"I trusted you!" Aemilia cried, tears spilling forth from tired eyes, streaming wet trails down her pale cheeks as she glared fiercely at her two best friends.
"When you told me that everything was okay, when you said that there was nothing to worry about, that there was no supernatural shit going on around us," she continued, her small hands flailing out wildly as she made her point.
"When you said my dad was going to be okay," her voice broke at the word and she was completely unable to continue as a piercing sob broke through, racking her limber frame and making her slowly curl into herself. Her wracking sobs shook her small frame as she struggled vainly to regain control of herself.
"You said he would be okay," she exclaimed "but you lied! And you're lying now," she gritted her teeth angrily. "About my father's murder, you're lying."
"Amy—" Stiles started slowly, before his voice drifted off, his own warm brown eyes wet, unsure of what to say. He and Scott stood before her, with no quick response in mind, no placating answer to the unasked questions she was voicing. Scott too looked devastated and his muscular arms were lifted slightly, as though he wanted to protectively embrace his friend in her moment of sadness and vulnerability.
"We were supposed to go through this stuff together," Amy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, vibrant green eyes alighting with fire as she glared strongly towards her two companions. She seemed to stand taller than her actual height and for a moment, the two boys saw something flickering behind her.
"All three of us were appointed and you two had no right to shut me out," she stressed. It was supposed to be the three of them together, unswervingly united as one indomitable front against the horrors and supernatural beings that always encroached Beacon Hills. They were all entrusted with safeguarding their home.
"And now my father's d-d-dead." Once again her voice shattered as she stuttered over the word, but she stood as tall as ever and her angry eyes narrowed even further. Scott's body sank in guilt and Stiles flinched at the reminder of that horrible night and the trauma's they faced in those moments.
They had been desperately trying to protect her—she had already seemed so tired and was dealing with so much—when they started keeping things from her. And it had begun spiraling with more and more lies until it had finally culminated in this moment where she could no longer trust them or them her. If they spoke the truth now, there was every chance that she would seek revenge and attempt to murder her father's killer.
They didn't want that for her, to taint her hands with a crime so unforgiveable, or for her to murder someone who had no idea what they were doing.
But to not tell also appeared unforgiveable. Her father had been the victim and she, of all people, deserved an adequate answer regarding his murder. It could have so easily been their respective parents who died that night, also appallingly uninformed of the situation and just as defenseless. Luck had spared them—and they were so grateful—but not Amy's father.
What could they really say in this situation? Would anything they said help alleviate in any way all the hurt that she was surely feeling in this situation?
"Speak. Now," Amy commanded, murderous rage in her voice and completely enveloping her persona as she trembled with unparalleled fury.
The two boys remained devastatingly silent.
"So help me, speak now, or I will take the information by any means necessary!" She shrieked.
"Alright," Stiles gave in, placing his hands in the air as a sign of surrendering.
"Stiles," Scott protested weakly, shutting up before the glare of his female best friend.
"We've had some encounters with the supernatural that you don't know about," Stiles admitted.
"We were just trying to keep you safe," Scott interrupted as Amy scoffed with utter disbelief. Safe? She wanted to laugh humorlessly at the word. The last few months had been hell and she had felt anything but safe.
"We were trying to deal with things so you didn't have to get involved," Stiles defended, his expression imploring her understanding.
"We live in the same town within blocks of each other, we go to the same school, how much more involved did I need to be?" Amy asked sarcastically.
Reluctantly, the two gave in and began detailing the events as they unfolded unto the night her father was murdered.
