My Life is Horrific Chapter 19 — Back to School (Patreon)

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Survival Day 64

[Achievements:]

[Achievement Unlocked: Rated E for Everybody]

Pennywise may be an extra-dimensional demon who feeds on the fear of those before him, damning their souls to float in his garden of terror for all eternity. But he doesn't have these hands.

[Achievement Unlocked: The Classic Hero Cliché]

What do you get when you cross a handsome, heroic, kind main character with a lonely, abused, depressed girl who has just been saved? You get one hell of a complicated crush.

[Rewards:]

Advanced: Bak Mei

Hawk Eyes

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I woke up with a jaw-cracking yawn that I felt all the way down to my toes, stretching both arms over my head until my shoulders popped and my back arched off the mattress, for the first time in what felt like an eternity I actually felt rested.

Genuinely rested, the kind of sleep where you sink so far into the mattress that you even wonder if you can climb out. Though considering that for the past six days, I had been woken up every few hours by one or more supernaturally beautiful vampire women sinking their teeth into my neck or climbing on top of me to fuck the life out of me, it didn't seem that surprising.

The notification box was hovering patiently in my peripheral vision, I blinked it into focus and read through the contents while I lay there with my hands behind my head.

The achievements made me sigh. The first one was gratifying enough, nice to know the system acknowledged that I had gone toe to toe with Pennywise. But the second one was clearly about Beverly, and the way it was phrased made me feel equal parts guilty and uncomfortable, I had noticed the way she looked at me and I had been deliberately avoiding thinking about it because she was traumatised and clearly going through a bit of hero worship.

The rewards, however, were legitimately excellent.

Bak Mei. The name triggered an immediate cascade of recognition from my old life, not from any real-world martial arts knowledge but from a video game I had played obsessively called Sifu. The advanced skill level meant I now had the kind of proficiency that would have taken a dedicated practitioner years of daily training to achieve, and combined with the CQC skill I already had from the system, I was turning into a genuinely dangerous hand-to-hand combatant.

Hawk Eyes was more straightforward. My vision, which had already been twenty-twenty in this body, was now effectively tripled in range, meaning I could see clearly at distances that would require most people to use binoculars.

All in all, not bad for a day's work.

I swung my legs out of bed and padded over to the bathroom to splash water on my face, I was halfway through brushing my teeth that I glanced at the clock on the nightstand through the open door and realised I had overslept, not long after that the second realisation hit me like a bucket of cold water.

Beverly was staying here.

I spat toothpaste into the sink and rushed out of my room, nearly tripping over my own feet on the landing and catching myself on the banister before I could go headfirst down the stairs. I took the steps two at a time and rounded the corner into the main hallway, and that was when the smell hit me. Bacon. Eggs. Toast. Coffee.

I looked and saw Beverly was standing at the kitchen stove in one of the shirts from the bag I had brought her, an oversized flannel that came down to mid-thigh, her red hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail and her injured foot wrapped in the brace I had fitted the day before. She was moving carefully between the pan and the counter, a spatula in one hand, and when she heard me come in she turned and gave me a smile.

"Morning," she said. "It's nearly done, you can sit down and I'll serve you when it's ready."

I stood in the doorway for a moment, thrown by the domesticity of it all, before I shook my head and crossed to the table. "Beverly, I'm sorry, I slept way too long, I should have been up hours ago to check on you and make sure you were okay, you really don't have to do all this, you should be sitting down with that foot elevated, the swelling's not going to go down if you're standing on it—"

She turned back to the stove and flipped a piece of bacon. "It doesn't hurt as much today, it's way better than yesterday, and I wanted to do something to thank you." She paused with the spatula hovering over the pan, and her voice got a little quieter. "I saw the bag of clothes in my room this morning. The bag from my house."

She didn't look at me, but I could see the line of her shoulders tighten.

"You don't need to worry about him anymore," I said to her with a reassuring smile. "He's not going to bother you. He's not going to come looking for you. He's not going to call. That part of your life is done, Beverly, it's over, you don't ever have to go back to that house. You can stay here as long as you want, or if you've got family somewhere else, an aunt, a cousin, anyone, we can arrange that too. Whatever you want."

She set the spatula down slowly and stood there for a few seconds with her back to me. Then she turned around, crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around me so tightly that I felt her whole body shaking against my chest, her face pressed into my shoulder, her fingers gripping the back of my shirt like she was afraid I might disappear if she let go.

I put my arms around her and held her, one hand on her back. "It's going to be okay. I promise you. It's going to be okay now."

She stayed like that for a long time, not crying, just holding on and breathing, eventually the trembling slowed and then stopped and she loosened her grip just enough to tilt her face up toward mine. Her green eyes were bright and wet and very, very close, and the look in them was the same one I had seen in the sewer, the same soft, dazzled, desperately grateful expression. Her lips parted slightly and her chin tilted up and I could feel the moment building toward something that I absolutely could not let happen.

The phone rang.

'Thank you god!' I detached from Beverly so fast you would have thought she was made of hot coals, stepping backward and snatching the receiver off the wall mount.

"H-Hello?" I said my voice slightly cracking.

"Mr. Mitchell? Good morning, this is Principal Henderson from Derry High School. I hope I'm not calling at a bad time."

"No sir, not at all." I turned my back to Beverly and tried to slow my heart rate down through sheer force of will.

"Good, good. How are you doing, son? I know it's been a rough stretch for you, with your family and then that terrible business at the lakehouse, and I want you to know that the entire faculty has been thinking about you and hoping you're healing."

"I appreciate that, sir. I'm doing better."

"Glad to hear it, truly glad." There was then a bit of a pause on the line that ended with a sigh. "Now, I know you're not scheduled to return for a few more days yet, but I was hoping I could ask you to come in today if possible. Nothing strenuous, nothing academic, I just want you to sit down with a counselor we've brought in for the district so she can do a quick check-in and assess how you're feeling before you rejoin classes. It's standard procedure for students returning after extended absences due to trauma, and I want to make sure we're supporting you properly."

I leaned against the wall and suppressed a sigh. "Sir, I really don't think that's necessary, I'm feeling fine, I've been—"

"I understand, James, I really do, and I have no doubt you're handling things as well as anyone could. But I need to insist on this one. School policy, and frankly, I'd feel a lot better knowing a professional has given you the all-clear. It won't take long. An hour at most."

I closed my eyes and let the sigh out silently through my nose. "Yes sir. I'll be there."

"Wonderful. Thank you, James. We'll see you this morning."

I hung up the phone and turned around, then jumped about a foot in the air because Beverly was standing directly behind me, close enough that I nearly headbutted her. "Jesus, Beverly, you can't sneak up on people like that."

"Sorry." Though she didn't look sorry. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine, just the principal wants me to come in today and talk to some counselor before I'm allowed back in class." I rubbed the back of my neck. "You up for going to school today? You don't have to, you can stay here and rest if you want."

She thought about it for a moment, shifting her weight off the bad ankle, then shook her head. "No, I'll go. Sitting in this house alone all day would just make me think too much. School is fine."

"Alright. Let's eat this breakfast you made and then get ready."

...

We both ate, and it was genuinely good, the bacon was crispy and the eggs scrambled with cheese the way I liked them, then we went our separate ways to get dressed. I showered quickly, threw on a clean pair of jeans and a dark henley, ran a hand through my hair, and grabbed my jacket and keys. Beverly came down a few minutes later in a pair of jeans and a sweater from the bag, her hair brushed and her face freshly scrubbed.

We climbed into the Mustang and I fired the engine, pulling out of the driveway and onto the main road. Halfway to the school I glanced over at her.

"Hey, do me a favor. At some point today, go to the front office and tell them your home phone line got replaced and you have a new number. Then give them mine."

Beverly looked at me and nodded, understanding immediately what that meant, a clean paper trail that made my house her official contact address without anyone having to ask uncomfortable questions about why.

"Okay," she said quietly.

We reached the school in about ten minutes, and I swung the Mustang into the parking lot and killed the engine. "I'll pick you up after last period," I told her. "If you need anything before then, go to the office and have them call home."

"I will," she said as she smiled at me and then climbed out and limped carefully toward the school entrance, her brace visible under the hem of her jeans.

I took a breath, got out of the car, and headed for the main doors. It started the second I walked in. Every head in the hallway turned. Conversations died mid-word and were replaced by whispers that spread down the corridor like a wave that followed me step for step as I walked through the building.

I could hear fragments of it, half-sentences that cut off the moment I looked in their direction. It was the classics of course, his family died, all his friends died at the Lakehouse, blah blah blah. Nobody said a word to me directly, not only cause I'd probably punch them but I was also pretty popular.

In the end I just kept my eyes forward and kept walking.

I made it about halfway to the administration wing before a blonde IBM intercepted me.

And by that I meant Regina George stepped directly into my path with the kind of timing that suggested she had been watching me since I left my car and had timed her approach to the second. She was flanked as always by Gretchen and, both of whom hung back a half-step in their usual satellite positions, but Regina herself was already moving before I could open my mouth.

I readied myself for the slap or punch that she was no doubt going to throw at me.

"Aww, baby," she breathed, then she crashed into me with a hug so tight and so sudden that it drove me back a full step, her arms locking around my neck, her face buried against my chest, her entire body pressed against mine like she was trying to absorb me through osmosis.

"Oh my god, James, I was so worried about you, you have no idea, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I was literally sick thinking about what you were going through, are you okay, baby, are you eating, are you sleeping, you look thinner, have you lost weight, let me see your face—"

She pulled back just enough to grab my jaw with both hands and turn my head left then right, her eyes scanning every inch of my face for signs of damage or distress.

"You look tired. You need to eat more. Have you been taking vitamins? I'm going to bring you vitamins."

Gretchen swooped in next, wrapping her arms around me from the side in an ambush hug that trapped my left arm against my body. "We're so glad you're back, James, like, so glad, we literally talked about you every single day—"

Then Karen appeared on my other side and hugged me too, which turned the whole thing into a four-person embrace in the middle of the hallway that I had absolutely no idea how to extract myself from.

"I'm fine," I managed through the press of bodies. "Really. I'm okay. You guys don't need to worry about me."

Regina pulled back and fixed me with a look that made it very clear she did not accept that answer. "I wanted to come to your house so badly, James, you have no idea, but everyone kept saying you needed time to grieve and I should give you space and I was like, no, he needs me right now, but Gretchen's mom said I should wait and then Karen's sister said—"

"It's okay, Regina, really—"

"—but now that you're done with all that grieving stuff," she continued, steamrolling right over me, "I can finally come over whenever I want, right? Like, your house is free now, there's no parents, it's basically the perfect hangout spot—"

Gretchen's eyes lit up behind her. "Oh my god, yes, we could have the sickest parties there, like, your living room is huge, we could fit probably fifty people—"

Karen nodded enthusiastically. "And you have a pool, right? Or was that Tyler's house? Wait, who has a pool? Someone has a pool."

"Nobody has a pool," Gretchen whispered. "Tyler's dead, Karen."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

I could see this train of thought accelerating toward a destination I wanted no part of, so I put both hands on Regina's shoulders and gently created some distance between us. "Listen, I really appreciate you guys checking on me, I do, it means a lot. But I've got to get to the principal's office right now, I'm already running late for a meeting, and I cannot keep Henderson waiting."

Regina pouted, actually pouted, her lower lip pushing out in a way that I suspected had gotten her everything she ever wanted from every man she had ever met, but she let me go. "Fine. But I'm coming to your house this week."

"We'll talk about it," I said, which was politician-speak for absolutely not, and then I turned and walked very quickly toward the administration wing before she could follow.

...

The receptionist in the front office smiled at me with a sympathetic smile and buzzed me through to the principal's office where Henderson was waiting behind his desk. He stood up the moment I came in, came around the desk, and shook my hand with both of his.

"James. I'm so glad to see you. Really. I want you to know how sorry I am for everything you've been through. This school, this community, we're all behind you."

"Thank you, sir."

He nodded, still holding my hand for slightly longer than was comfortable, and then released it and gestured down the hallway. "The counselor is set up in Room 14, just down the hall on the left, she's expecting you. Anyway I won't keep you. And James, if you need anything, anything at all, my door is always open."

"I appreciate that."

I left his office and walked down the hallway until I found Room 14, a door with a small nameplate that read Counseling Services. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

It was a pretty nice room inside, there was a soft rug on the floor, a couple of comfortable-looking armchairs arranged facing each other, a table with a box of tissues and a small plant, and along one wall a bookshelf filled with what looked like a mix of children's books, psychology texts, and self-help titles arranged meticulously.

I drifted over to the bookshelf and picked up a book at random, some kind of grief workbook with a sunset on the cover, flipped through a few pages without reading any of them, and tossed it back onto the shelf.

"You know, you should really take more care when handling books that don't belong to you."

I jumped and spun around.

There was a girl sitting in one of the armchairs in the far corner of the room, small enough that I had completely missed her when I walked in. She was tucked into the chair with her legs folded neatly beneath her and a thick hardback book open in her lap that looked far too advanced for someone her age, which I estimated at about seven, maybe eight.

She closed her book carefully, using a proper bookmark rather than folding the page, and then set it down on the arm of the chair and climbed down. She then walked over to the bookshelf, pulled the small step ladder from the side, climbed up two rungs, and placed the grief workbook back in the exact spot it had come from, spine aligned perfectly with the others on the shelf.

"There," she said, stepping down. "Now people looking for it will be able to find it where it's supposed to be."

I blinked at her. "Sorry about that. Are you, uh, are you lost?"

She looked up at me with those large brown eyes. "No. I'm not lost."

Something about this kid was pinging something in my brain, a recognition that I could not quite place, like a word on the tip of my tongue that refused to form. I had seen this before. I knew this.

"This is a high school," I said. "And you don't look a day over seven."

"I'm seven and a half," she corrected me.

The déjà vu hit me like a freight train, so strong it made my head swim for a second.

But I couldn't think anymore on it as the door to the attached office opened and a woman stepped out. She was in her early to mid twenties, slender and pretty, with honey-brown hair pulled back in a loose bun and warm brown eyes behind a pair of delicate wire-framed glasses. She wore a modest floral dress and a cardigan that was slightly too large for her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for the wait," she said in a very soft voice as she crossed the room toward me with her hand extended. "You must be James Mitchell. I've heard wonderful things about you from Principal Henderson."

I paused for a moment, my brain still trying to place the child while simultaneously processing the woman in front of me. "Yeah," I said, taking her hand and shaking it. "That's me."

"Lovely to meet you, James. My name is Jennifer Honey. I'm the counselor assigned to this district."

She noticed that my eyes had drifted back to the girl, who was now sitting perfectly straight in the armchair again with her book reopened in her lap, and Miss Honey let out a small, slightly embarrassed laugh.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should introduce you. This is my daughter Matilda. Her school is out for the week for renovations so I've had to bring her along with me to work. She's very well-behaved, I promise she won't be any trouble. Matilda, say hello to James."

Matilda.

The name detonated in my head like a bomb.

Matilda. Miss Honey. The girl who could move things with her mind. The girl from the movie, the small genius with telekinesis who had been adopted by her teacher. Miss Honey was the teacher. Jennifer Honey. And Matilda, was sitting six feet away from me reading a book that was almost certainly several grade levels above what any seven-year-old should be capable of comprehending.

"I'm Matilda," the girl said, rising from the chair and walking over to me and extending her small hand upward for a handshake. "It's very nice to meet you, James."

I stared down at her for a moment too long, my brain cycling through a full-blown crisis at approximately a thousand miles an hour, and then I reached down and took her hand. The electric jolt that snapped through me the instant our skin made was familiar, the same live-wire crackle I had felt with Carrie and Wednesday and Claire and Mike, racing up my arm and bursting behind my eyes in a flash of white before fading just as quickly.

Another power.

Matilda did not seem to feel it. She simply shook my hand and nodded politely then returned to her chair.

Miss Honey smiled warmly and gestured toward the door of her office. "Well then, shall we get started, James? Come on through whenever you're ready."

(AN: So James now has Matilda's telekinesis added to the mix, which should give him a much stronger handle on his TK abilities going forward since Matilda's version in the film was far more controlled than Carries.. Also, Miss Honey is now in the picture, and Beverly is settling into her new living situation, and Regina George is planning to invade his house. Things are about to get very interesting. Hope you enjoyed.)