Stiles … Stiles … Stiles!
He shot up in panic, panting. His heart beat so rapidly that he thought it would jump right out his chest - or explode. Painfully. Clenching his fist until he could feel the warm blood dribbling down between white fingers, he stared unseeingly at his blue covers, trying to control his breathing.
It wouldn't stop.
Trembling, he swung his legs out of bed and had to pause for a moment to let the world right itself as a wave of dizziness passed over him. His chest constricted as his sight blurred. The floor didn't seem cold at all to his naked feet.
… it was winter.
Shaking even harder he leaned down to touch his naked ankle and nearly flinched at the cold clammy skin; only months of experience subverted the natural reaction with trained practice. He hadn't been warm in a long time.
Not since the Nogitsune.
Not since this … this ridiculous copy of his own body had been created and he had been forced into it.
… Stiles hadn't been able to warm up, to make the dull ache in his bones fade away. He had been cold, frozen, ever since that day; caught in a gray world of pain and ice – ice that had settled in his very bones. Waking up felt like a shore, acting normal like freaking torture. On most days, he wanted nothing more than to curl up beneath his sheets and sleep until the warmth managed to penetrate his skin.
Not that anyone noticed.
Stiles … Stiles … Stiles!
" Stop it!", he whimpered, desperately clutching his head with both hands.
Stop it.
He just wanted that fucking voice to stop!
Trembling.
It was something Stiles had gotten used to – had to get used to.
A fine tremor run through his body, never leaving him. It was always there, not even hiding. Always there, lurking …
Especially in his shaking hands.
After all that had happened to this messed-up body, it was easier to concentrate on something small like a stubborn tremor. At least if he fixated on that he wouldn't have to be so disturbed by his own reflection. A loathsome deceiving reflection he avoided like the plague – it only showed a failing carcass.
Skeletal shell, bones showing in edges and corners.
White skin, cold and paper-thin stretched over brittle bones.
… not a single scar to be seen …
Shaking his head Sties hurried to throw on some clothes – enough clothes to hide his hollow frame – all the while ignoring the mocking mirror and headed slowly down, careful not to be too fast or jerking in his movements; nausea and even more dizziness really weren't on his agenda for the day.
Luckily, his father wasn't there to give him those damn disappointed eyes that just screamed "Where did I go wrong with you?"…
… it was a familiar look … nowadays even more so … if he even got to meet his dad, that is … what with him never being there ...
… for a sheriff, his father really needed to learn how to avoid someone without being oblivious about it.
At least being alone at home meant that no one would force him to have breakfast or take lunch with him; and at school, no one would comment on his empty tray, too busy with trying to avoid looking at him – he could understand that. Looking the monster that killed your friends and lovers in the face must be agonizing. Stiles couldn't even imagine … but as much as it hurt and just drove the truth of his unforgivable sins home, it also proved to be a helpful diversion, allowing him to forgo meals without interference. Already entertaining the mere thought of swallowing food brought acid bile welling up his throat and increased his tremor. Taking a deep breath helped only marginally.
It felt like he was choking on air. Nothing appealed to him anymore. Nothing. He knew it wasn't physical. It was psychological, he knew that, knew how unhealthy his actions were, but … he would not …
… no. He would not sustain the Nogitsune's last trick.
Coldness. Emptiness. Brittleness. Loneliness.
The Nogitsune had left nothing for him to cling to. It had taken his family, his friends, his hopes, dreams and self-esteem. And in its wake, it left a wreck. A body savaged by the desire to be punished, a boy punishing his body, feeling like he wasn't real, not himself, one last cruel trick left behind to destroy even more. It left a child that was drowning in loneliness and fear, that wanted nothing more than to reconnect with friends and family only to flinch back when opportunities turned up, too afraid of his own mind and body, of his blood-stained hands, heart and mind darkened by the tormenting belief that after all the strife, chaos and havoc he wrecked, nothing good should happen to him.
And he couldn't see the real trick. He couldn't see that the fear that encased him, the slow breaking of his heart and mind, were truly what the fox had desired.
He wasn't after Stiles friends or family … he was after Stiles.
And he was winning.
Because Stiles destruction from within was truly the Nogitsune's last and greatest trick.
~The End.~