I lied on my bed and stared up at the roof, trying to decipher what had happened to make things go so wrong. Was it me? Was the curse that had haunted me in all the other places I had lived followed me here as well? I had been so happy just a few days ago, feeling as if I'd finally made friends who accepted me for who I was. But history never failed to repeat itself, and once again, things were too good to be true.

But this time, it wasn't my fault. It was that thing, that clown, that had broken us apart. If it hadn't had killed Georgie, made us see all these awful things, and almost killed us at the house on Neibolt Street, we'd still be friends.

Or would we?

If the clown hadn't have taken Georgie, then I would never have seen Bill with his paper boat and approached him. Bill would have never beckoned me over to sit with him at lunch time, and I would have never have met the rest of his friends.

No, I couldn't think that way. Nothing positive should ever be associated with that monster, regardless if, deep down, I knew it was true.

I had a terrible feeling in my stomach, something that ate at my insides at how wrong things were. Beverly was right; we were weak without each other. The only reason we had survived the encounter with It was because we were strong together, and that our individual strengths fuelled each other's. I didn't miss the look of fear on Its face before it fled into the well, and I knew it wasn't just because of the wound in its head. Considering all the things it had done in the past, it was more than capable of taking us down. But there was something about us being together that scared it and made it weak.

I had to convince the others. We were going to be picked off one by one if we didn't get to it before it got to us. Bill was right. Eddie's broken arm would be nothing compared to what the clown would do to us next. I could make them see reason. Surely they felt what I was feeling, that our separation wasn't right.

Suddenly, my bedroom door opened and my mum walked in with her lips pursed. She was wearing a pink maxi dress with a neckline that scooped so low I knew she'd get plenty of looks from men wherever she went.

"I don't appreciate having a bunch of teenagers running around my house and eating all my food." she said, a hand on her hip.

"Mum, we were inside for barely five minutes. I just needed to get some stuff, since the boy that you yelled at had broken his wrist!"

"I didn't ask what happened or for you to give an explanation." she snapped. "And obviously weren't hanging out with them to comple the list I gave you and make that money you owe me. Time's up, Lara."

I shook my head in disbelief. Ever since we'd arrived in Derry, my mum had been more awful to me than usual. I huffed, shaking my head. "You're still going on about that shit? What do I have to do to get it through that thick head of yours? I'm not like you. I don't want to spend the rest of my life selling my body to make a living. Do you even know what I want to do with my life?" I asked, but she didn't reply. "I want to be an artist. A real mum would know that, and a real mum wouldn't force her daughter to have sex!"

My mum took a step towards me, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Listen here, little miss too-good-for-everything. You should be grateful. I've blessed you with a pretty face and good body, the perfect ingredients for easy money. Of course, you're nothing compared to me, but with a little work... Look, by now, you'd be rich if you had just done what I'd told you to say! But no, you'd rather keep that precious little flower intact and remain oh so perfect. Well I hate to break it to you, but your dreams are unrealistic. You'll never be a famous artist because you have no talent. If you don't want to be living on the streets by the time you're twenty, I suggest you grow up."

I shook my head, tears of anger pooling in my eyes. "Money can't buy happiness mum, and your case proves that. You know, I used to think you were so fucked up because you didn't have a mother. But now, I've realised I'd be so much better without one." I slid off the bed and made towards the door. She grabbed my shoulder, stopping me, her sharp nails digging into my skin.

"Take that back." she hissed, the smell of her perfume making me want to choke. I shook my head. "I said take that back."

"No." I hissed, shrugging my shoulder out of her grasp and stepping back to glare at her.

"Fine." she replied, and kicked the door closed behind her. "I wanted to tell you this when you were in a better mood so I could avoid another one of your tantrums, but now I can see that this is inevitable."

"Nothing you say could possibly be worse than what you just did."

"Well, that's great! Start packing, because we'll be moving to a new town in three days."

My stomach dropped. "Y-you're lying." I stuttered. "You're just saying this because you're mad."

"No, it's true. I've already got the lease on another house. We'll be staying there for a long while."

"What, is Henry's dad sick of you already? Your dick-sucking skills not up to par anymore?" I spat, fuming.

"It's nothing to do with him, although that man was the biggest pig I ever met." she said. I wondered whether it was to do with how he treated me, but I squashed those hopes down because I knew they weren't true. "The men in Derry are too worried about being caught by their wives to do anything with me besides the quick fellatio. And those don't pay the bills."

"I hate you." I spat. "I've actually felt at home here. I've made friends, met a boy, and have been happier than anything you've ever done for me has made me feel!"

She laughed. "Oh, you've made friends? Please don't tell me they were the ones punching each other on the road just before, because they don't seem to be too friendly anymore."

I spluttered. "We were just... They were just-"

"Oh, and you've met a boy? Honey, with a body like yours, they're only after one thing."

I shook my head. "No, Patrick's different, he-"

"Let me guess. He tells you you're different from all the other girls, that you're the only one, that you're the realest person he's ever met, blah blah blah." she let out another laugh and I shrunk back from the sound. Because that did sound like Patrick. He did talk about how I was different, how I was real. And we spent most of our time together making out and doing other stuff, not talking. Did we even have a connection that wasn't just physical? Because now that I thought about it, I didn't know him well enough at all.

"Oh, you've figured it out, huh?" my mum smirked as she watched me. "Well, I'm heading out. No more friends over while I'm gone." she turned and opened the door before leaving the room, not bothering to close it behind her. I stared after her unmoving, smoke blowing out of my nose. It wasn't until I heard the car pull out of the driveway that I snapped.

I let out a scream and kicked the wall, the mirror falling to the floor with a smash. I stared at the broken bits of glass, my broken reflection staring back at me. A surge of anger swept through me at how, even with my face distorted in fury, I still looked beautiful.

I let out a sob and ran to my desk, tears streaming down my face. I picked up a bottle of paint and threw it at the wall, the plastic breaking and green splattering everywhere. I thought of all the friends I had lost because of my mum and threw another two bottles of paint at the same time. I thought of all the looks men had given me as they touched my body and wouldn't listen when I told them to stop. Brushes and pencils flew onto the floor.

And I thought of the clown - how it had taken Georgie and Patrick and would take my friends too. I grabbed the edge of the desk and pushed it over, landing on its side with a loud bang. Birds outside flew away in fright.

I stared at the mess I had made without really seeing it, my mind too full of pain and grief. I felt like my mind was torturing me, and I wanted it to stop. I wanted everything to stop.

I didn't see the shard of glass until it was in my hand, pressed against the soft flesh of my wrist.