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[ Her father hated it when she cried. She'd forgotten that after she left Derry, but the reflex to bottle it all in (or at the very least weep silently) never left her, like a part of her knew to brace for further punishment if she let her tears overwhelm her. So often it meant gritting her teeth in the moment and hiding in the bathroom behind a locked door in the aftermath. And Tom — well, she thinks he liked it when she broke in front of him. Took her silence for resilience; hated her defiance. Feared it. In the months since regaining her memories and breaking free of her marriage, Beverly's struggled to find the middle ground of who she is, rather than who she had to become to survive.

It's cathartic to let her emotions run free now, as ugly and messy as they are. Sometimes it's hard for her to let go. But over the phone and in the dark, it's easier. It's a fucking relief to know that her friends will take her for who she is after years of contorting herself to fit the rigid moulds of rigid men. Yeah, it means a lot that Dean's willing to stay on the line with her for this. No, she doesn't have the words to express the whole of the why. But he knows about Tom and he's heard a little about her father; and he sure as hell knows about the clown. That's enough for now.

Warmth blooms in her chest at hiya, Bev, full of soothing familiarity. The sound that hiccups out of her is almost a laugh. ]

Busy night for you, [ she teases with a twist of self-deprecation. ] Saving people left and right. [ Because what's this phone call if not a lifeline when she wakes up drowning? Her voice is still thick with tears, ner nose stopped up; she clears her throat, sighs through her mouth. ] You ever get a day when the phone stops ringing?

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