"It's okay, he doesn't have to talk about it. I just want to see him. See if - he still has that curly hair," Beverly let out a soft, quavery laugh, wiping at her face again. She was stubborn though, and she wasn't about to let Richie get away with never acknowledging what she knew was there - the darkness, and conversely the light, the night terrors and the fear. It was possible he hadn't talked about it with Eddie or Stan, so she was going to fill in that slot. Come hell or high water. And sure, working through the muck and mire would be a tough job, but she had the combat boots for it. Not to worry.
Coffee sounded good but she didn't know if she could keep anything down right now. Maybe later. When everything didn't feel like a washer load off balance inside of her. "Let's go home," she decided, taking Richie's hand again - with most people, Beverly recoiled from touch. But the Losers weren't most people. Not even on the same wavelength.
She loved them. They were all in love with each other, with everything about it. Innocence, the blind faith that children had in each other, in what they believed in - that was what had defeated IT the first time, after all.