard day for Jill which was one of the main reasons she told her they didn't have to go to the parade with the rest of the group. But Jill insisted she would be up to going as long as the boys wouldn't do anything particularly annoying. "So are you going to be okay today?"

Jill thought about the question for a second, keeping her eyes glued to her shoes. No, I'm not okay. "Oh, yeah, totally," she said instead, before she could even stop the words from tumbling off her tongue. Lying was getting easier. Way, way easier.

Beverly took one look at Jill and knew she was lying. "It's okay if you're not," she said, brushing her arm with Jill's. "We can even stay at home and do our own thing if you want."

"Beverly, I solemnly swear that I'm okay," Jill said with a breathy laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides—" she shrugged— "I don't even really remember her . . . that much." She almost cringed at her lie. It was a load of shit, but she didn't care. She just wanted to forget about that day and maybe distracting herself with a parade would do it.

Beverly puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. "Okay, but if you wanna' head out at any point just holler at me," she urged with a pleasant smile pressed against her lips.

Jill snorted. "Holler?"

The Marsh girl's brows shot up on her face and a slight rose tint formed on her cheeks. "Sorry, Bill says that sometimes," she admitted, sheepishly curling her hair behind her ear. "It's funny, I guess I picked it up."

"Yeah, funny." A tight smile formed on Jill's lips as she fixated on Beverly's confession. Bill. She was adapting Bill's phrases. Since when did that happen? And since when did he say holler? Shit, were they spending time together without the group? She resented that, but it wasn't like she could do anything to stop the two of them from growing closer. That would make her an even shittier person, so she didn't interfere, no matter how much she wanted to punch Bill in the face.

As the two girls walked to their bikes and rode to the town square, the sun scorched the top of Jill's head, heating her blood to the temperature of boiling magma. Just all the more reason to hate the world. But honestly, fuck it. Fuck the world. It had never given her shit for everything she had to endure in her short life. It was so unfair. And, yeah, she knew other people had it way worse, but the pain and anger she felt were all she had ever known. She didn't know what it was like to attend your mother's funeral, but she did know what it was like to lose one, and she thought maybe it would have been better if she had died. If she had became maggot food instead of taking the nearest flight out of Derry, then maybe Jill would be able to accept that her life couldn't have turned out any differently. But her mother hadn't died and Jill was still in Derry being haunted by some weird supernatural . . . thing and pretending she wasn't totally jealous because some boy was stealing her best friend's heart.

So, yeah, fuck the world. Fuck Bill. Fuck everything.

When they arrived, the parade had already begun. The sound of trumpets screamed as the marching band moved in sync past the two girls who were scanning the streets for familiar faces. Jill caught sight of an ice cream stand, her mouth watering at the sight. She stepped in the direction of the creamy substances, but before she could advance, Beverly tugged on her arm and pulled her in the opposite direction. She gave a groan of protest when she caught sight of who they were walking toward, but nevertheless followed after the ginger, weaving through the parade. People gave annoyed grunts as the two girls pushed past them, but neither of the girls cared enough to apologize. They approached the rest of the group who were huddled in a narrow alleyway, all staring at a brick wall. Only Eddie and Richie were missing.

"Hey, what are you guys doing over here?" Beverly asked. She made eye contact with Bill who gave her a strained smile which she returned.

Jill grumbled and crossed her arms over her chest. "Uh, yeah, it's a little creepy, don't you think?" she asked, fixating her gaze on Bill as she narrowed her eyes into thin slits.

A sigh escaped Bill's lips as he stretched out his hand and pointed at the missing persons sign plastered on the brick wall. The other Losers seemed to have already noticed the sign, but it was foreign to Jill and Beverly. Jill didn't want to look at it, but curiosity took over her body, leading her to stand next to Stan and observe the poster. Beverly did the same, except she stood next to Bill and peered over his shoulder. A fire burned deep within Jill as she desperately tried to extinguish it by distracting herself with the poster.

"Ed—Eddie Corcoran," Bill said, solemnly.

"Oh," Jill mumbled, trying to swallow her feelings. She had only briefly met the missing boy, but he wasn't as memorable in her mind considering she clumped him together with all the other boys in her town. He was just another blurry face in a crowd to her, and yet her heart pounded in her throat. She didn't need to know Eddie to realize what his disappearance meant. It meant another kid was gone. Probably dead.

Stan inhaled sharply. "They said they found his hand chewed up near the Standpipe," he muttered as he glanced at Jill. "That's another kid who's probably dead." His eyes drifted down to her neck as if he was thinking about something. He was staring at the bruise, Jill knew that but luckily it had faded into a yellowish-green like her knuckles, so it blended in more with the undertones of her complexion.

"Damn," Beverly huffed, bringing all eyes to her. "He asked to borrow a pencil once."

The sound of a trumpet blasted through the thick air, causing all the Losers to turn their heads in the direction of the noise. Lo and behold it was none other than Richie Tozier who had somehow managed to steal the instrument from a marching band member who looked less than pleased. Eddie stood beside him, holding two ice cream cones as he pursed his lips and watched the boy blow wrong notes through the instrument. Jill rolled her eyes and turned away from him, the other Losers following her lead.

Bill fiddled with the edges of the poster, holding it still so a breeze wouldn't blow it away. He lifted the poster up, revealing another poster of another missing kid—Betty Ripsom. She'd gone missing a few months ago and now her name was rarely spoken almost as if her case had been lost in the mountains of paperwork at the police station.

"It's like they—they forgot about huh—her," Bill bitterly spat, retracting his hand from the poster and letting it fall. He seemed angry. It was possibly the angriest Jill had ever seen him, and that surprised her. She wondered what was plaguing his mind. Then, she remembered—Georgie Denbrough was dead. Well, technically missing. And for a fraction of a second, Jill felt bad.

Silence consumed them. Jill hated it. It was too silent.

"Hey, what the hell?" Richie protested, throwing his hands up as the marching band member ripped his trumpet from the preteen's grasp.

The rest of the Losers all turned to the commotion and watched in disapproval. Richie was shaking his head at the band member and watching him join the rest of the band as they made their way down the street. He averted his gaze to the group staring at him and grinned, nodding at them. He attempted to walk toward them, but Eddie stopped him by handing over an ice cream cone. Richie gratefully accepted the cone and began licking it. His noises were disturbing and only made Jill want to punch him in the face.

"Hey, can we get out of here?" Richie asked, still licking his ice cream. "This place is giving me the creeps."

Eddie nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm getting tired of standing. I think I saw an open bench over there," he said, pointing to a park with a few open benches crowding it.

Jill turned her head to the park, and instantly shivers ran down her spine. It was the same park with the huge Paul Bunyan statue in the center and the stage where local theater groups would put on their plays. When Jill was little, the people of Derry would put up a white drape to cover the stage and project movies onto it. Her mother used to take her there to watch some of them. But after she left, Jill never went again. That gave her all the more reason to hate that day even more.

Someone squeezed her arm, causing her to avert her gaze to their face. Beverly's blue eyes stared back at her, asking a silent question. Are you okay? her eyes questioned. Jill nodded and smiled, but the voice inside her head screamed in protest.

The rest of the group nodded in agreement and the eight of them walked to the park, their bikes rolling beside them. They all approached the park bench in the center of the park, crowding together on it, but a few of them had to sit on their bikes due to the lack of room. However, Jill was not going to sit on her bike especially today, so she walked in front of Bill and plopped down right beside Beverly. She shot him a sly smirk as he kicked his bike's stand out and rested on the seat.

Beverly glanced at the brunette girl. "Do you have enough room?" she asked. "I can scoot over."

Jill shook her head and scooted closer to Beverly so their thighs were touching. "No, I can fit." She forced herself to tear her gaze from the ginger's freckled face and stared at the stage in the distance. She hadn't been there in years, and she wished she had never come back. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think of anything else, but she couldn't. All that flashed in her mind was her mother. Fuck.

Eddie interrupted her thoughts with a question. "Okay, answer this honestly . . . do you guys think this is ever gonna end?" he asked, his hands stretched out in front of him as he glanced at the entire group.

"I don't know." Jill shrugged solemnly as she played with the strings hanging from her cutoff denim shorts. "This town is kind of fucked up. I think the things that happen in Derry are like a loop that never ends. Everything kind of happens, but no one ever talks about it because it stays and dies in Derry."

"What? Like Vegas?" Richie blurted out, his face screwed up.

Jill pursed her lips and shook her head, shooting him an unamused look. She refrained from flipping him off, even though she so badly wanted to.

"No, I actually think it will end," Ben piped up, all eyes locking on the boy. "For a little while, at least."

Beverly squinted her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"So, I was going over all of my data research and I charted out all the big events. The Ironworks explosion in 1908. The Bradley Gang in '35 and The Black Spot in '62. And now the kids being . . . " Ben trailed off, an uneasy look crossing his face. He shook his head as if vanquishing the thoughts from his mind. "I realized that this stuff seems to happen every twenty-seven years."

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Eddie began sharply, tossing the rest of his ice cream cone in the trash can beside the bench. Richie did the same with his. "It comes out from wherever to eat kids for like a year and then what? It just goes into hibernation?" He made a face of confusion and shook his head. "What is this thing? A bear?"

"Maybe it's like . . . What do you call it? Cicadas," Stan mumbled. His grip on his knees tightened as he glanced around at the group. His eyes locked on Jill and she offered him a small smile to which he returned. "You know? The bugs that come out once every seventeen years."

No one spoke as the silence encircled them. Jill lifted her hand to her neck, pressing down on the bruise. It didn't hurt anymore, but the memories of the haunting were still fresh in her mind. She wondered if that was the last time she'd ever experience something like that. Because maybe it was a dream, a weird dream that they all seemed to share, but this was Derry. Weird things happened in Derry all the time. So maybe this wasn't any different. At least, that was what Jill Samson hoped.

Mike puffed out his cheeks and blew out air. "My grandfather thinks this town is cursed. He says that all the bad things that happened in this town are because of one thing," he explained, his voice steady yet hesitant. "An evil thing that feeds off the people of Derry." His gaze settled upon the group, but no one glanced up to meet his eyes.

Stan shook his head. "But it can't be one thing," he firmly stated. "We all saw something different."

Mike shrugged. "Maybe, or maybe It knows what scares us most, and that's what we see."

"I—I saw a leper. He was like a walking infection." Eddie grimaced as he gripped his hands so tightly around his inhaler it almost seemed it would crumble under his touch. He nervously glanced around the group and halted when he caught sight of Jill. His gaze drifted down to her neck, to the healing bruise wrapped around her skin like a noose. "What about you Jill? You said something choked you. What did you see?"

All eyes wandered to Jill, but the brunette girl kept her gaze on the redhead seated next to her. If she was staring into Beverly's eyes, then peace would always find her. "I think I saw It twice," she muttered, recalling the time a photo version of Beverly slit her throat in front of her eyes. "The first time I was looking through old photos and then this person in the photo slit their throat. They said it was my fault. That I didn't save them, and it was my fault." She shut her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat.

"And the second time?" Eddie pondered. "What did you see?"

Jill refrained from shaking her head. She didn't want to talk about it, but the Losers needed to know the truth. This thing . . . if it was even real had tried to kill her. Her eyes fluttered open and she took a deep breath. "It was after Beverly and I left Ben's house. I went home and I felt really hot. Like my throat was burning, so I got a drink of water, but it . . . it was so weird . . . it tasted bad like sewer water or something. So I dumped it and that's when I heard the voice." She exhaled slowly. "Then there was this hand . . . it came up through the drain. But I didn't want to follow it. I guess it didn't like that because the next thing I knew, the hand was choking me. I think I would have died if my dad hadn't come home."

"But you didn't die," Stan immediately spat. It seemed as if he was trying to convince himself that it was all just a dream. Jill wanted to believe him. A part of her did, but another part of her knew something was wrong with Derry. "Because It isn't real. None of this is. Not Jill's hand or Eddie's leper or Bill seeing Georgie or the woman I—I keep seeing."

"Is she hot?" Richie questioned, making Jill scoff and roll her eyes at the boy. His mouth twitched up when he saw her reaction but she only flashed him the middle finger and groaned.

"No, Richie! She's not hot! Her face is all messed up," Stan said with aggravation, making all the members of the Losers' Club grow solemn once again. "None of this makes any sense! They're all like bad dreams!" Jill could sense the utter fear in his voice and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as goosebumps tickled her bare skin. She wanted to tell him they were just dreams, but something stopped the words from tumbling off her tongue.

"I don't think so," Mike interjected, shaking his head. "I know the difference between a bad dream and real life, okay?"

"Why?" Eddie questioned, squinting his eyes. "What did you see?"

Mike glanced his way for a moment, but he didn't speak a word. His words stayed trapped in his throat until he let out a heavy sigh. "You guys know that burnt down house on Harris Avenue?" he asked, hesitantly. The rest of the group nodded. "I was inside when it burned down. Before I was rescued . . . my mom and dad were trapped in the next room over from me. They were pushing and pounding on the door trying to get to me. But it was too hot. When the firefighters found them the skin on their hands had melted down to the bone."

Jill grimaced and hid her head behind Beverly's shoulder. Beverly noticed Jill's discomfort and instinctively, without even looking, reached to grab her hand in hers and rub the skin with her thumb. It was a thing (like a reflex) they had done since they were kids when something bad happened in their lives.

"We're all afraid of something," Jill breathed out, keeping her eyes locked on their hands. She wondered if she'd be haunted by Beverly's ghost once again or maybe it would be Beverly's hand trying to kill her next time.

The laugh of a clown sounded from the stage behind Richie. He whipped his curly head to the origin of the noise. One look at the clown atop the stage and Richie Tozier was a cowering little boy. "Got that right," he muttered, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Why Rich?" Eddie asked, craning his neck to lock eyes with the boy. "What are you afraid of?"

Richie fixed his thick glasses . . . again. "Clowns."

"How ironic," Jill stated, but where there would normally be humor laced in her tone, there was fear.

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When she finally arrived at her apartment, it was dark. She and Beverly had ditched their bikes in the alleyway between the apartment complex and another building before they headed up the stairs to their apartments. Beverly offered to come over and celebrate the rest of the day with her, but Jill didn't want to put her through that, so she lied. She lied and lied and lied and told her best friend she was too tired to stay up any later, then she disappeared inside her house and waited at the front door for what seemed like an eternity.

There was a pulsing in her head as she entered her apartment. It never ceased even as she took off the scrunchie and shoved it on her wrist. She figured maybe she had it on too tight and it was cutting off her circulation, but as she shook out her mangled waves, the ache only intensified. A groan escaped her lips and she banged the back of her head on the door. She barely felt the impact, but she had heard it as it echoed through the quiet apartment.

An image of her father strolling into the front entrance to greet her popped into her head and she groaned. If he was home he had probably heard the bang and was making his way toward her. Jill didn't want to talk to him. He only reminded her more of what she had lost. He was the reason she lost her mother. He drove her away and now he was driving Jill down the same path. She could walk out the door and go over to Beverly's, but her feet stayed glued to the floorboards. She didn't want to burden her best friend with her thoughts. What she needed to do was take a trip to the Odgens' lake and scream until her lungs bled. But if she went there she'd only be reminded more of her mother.

Her mother was scattered around her like fresh snow or confetti. Her very essence was in the wind, blowing leaves past her as she breathed in the humid air. She was trapped inside the foundation of the apartment, her laugh hidden behind every creaky floorboard. Her DNA was spread out along the murky green water of the Ogdens' lake along with fish shit and algae. Some of her cells had sunk to the bottom of the lake, forever trapped in Derry while her vessel walked among the living in a faraway place Jill would never visit. She was still there and Jill could feel her all around.

The world had ripped Elizabeth Phenny from her daughter's grasp and spit in her face. The memory of her was a degrading way of torturing Jill Samson. And yet she chose to acknowledge the world that had treated her foully. But she was done. No more begging for a break. She knew now the world had it out for her, that summer was just the cherry on top of all the shit it had put her through. Now, Jill Samson would only acknowledge the world by sticking her middle fingers in the air as a final 'fuck you'.

A sigh escaped her lips as she tore herself from the front door and made her way to her bedroom. She glanced at the small living room on her way and instantly regretted not running instead of walking. Because sitting on the couch, watching the television was her father. He looked different with only the light from the television on him. Gray hair disguised with the blond, revealing his age. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth seemed to have deepened since the last time Jill had seen him. He looked sad . . . lonely even.

He turned to look at her. "Oh, hey, pumpkin, I got off work early," he explained. "I thought maybe we could celebrate the fourth. I bought fireworks and everything." He flipped on the light, illuminating the room, then he turned off the television.

Jill ignited with a wildfire. He wanted her to celebrate. He wanted her to celebrate the day her mother left. God, she could have punched him. "Celebrate?" she spat through gritted teeth, folding her arms over her chest.

Her father nodded and picked up the bundle of fireworks resting on the coffee table. "Yeah, I believe I bought some holiday-themed cupcakes as well," he said, offering a smile. "They're in the kitchen if you want to have the first pick. Although, I did kind of eat one already."

Jill shook with anger. Her hands were clenched into fists and buried underneath her armpits in an attempt to stop herself from punching a hole in the wall. She had already done that last year on the fourth and she wasn't going to do it again. But that didn't mean she wasn't angry, because she was. She was so fucking angry. "You want to celebrate . . . this day? Do you even know what today is or do you not care?"

David shook his head, solemnly. "No, I know," he mumbled, his voice almost a whisper. "I just thought we could celebrate instead of sitting around." He fiddled with the bundle of fireworks in his hands.

If the world wanted her to be a big time bomb, then she would do what it asked and detonate. "Oh, sure, okay!" she scoffed, throwing her hands up in the air. "Let's celebrate the day mom decided to leave and go to who the fuck knows where because she couldn't stand to look at your face. It's your fault she's gone, but, no, yeah let's celebrate for the hell of it, right?"

He looked at her for a minute before he set the fireworks down and crossed his arms over his chest. "That's not fair."

Jill raised her brows and scoffed. "Fair?" she spat, on the verge of laughing at the situation she had found herself in. "What's not fair is the fact that my mom is gone and I'm stuck here with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" His jaw twitched and something snapped in his eyes. Jill knew that look. She had felt it many times. He was growing even angrier by the minute, and so was Jill. But no one would be surprised if they peered through the window and witnessed them. They'd only be thinking one thing—like father like daughter.

Jill shifted in her spot, leaning against the wall. "Mom would know."

"Your mother—"

"I know!" the brunette snapped, her eyes igniting with a fire. "She was very complicated. Whatever." She rolled her eyes and shifted her gaze to her shoes. "I wish it were you who had left." All the ways her life could have been different if her mother had taken her with her flashed into her mind. She imaged the beach, the sand, the cool water against her skin. She yearned for it. "Things would be so much better if you were gone and it was just me and mom."

David scoffed. "Is this the scenario where I abandon you?"

Jill wanted to punch him. Remember when she said she didn't need her mom? Yeah, that was a total fucking lie. She knew that now. She had been lying to herself all this time, but she couldn't hide from the truth now. She needed her mom. She really really just needed her mom. And her father had robbed her of that. "Mom didn't abandon me," Jill spat, bitterly. "You're the one she left."

David shook his head as if he were trying to ban all the thoughts from his mind. "Look around, Jill, do you see your mother?" he asked sternly, his voice gaining in volume as he spoke. He gestured around the room, even going as far as to open a door and shout 'hello' into it. "Nope, I don't see her. That's because she's the one who left us and she hasn't bothered to reach out in five years. Five years she's had to tell us where she is, but she hasn't because she doesn't care. I know you don't want to hear that but it's the truth."

Tears pricked Jill's eyes, but she flicked them away. "Why are you throwing her under the bus?" she muttered, her voice weak and fragile. "It's not fair."

"Because I'm still here!" David yelled, the veins in his neck protruding as his face faded into a light rouge. The only sound to be heard was his erratic breathing as silence consumed the room.

Jill shifted uncomfortably in her spot, tearing her eyes from his face and averting them to her bruised hands. She could punch the wall if she wanted to and then leave. Or she could burst into tears like she really wanted to. Either decision would be better than standing there in the silence.

David sighed and dragged a hand down his face. "Look," he started out softly, rubbing his temples, "I know I haven't been perfect. I know that. I know my schedule is hard for you with the weird hours during the school year, but I do it so we can afford this apartment. I can't go back to the job at the company because I screwed that up. I got angry and I screwed up. That's on me, but I'm trying."

"I didn't ask," Jill muttered before she could stop the words from tumbling off her tongue.

"No, you didn't," he agreed, solemnly. "But you didn't care to ask why I've been working late. Did you even notice that I've been working later? Did you know I've had to apply to two jobs?"

The silence was his only response. Jill didn't speak. She wasn't sure if she could, because, no, she hadn't noticed. She thought he had just applied to teach summer school. An inch of guilt tugged at her heart but she quickly cut the ties.

"Since school's been closed," her father continued in a calm and collected voice, "we don't have any money coming in so I serve tables at Bernie's during the day and then I go to Presto for a night shift. I barely sleep, but I have to work so you can eat and wear clothes without holes in them." He tugged his hands through his hair and released a sigh. "I know you hate it. I know you'd rather be living with your mother than with me, but she's not here. She left."

Despite the guilt eating at her, the anger still plagued her. It controlled her. "Because of you," she muttered under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"No, go on," her father insisted. "Say it again."

Jill tried to brush off his words and extinguish the fire inside her, but it wouldn't cease. The anger whispered in her ear like her own personal vice, tempting her to test the waters. It wanted her to explode and she couldn't help but fall for its silver tongue. "She left because of you," she spat through gritted teeth as she burned holes into her father's eyes. "If you would have just paid attention to her she would've stayed. She would have wanted to stay with us."

"You're right," David agreed, slowly nodding his head as if he were reminiscing on a memory. "I should have. But I was working to support you guys because your mother never had a job. She was too busy working on her portfolio. Sometimes one of her photographs would sell, but most of the time she sat in her room. Some days she wouldn't even get out of bed."

"Then why didn't you make her?" Jill asked, helplessly. Her voice was weaker now, more raw and raspy as tears clouded her eyes. She didn't even bother to wipe them away as they trickled down her flushed cheeks. "Why didn't you get her out of bed and tell her you loved her? Why didn't you let her know you cared? If she knew she would have stayed. Can't you see that?"

Jill wasn't sure if it was her mind playing tricks on her or if her father had shed some of his own tears. "Because I couldn't see it," her father whispered, hoarsely. "I never thought she'd . . . but no matter how many times I try to explain this to you, you block it out. It's like you have this selective memory when it comes to your mother, but she wasn't who you think she was. She could be sweet and charming but she was distant and impulsive. When she'd get in one of her moods, she'd spend our money on expensive cameras and equipment. She'd go missing for days on end and come back completely out of it. And when she'd come back you'd run to her crying. You always chose her over me." A breathy laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head. "She left us five years ago and you're still choosing her."

The silence consumed them once again, reminding Jill her life wasn't a movie like she thought. The bad scenes in her life couldn't be cut out, they stayed there, haunting her like a ghost. She couldn't run from the silence, it would always find her. And along with it, the anger and guilt would follow.

Her father's sigh brought her back to reality as she watched him bend down to pick up a box that was resting on the coffee table beside the fireworks. "Here." He stretched out his hand to give the box to her. "I got it fixed."

Confusion crossed Jill's face. Fixed what? She didn't voice her thoughts, instead, she took the box from him and held it in her hands as if she were too afraid to break whatever was inside of it. She glanced up to look at her father, but he paid no mind to her and walked past her toward his room, leaving her in the silence with her thoughts.

Curiosity became the best of her as she slowly untied the ribbon, letting it float to the floorboards. She lifted off the top and tossed it to the ground, then she peered into the small box. She didn't know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what was presented in front of her eyes. Nevertheless, her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach and she felt her eyes begin to burn once again as she stared at the item. Because there it was: her cup of stars.

The cracks were still visible, creating a glass mural effect, but it had been smoothed over with some sort of gloss. It would never be in the same pristine condition she received it in, but it was still hers. Her very own new cup of stars.

Jill squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars resembling the ones painting the inside of her cup. Fuck. She had really ruined everything now, and it wasn't the world's fault, it was her own.

a/n: hello, i know this is so not descriptive at all, but oh well. anyways, yes, jill's mom is kind of inspired by monica gallagher from shameless :/ that's how i imagined how she would have acted when she was with the samsons!

also the scene w her father is very much inspired by the one w syd and her mom from ianowt because syd is literally jill. literally if jill had superpowers, she'd be blowing everyone up.

thanks for reading!