Quick introduction:
I really don't like the idea of my OC's being boring to the story line or an extra who just takes some of the lines and has no real effect in the fic. Because of this I tend to make my characters in depth and complicated in order to make he fic more exciting. So, be patient in this as it may not seem like much but I'm paying a lot of attention to the details of the plot so when it might seem weird or irrelevant just trust me that it's leading somewhere. The progress bar on my bio will be updated on a regular basis so visit that if you want to know what's happening. I really like reviews and hearing what you like so that I know what you want so DON'T BE AFRAID TO REVIEW!
This chapter and the next two (which I have already written) will be long as they set it up. This fic and the pairing OC/Stiles isn't exactly slow burn but the relationship will develop realistically but that doesn't mean that it will be without angst and are-we/aren't we moments.
I've only proof-read it once so if there are mistakes please forgive me!
- And I know Romey is a weird name but I like it and it has meaning so leave it. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters
The steady thudding of my sneakers hitting the dark earth at a constant pace is one of the most comforting sounds that has ever graced my ears. This and the balanced rise and fall of my heartbeat reassures me that I am in control.
The forest surrounding Beacon Hills has been my running track for years now: ever since I sought to find an alternate way to vent rather than taking it out on baseball bats. The first time I slipped on my running gear and pounded the pavement I could only run for about half an hour before a stitch in my side got the better of me, now I can go for miles without stopping and I no longer dread the times when I have to exercise- instead I crave it. More recently, especially since the first day back at school has been looming menacingly over my head, I've been waking up in a cold sweat, scared out of my mind of an unnameable assailant. My legs are restless as they bounce up and down, taken over by a nervous twitch, my hands shake with a desperate need to grab hold of something and hold on tight, and my mind howls with the urge to break free from the dark four walls and escape.
Late into the night when the moon is the only light that illuminates the path from my small house and to the trees and the dirt that have become my home, I tie up my sweat soaked hair, climb out of my window- being careful not to wake up the parents who lie asleep and unaware that their daughter is venturing outside –and command my legs to start and not stop until my mind quiets down and relaxes.
My run takes me from the outskirts of town to the inner depths of Beacon Hill's woods. I don't go further than the small spring of water that acts as a barrier for the usual hiker's trail to the few wild animals that roam through the trees and bushes.
However, tonight's nightmare was different from the usual killer clowns and never-ending mazes. Tonight, the evening before the new term begins, I just had to dream about that night.
Due to all of the pent up emotion, when I reach the cool spring of water that await the wading in and relaxing of my body I don't feel ready, there was still so much more that I need to get rid of. So I carry on, without acknowledging the aching pain in my side or the metallic taste in my mouth, nearing the darker depths of the woods.
Refusing to wear headphones when running alone in the dark is a wise decision that nobody should find difficult to make as it prevents you from hearing the reassuring noise of sweet silence- giving acceptation to the occasion owl and the whistle of my icy breath escaping my now cold and chapped lips. Another superb reason why not wearing headphones is that I am clearly able to hear the hushed whispers of others nearby.
If I was a cartoon character, I would have comically skidded to a halt and yet (instead) I clumsily trip at the sudden stop that my legs perform. I grab a nearby tree trunk to prevent my fall and open my throat wider so that my exhausted panting comes out quieter.
Why didn't I just stop at the spring? I mentally scold myself, giving the irrational part of my mind a good shake. The one time I decide to venture further than the relative safety of the spring I end up running into potential murderers or members of a Satanic cult which is never a good thing- and there are people that question my solitude and my absence when it comes to pep rallies and collectivised, ritualistic religions.
When my heart beat slows to a pace where the oud thudding of my heart no longer pulses to my ears, I listen in as I hear the crunching of feet on leaves paint the path that the strangers take. They walk right past me, heavy footed and clumsy, completely unaware of their surroundings. The two (yes, two sets of feet), don't even bother whispering, therefore letting me into the conversation which I highly doubt they wanted anyone to hear.
"Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?" Murderers. Definitely murderers. I tense up at the voice and frantically look around for somewhere to hide or something sharp and dangerous to protect myself with. There's nothing but a steep hill which the potential killers are heading for. I swear under my breath as a thousand and one things run through my mind, one of which is the thought that they might hear me if I try to run.
"Huh." Exclaims the other, who seems to be the leader as he holds the torch and pilots the way, "I didn't even think about that." He laughs, as if severing someone in half was a regular occurrence and he just happened to forget which half he left behind.
I think I'm going to be sick.
"And, uh, what if whoever killed the body is still out there?" As the words reach my ears I thank my questionable luck for the small favour that is bestowed upon me. These thrill seekers were not murderers! Just idiotic boys that want to see a murdered body. Yeah, they must be totally harmless.
"Also something I didn't think about." Morbid interest thoroughly peaked, I zone into my wallflower mode and carefully creep behind them, stealthily using the technique that my brother taught me- walk with your feet coming down sideways, at an angle. They don't hear me or see me as I follow the glow of the torch.
Getting closer, I can see them a bit more clearly. The apparent leader has what seems to be an athletic build- actually they both do –but the figures are mostly hidden under the coats and jumpers that come as a necessity for surviving the Beacon Hills weather. The torch holder's hair seems short and dark but the only thing I can see from his partner in crime is the moppy tuft of hair that's protruding from his hood.
They reach the foot of the hill and begin to climb, with me following from a safe distance.
"It's comforting to know you've planned this out with your usual attention to detail." Pants the moppy haired boy who lags behind his eager friend who groans in agreement, reaching the top of the hill and bending over as though he's just run a few laps of the school's track field. "Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight, huh?" I want to laugh at the sarcastic banter that flies easily between the two, showing their close friendship. It's one of the only thinks that I miss about having friends: knowing that there is nothing you can say or do that will damage the relationship.
Suddenly, the pair falls to the ground with a thud. I step up the hill slightly to get a better look at what caused the boys to start army crawling as though their lives depended on it. The sound of barking dogs now join the list of things that have ruined my once beautiful silence.
"Hey, come on!" The non-asthmatic shouts, jumping up enthusiastically and taking off in the opposite direction to the police.
"Stiles!" His friend wheezes before taking a puff of his inhaler and following miserably after his friend. I kind of feel bad for him, having to run pathetically after someone that doesn't understand how difficult it is to not be able to control your own breathing like others can. "Stiles!"
Then it hits me. Stiles. Stilinski. Meaning that his partner has to be the one and only Scott McCall. It's actually not all that surprising that the two unofficially-but-officially named 'bench warmers' are out looking for a severed body. I have nothing against them, just that they are both pretty odd- even for me.
As this hasn't been my night for wise choices, I don't entirely blame myself when I run after them, easily catching up to a safe distance with my experience in athletics and their… inability to climb a small hill without getting worn out. Unfortunately, being out of hearing range isn't enough as Siles halts for Scott to catch up. I suppose he sees me running after him and his friend as he does a double take, his head tilting in confusion as to why I'm in the woods at this time of night. Our eyes meet, his brown ones full with questions and my blue irises sparkling with the mischief that I'd lost a long time ago. I rest one finger on my puckered lips. He understands the signal but sill opens his mouth to shout. Alas, he doesn't get a chance to call me out as an officer's god starts to bark loudly, startling Stiles to the ground and Scott and I behind separate trees.
Holding my breath, I pray that I don't get caught- there have been too many reasons as to why I will regret this nigh and waking up in a holding cell charged with breaking curfew, trespassing and possible stalking is not going to be one of them.
"Hang on, hang on!" Says an officer, who holds the dog back from eating Stiles' face, "This little delinquent belongs to me."
So, Stiles' father is a police officer which explains how he knew about the body.
"Dad, how are you doing?" Stiles replies casually as if they were sitting down for a nice family meal. His dad obviously doesn't buy i: I can feel his disapproving glare.
"So, do you listen to all of my phone calls?"
"No… not the boring ones." I barely manage to stifle a laugh, imaging the unamused look on his father's face.
"Now, where's your usual partner in crime?"
"Who. Scott?" Stiles replies, pretending to be baffled at the idea that he'd be anywhere with Scott, which is funny considering that the two probably shower together. "Scott's home. He said that he wanted to get a good night's sleep for the first day back at school tomorrow. It's just me. In the woods. Alone."
"Scott, you out there?" His dad shouts, shining the torch along the perimeter like a search light. "Scott?" Receiving no reply, the torch switches off and I breathe a sigh of relief. "Well, young man, I'm gonna walk you back to your car." The voice starts to fade as father drags son off into the distance. "And you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called 'Invasion of Privacy'."
When the coast is clear, I realise that thunder has been sending warning signs for an impending storm and the chattering of my teeth and the Goosebumps on my unusually pale arms tell me that if I'm not careful I'll freeze to death. Feeling thoroughly regretful of ever coming out tonight, I resign to head back the way I came and just try to get as much sleep possible despite not having run enough to make my mind unafraid of the darkness. I tread carefully, on alert of other polices and wary of branches or brambles that could make me fall. I can tell Scott isn't very far behind as I can hear his heavy footsteps. Only soon it's not just his feet, it's a whole herd.
I hear his cry and spin around to run back on impulse. Deer bound and leap above him, every hoof narrowly missing crushing his skull. I sprint back, not bothered by the fact that my night time stalking would be discovered.
"Scott!" I shout, trying to gain his attention and scare the deer away only he doesn't hear me over the stampede. Edging a bit closer, I wait until the last one has galloped away before rushing over to him and checking if he's been brutally trampled. "Scott, are you okay?" I ask as I land beside his shocked form.
Looking up at me weirdly, a small squeak comes from his throat he manages a frightened, "Romey Ziel? What are you doing here?"
I grab his hand pulling him up to his feet and watch him wipe his muddy hands on his trousers.
"Running. Which I think is an excellent answer considering yours would be something along the lines of 'Oh, you know, just looking for a mutilated body in the middle of the night."
"T-touché," He coughs and splutters, "Sorry, but…" Wheezing horrifically, he abandons speaking and reaches for his phone, switching on the flashlight and shining it at the ground.
"Oh right, uh, your inhaler." I join the search. His eyebrows arch slightly at my knowledge of his health conditions, but I wasn't about to tell him that I'd been following him for the last twenty minutes.
We stay in silence as we spend the next few moments searching for the small piece of plastic. Being without any source of light, it was more difficult to see where I was looking but I somehow managed for the most part. Until I felt cold, dead, rotting flesh amongst the cold, dead, rotting leaves.
As soon as my fingers brushed the body, I could feel my dinner rise in my throat along with a piercing scream. Both came out at once. I clutch my stomach, feeling the panic attack start to creep into my blood and my nerves, setting them on fire. The fear and the numbness comes spilling back as I look into the stone eyes of the victim. Jesus, I swear that you can see Hell in a dead person's eyes. Falling to my knees, I cover my mouth in hopes to stop the next scream.
I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing a dead body.
Scott fumbles over to me, the question on his throat being replaced by his own sound of fear. Stumbling backwards, Scott falls in panic and ends up crashing down the same hill that we came up.
"Scott!" I shout, finding the strength to get up and half-crawl/half-spring over the edge. I watch horrified as he tumbles violently downhill, his back colliding with a tree before he smacks against the hard dirt with a painful thud, "Jesus, are you okay?"
There is a moment of tense silence where I fear that he's been knocked out. I begin to work out a safe passage to him when my thoughts are interrupted by the dreadful roar of a very frightened asthmatic.
"RUN!" The frantic cry is quickly followed by a terrifying growl. A cry of pain comes next before I hear what seems like a desperate fight breaks out between Scott and whatever is down there with him. And then, quieting out everything else as it pierces that black night, creating a dreadful atmosphere and shaking my innards, is a howl.
I don't run. I sprint.
Maybe I can catch up to the police, the bones in my legs vibrate from the force I'm using to push them at the speed they're going as they head towards the parking lot.
I don't know how fast I'm going but I make it to my car in record time, throwing myself in the bug and gripping hard onto the steering wheel.
My shallow breaths take a while to slow down and when they do I don't know how much time has passed but I know that leaving without Scott is not an option. I may be scared to fall asleep but I'm not a coward: I close my eyes anyway.
Stepping on the gas, tyres screeching I start to drive back to the place where I left him, I slow at areas, looking out of the window and squinting my eyes. There's nothing. No sign of him or whatever had attacked him.
I swiftly turn the corner, ready to park again and look for him on foot when a limping figure appears in front of my headlights. I swerve to a stop, almost crying in relief when I see Scott okay… badly injured but okay.
"Jesus, Scott! Get in." I call out of my window. His pained face turns towards me and I can see clearly the browns of his irises, the straight but uneven jawline and even the tired bags under his eyes that contrast with his tanned skin. When he just stares I lean over and open the passenger door. "We need to get you to the hospital," My eyes skim down his for and land on the pool of blood on his shirt, "before you bleed out."
Nodding slightly, he limps into the passenger's seat and winces as he sits. My eyebrows furrow in confusion.
"What happened out there? From the sound of it I was half expecting to find the top half of your body."
"I don't know. I think…" I press on the acceleration and begin to drive towards the county hospital not bothering to check my mirrors knowing that all I'll see is empty road and a nearly full moon reflecting off the glass, "I think it was a wolf."
...
"Rome!"
My eyelids shoot open to stare at the ceiling of my bedroom, light shining through the curtain, piercing my eyes and causing my raw, dry throat to elicit a groan. My mom stands at the end of my bed, holding up a glass of apple juice in one hand and my pills in the other. Anne Ziel is your typical suburban mom; shoe loves wearing jean pencil skirts and constantly worries about her kids; she has regular hair appointments to touch up the barely there grey hairs with an artificial but natural looking hazel; and she loves, and I mean loves, red wine.
I sit up slowly, still shaky from last night, and reach for the cocktail of uppers and anti-psychotics. I swallow them down, wincing at the size of the mix. Normally, I take them down one-by-one but today was just not feeling like my day.
"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?" My mom has her usual parental face on and waits expectantly for me to give her a full recount of last night; starting from when I was, "stupid enough to leave without telling anyone" (her words, not mine); and ending with getting picked up by my dad from the hospital where I had to tell the police whereabouts I found the body.
Swinging my legs over the bed I stretch, feeling the aches and pain all over my muscles.
"Can we do this later please? I want to get to school early so that I can talk to Coach about the upcoming track meet." Normally, that wouldn't have worked (my mom is a fan of giving lectures, no matter how long they might end up being) but instead she just nods, opens my curtains and leaves. Usually that's a massive warning sign for me to start apologizing but I have bigger problems to deal with. Like getting through the day.
Getting ready is not at all time consuming- slipping on some worn jeans and one of my brothers old tees doesn't take much effort. I tend to dry my lengthy brown hair straight to the slight wave its gets when I sleep is okay to go to school with. I don't even bother looking in the mirror before I leave, knowing that I'll see an athletic looking girl, still harbouring a little baby fat that doesn't seem to budge, wearing clothes that are too big for her and shoes that are falling apart. But her eyes are pretty despite not wearing makeup- light blue and glossy. And all that's fine.
My breakfast of raisins and coffee are taken in the front seat of my Volkswagen Bug, my tatty schoolbag thrown uncaringly on the passenger's seat. Driving to Beacon Hills High School was close to being physically painful. Fortunately, people had stopped staring at me like I was a crazy witch with a hooked nose and a giant wart last year. Parking in a spot close to the front doors, I take a deep sigh and pray that nobody knows that I was the one that found the body last night because, like I said, I'd only just stopped being labelled as a witch.
Heading straight for the girl's locker room, I swap my jeans and top for the running shorts and he red and black team top that I keep in my cubicle. I slide off my flip-flops and shove on some ankle socks, quickly tying up the laces of my running shoes. Checking the clock, I've got about half an hour before I need to have a shower and head to class. I waste none of it.
I hit the playing field hard, running in laps around the whole of the lacrosse pitch. Last night still had me riled up. It turns out that Scott got bit pretty badly and is lucky that the thing didn't take off a whole arm. On the way to the hospital he said that it was a wolf that bit him, but everybody knows that we only get coyotes and the occasional mountain lion down here, but he swears that that was what he saw, so I went along with it despite my suspicions that it was something else- I don't think that even a wolf can growl like that thing did.
I get about eight laps done before I begin to see more and more students begin to enter the school. I do another two, making sure that I'm working hard enough that sweat drips down my forehead (in a very attractive way) and my legs feel as though they're going to come off. My throat is so raw from my haggard breathing that it tightens with every step.
"ZIEL!" Somebody shouts from the bleachers. I allow myself to slow into an easy pace so that I begin to cool down. My head whips towards the voice. Coach stands there in all his middle-aged. Beer-bellied glory, holding a batch of lacrosse sticks, staring at me with his brows narrowed.
"Morning Coach. How was your summer?" I greet through strained breath.
"Jesus Christ, Ziel! Slow down, I don't want you dead for the meet! Go and hit the showers before I come over there and kill you myself."
Giving him a thumbs up, I slowly jog back to the changing room where I go through the rushed process of showering, dressing and drying my hair. By the time I'm finished, I'm gagging for a drink but have no time to stop at a water fountain when I look at the clock and see that I've got two minutes to get to English.
I practically jog to the other side of the school, nearly losing a flip flop on more than one occasion. I spin around the corner expecting to find the open doorway to the classroom but instead I collide with a body that makes an incredibly startled and girly sound on impact.
Looking up, an apology is already on my lips when Stiles Stilinski beats me to it.
"Romey Ziel! What a coincidence that we just, uh, bumped into each other, we-we were just looking for you." I look behind him to see Scott who smiles at me warmly. I sigh, anticipating that they'd want to talk to me, and walk into the classroom just before the bell goes.
I slide into my usual spot, the one I've had for every English lesson since junior year (located in the back corner), and take out my notebooks and a fresh copy of Metamorphosis. As the teacher isn't here yet, Scott and Stiles stand next to my desk. As it isn't pitch black, like it was last night, I can see them both clearly. Apart from being the same height and build, but Scott being just a bit smaller, the pair look completely different. While Stiles sports the short cut of hair, Scott's looks like it's never been groomed; where Stiles has a milky white skin tone, Scott is tanned; Stiles lacks social confidence, Scott lacks academic abilities. And yet, with the countless personality and physical differences, these two could be brothers. There is no disputing that.
"Surely you've heard it all from Scott, but I'll just say the same thing to you that I said to the police." I shift uncomfortably, not liking the idea that of being interrogated by these two. "I was out for a run, like I usually am when I can't sleep, I hear you both talking about a body and I get curious. Long-story short I found the top-half of girl." I wince when the image of her cold dead eyes flash in my mind, "and then Scott gets attacked by a wolf, I run to my car and find him walking blindly into the road. I pick him up, take him to the hospital and here we all are. End of story." I think Stiles was expecting something more exciting and novel worthy as he looks at Scott with an expression that accuses him of making me out to be more exciting than I am. "Can you leave me alone now, please?"
Before they can say anything, the teacher enters and orders everyone to their seats and I thank all things good and holy that the two boys do as they're told. However, Stiles takes the seat directly in front of me whilst Scott takes on of the remaining two at the center of the classroom.
"As you all know," the teacher begins, writing the topic title on the board 'KAFKA'S METAMORPHOSIS'. "There indeed was a body found in the woods last night." I shift in my chair and swallow something big. "And I'm sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened." My eyes flicker to the classmates who seem unaffected by the news and almost laugh at how far off the mark he is, "but I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody," Scott turns to his best friend for answers but the only reply he gets is an unknowing shrug, "which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus which is on your desk outlining the semester."
There is a collective groan as students start to read the horrors that lay ahead of them. I try to do the same but am stopped by Stiles spinning around in his seat and staring at me whilst cogs spin in his mind.
"So, this disgusting, mutilated corpse," He really doesn't leave anything to the imagination, "What was it like?"
"I don't want to talk about it," I hiss, looking him in the eyes, "but it was enough to give anyone nightmares."
His eyebrows rise.
"Did you have nightmares?" I open my mouth, then close it when I can't think of an appropriate response. I decide to tell the truth, thinking that he'll get so freaked out that he'll leave me alone for good.
"Every time I close my eyes."
Unsurprisingly, Stiles stares at me with an expression that says, 'you're crazy' but still, he doesn't turn back around.
"Romey, right? C-can I call you Rome? I'm gonna call you Rome." I don't bother interrupting, just let him speak what's on his mind, "Why don't you talk? It's funny, I-I think this is the first time I've heard you speak more than a few words, which usually are 'Can', 'I', 'be' and excused." He's waffling. Nervous, probably.
I think carefully about my answer. I could either go with what I tell the guidance counsellor when she asks the same thing (which is, "I don't feel comfortable") or what I really feel. Stiles Stilinski doesn't seem like the type to be a guidance counsellor.
"I talk all the time. There's just not a lot of people listening when I do." He's about to say something (probably something sarcastic and witty that will undermine the way I feel) when the teacher deliberately coughs taking Stiles' attention and giving him a warning to turn around or face the consequences.
Looking down at the syllabus, I try to focus but there's a little tick in my mind that tells me that I've made a mistake by giving these two boys the impression that they can interact with me. The classroom door opens and the vice principle walks in accompanied by a slim brunette girl who captures the attention of the room, especially the attention of a certain mop-headed McCall.
"Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome." Short and sweet. He leaves, leaving Alison to take the only available seat behind Scott, who seems more than happy at the new arrangement.
"We'll begin with Kafka's Metamorphosis on page 133" The teacher resumes, signalling that it is now the time for me to return into the isolated state that I have grown accustomed to.
...
"You've got to be kidding me." Axel, my German Sheppard, saw them before I did and bounded over in the hope of making new friends. My eyes follow him as he runs into Scott and Stiles, causing me to run after him.
Getting home from school, Axel had greeted me at the door with his lead hanging from his mouth and a look in his eyes that I couldn't refuse. Plus, I had the itching temptation to go back to the place where I found her. So, I took him into the woods, feeling a creepy sense of Deja-vu as I drove past the spot where I found Scott bleeding half to death. We'd been walking in one direction for about fifteen minutes before Axel ran off to greet the two boy wonders and opened me up to a really awkward situation. I had managed to avoid them for the rest of the day despite knowing that each of them had looked for me at least once, and now my damned dog had ruined it all.
But I still love him.
They looked pretty harmless, as in they weren't looking for dead bodies, and I only manage to catch something about melting silver and something about this Friday before Axel and I get to them.
The dog runs straight for Stiles who falls over in shock with a high-pitch, "AAAH-", when he realises it's just a dog however, he becomes quite happy to let Axe lick his face whilst Scott just laughs.
I snort, young love.
"Hey, boy! Aw, you're so handsome," Stiles coos my dog as though Axe is a baby whilst I come running up to join them, "and who do you belong to?"
"Me." Both boys look at me shocked and more than a little suspicious.
"You know," begins Scott, "I'm starting to think that you're stalking us."
"Give me a break. It's not like I'm taking pictures of you while you change or watching you sleep." There's a moment of silence.
"Are you?" They both ask at the same time, proving how in-sync they are, yet whilst Scott is worried, Stiles sounds more… intrigued?
"No!" I cry, scrunching up my face as though the idea that I find either of them worth obsessing over is preposterous. "Don't be stupid."
"Then what are you doing here, hm?" Stiles asks.
I gesture to my dog that he's busy gushing over and stroking lovingly.
"What do you think?" To further prove my point, I reach into my parka's coat pocket and pull out the used poo bag that I haven't had the chance to get rid of and throw it so it lands right beside him.
Scott and I can't help but laugh as his best friend yells and jumps up, making retching sounds like he's going to throw up.
"Ugh! Okay, okay I believe you!" He exclaims, moving around like he's trying to shake off phantom dog poop or something.
When my laughter subsided I pose the same question to them, and quite simply, Scott says, "We're looking for my asthma pump." He looks down at the area we're standing in, "And I could've of sworn this is where I dropped it"
A shiver crawls up my spine as I look around the familiar looking space. My eyes roam over the leaves, looking for the logs and the trees that I can remember from yesterday. They land on a space near a bush and I freeze. This was it. This was the place that I last saw her, dead and cold and frighteningly ominous.
"We saw the body, the deer came running, and I dropped my inhaler." Scott crouches to sift through the leaves but I don't pay attention, all I can see is the memory of her eyes.
"Maybe the killer moved the body." Stiles suggests, patting Axel's head. A pair of booted feet enter my line of vision and as my eyes travel upwards I see the boots are connected to back jeans then to a black t-shirt and then to a black leather jacket and finally up to an incredibly intimidating and serious male. So intimidating that I reach into my pocket and wrap my hand around the can of mace that I carry around with me. When I meet his eyes something frightening happened and I see the girls dead body flash in my mind, but instead of it begin in this bush, she's buried six-feet under, and I subconsciously take a step back.
"If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like 80 bucks-"
"Guys." The pair turn to me, I nod my head in the stranger's direction and they follow my gaze.
Seeing him, Stiles pulls his friend to a standing position and looks around nervously, shoving his hands inside of his pockets. Looking at Scott, he isn't the only one that's wary of this new guy.
When he sees that he has our attention, he strides over and for a split second I thought he was going to pull out a gun. That's how unapproachable this guy is.
"What are you doing here?" Upon hearing his voice, Axel whimpers and hides behind Stiles' legs which makes me feel unloved but this is definitely not the time to be jealous. "Huh?" He prods, "This is private property."
"Uh, sorry man, we didn't know." Stiles rubs his head, showing how uncomfortable he is.
"Yeah, we were just looking for something, but…" Either Scott was about to say 'inhaler' or 'severed body' but the look that the man/boy gave us said that he wasn't going to be satisfied with either response. "Uh, forget it."
The man/boy reaches into his pocket and quickly chucks something at Scott, walking away immediately after. In Scott's open palm lies an inhaler. His inhaler.
"Axel," I whistle and the dog comes trotting over, whimpering and looking cowardly. I suppose he feels the same thing we all did- that the man/boy isn't whole. I squat and hold his head to my chest, trying to calm him. "Who was that?"
"That was Derek Hale." Replies Stiles, "You don't remember him? He's only like a few years older than us."
I shake my head, I've been living in Beacon Hills for four years and I don't remember seeing anyone so on edge. I begin to put Axe's lead back on, more than ready to get the Hell out of here.
"Scott, do you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"His family. They all burned to death in a fire, like, ten years ago."
As the words reach my ears images of screaming and smoke and bodies being burned from the inside out sear my mind, so potent that I can almost smell the repugnant stench of burning flesh and taste the grim deaths on my tongue. An involuntary tear rolls down my cheek as I see hands desperately reaching out of a basement's barred window, trying desperately to reach air.
"Come on." Scott resigns, and the pair begin to walk off.
"Rome, you coming?" Asks Stiles. Turning red, I eagerly begin to wipe my cheeks hoping that they don't see the unshed tears resting heavily on my eyes.
"Um, no. I'm gonna make sure that Axe has finished all his business." I tug on the end s of my hair, as I lie- by the size of the crap that I threw at Stiles earlier I wouldn't be surprised if the dog didn't need the toilet for the next week.
Stiles watches as I pull on my hair but walks off without saying anything.
I couldn't tell them the truth: I couldn't say that when I looked into Derek's eyes I saw them, saw them looking down at the buried body of the poor girl who was torn in half. I couldn't tell them how much that frightened me, how much I never wanted to look at a dead body again. And how I feel like having even the most insignificant relationship with them will force me to do just that.
Axel and I take the long route on the way back to the car, walking along the edge of the forest, by the road instead of cutting through the woods. The sun was due to disappear completely over the horizon and I mindlessly watch trees sway in the wind as my thoughts wandered off into the realms of my family. My mom, my dad, my brother, spending summers on the beach and forcing down my dad's rhubarb and sprout casserole and playing with my dolls despite the discontent all three of them felt about the idea. It was the four of us for a very long time, and then we got Axel.
We've had Axe for long enough to be comfortable with him not having to wear a lead the whole time that we're waking, as he's always stayed next to us. Consequently, I was able to get lost in my endless thoughts without having to worry about him running off. I was also unable to notice his erratic, uncharacteristic behaviour that cause him to go into the road, neither did I notice the car run straight into him.
The screeching of tyres, pulled me out of my own mind and back into the real world. My neck flips over to the source of the sound, fear striking up my spine when I see Axel lying on the floor in front of the now stationary car. I scream and run over to him, kneeling beside him at the same time the driver gets to him. I stroke his face, beginning to cry in a mixture of shock and relief as his eyes are open and moving.
I'm starting to really hate how this freaking year is going.
"Oh boy!" I beg, stroking the space above his heart in an effort to soothe him, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't paying attention."
I hear a pair of feet running over and look up to see the new girl, Allison, staring down at us with tears and rain falling down her cheeks. Its then that I realise the rain that's pouring down and sitting in it isn't going to help Axe.
"Help me!" I shout, making her jolt into bending down and joining me in carefully picking him up.
"Um, we'll put him in my car. I can take you to the vet."
"Yeah, well it's the least you ca do." I say through a shaky laugh, my voice hitching at the end of the sentence as I hiccup back more tears.
We manage to get him into the trunk of the car without hurting him further. I don't bother talking to the dog-killer as I think the death glare I gave her said all that I wanted to say (which is, "Press on the gas or I'll run you over"). When we get to the vet, I jump out and open the trunk to see Axel quivering and scared, which breaks my heart quicker than I thought possible.
"Go tell someone that he's coming in." I order Allison who runs inside with her upset showing clearly in her eyes.
"Come on Axel, what's wrong baby?" I lean in when he doesn't respond, acting as though he's whispering something in my ear, "The skinny bitch that ran you over? Axel, what a mean thing to say! I'm sure she's just fine. Now come one, we need to get you fixed up." When he still doesn't budge, I begin to huff and puff, the rain drops falling on my face beginning to hold the same weight as puddles. Everything was just getting so heavy. I still haven't gotten over what happened last night, I'm trying to figure out a way to get Butch and Sundance off of my back and now my dog has been hit by a freaking car.
And I have this weird feeling that it isn't going to get better anytime soon.
Allison runs back bringing a member of staff with her who I don't bother noticing because I'm distracted by my dog who has all of a sudden started to bark and growl aggressively.
He really doesn't like that skinny bitch.
"It's okay!" The guy says to my dog. I look at him and almost scream in frustration.
"You've got to be kidding me?! Him?!" Both Scott and Allison give me an exasperated look before turning back to the rabid-like dog.
"She's just frightened." He says to Allison, trying to calm her hysterical condition.
"It's a 'he' and it's my dog so you should be comforting me!" I cut in but the pair hardly notice, too busy staring dreamily into each other's eyes. It makes me sick.
"That makes two of us." She murmurs sweetly.
"Let's see if I have any luck." I scoff, crossing my arms and becoming impatient in the pair of lovebirds. I mean, my angel of a dog was run over and they're having eye-sex which is incredibly unprofessional on Scott's part.
Scott approaches him but still gets barked at, yet he still leans towards Axel, confident that he can get him to co-operate. However, in a split second Axe goes from an angry mess to a hurt little sap, docile enough to let Scott stroke him.
"How did you do that?" I ask, doubting that even I could calm him that fast.
He chooses not to reply, instead picks Axe up and carries him into the examination room with me and Allison following closely behind.
As Scott checks him, I'm forced to stand next to Grand Theft Auto who looks at me, waiting to catch my eye.
"I'm so sorry about what happened! He just came out of nowhere and I didn't see him in time and I noticed too late and I will get the money to pay for any medical help, just please forgive me."
Throughout her apology I come to feel increasingly more sympathetic and decide to give her a chance before writing her off completely. This is mostly due to the fact that my dog wasn't going to die or get his leg chopped off (lucky for her).
Sighing, I playfully nudge her shoulder with my own, making it clear that I don't want to fight, "It's okay, don't worry about it, Axel is the healthiest dog you will ever meet. His insurance could pay off our entire mortgage." I successfully manage to make her laugh and the tension in the room finally begins to lift.
"I think his leg is broken." I expected that much. He turns to look at me, "I've seen the doctor do plenty of splints. I can do it myself and then give him a painkiller for now. But he'll have to stay overnight so that the vet can take a look at him tomorrow." I give a reluctant nod, walking over to the table and bending down to give Axel a kiss. Knowing he's going to be okay, I can feel my stress from earlier being to seep out with every second that ticks by.
"I'd give you a ride home," begins Allison, talking to me but looking at Scott, "But I want to repay Scott by sticking around and helping him close up."
"No it's fine, don't worry. My car's still at the woods so I'll just walk." I make a grab for my coat, which has been drying at the back of a chair, in hopes of getting out of here before their love for each other smothers and kills me.
"Rome, that's a bad idea," Says Scott gesturing to the torrential rain outside. "You can't walk home alone in this weather. I'll call Stiles, he owes me a favour and you pretty much saved my life last night."
"No…really," I reply, trying to reassure him that I really don't need nor want Stiles to give me a lift home, "It's fine my house isn't that far."
"I'm not taking no for an answer," Scott insists, taking out his phone and pressing a few buttons, "He's on his way. No backing out now." Getting the feeling that there was some ulterior motive to his Good Samaritan deed, I'm extremely wary of accepting this offer but it really is raining cats and dogs and I lied when I said that I live close by because I really don't- at all.
Resigning myself to sit in the waiting room (not wanting to be a part of whatever was going on with the two that were still in the examination room), I occupy myself with staring at the posters and pictures on the wall of the reception whilst I wait for my ride.
It's weird to think about how long the last few days have felt in comparison to the rest of my life. With all that's happened, it feels like I've just gotten on a train and I'm never going to get off- which is insane because after Axel is fine and Scott and Stiles lose interest in my and the body that I found is forgotten, everything will go back to normal, right? What if it doesn't?
Stiles doesn't take long to arrive and when he does he chooses to proceed with caution, obviously noticing how cold and dam and fed up I look. He carefully raises one hand at me in a small wave.
"Hey, Scott asked me to give you a ride home if that's cool. I heard what happened, how's Axe?"
"Only I get to call him that." I snap, catching him off guard, "In fact, apart from my name and Axel's name, do you know anything else about me?"
He scoffs, making a nervous sound with his mouth that I've seen him do when he's trying to make up an excuse for being late to class.
"Y-Yeah! Sure I do! Uh, you're in my English class." Stiles looks at me, proud that he's identified the simple similarity between the two of us.
"And your chemistry class… and math." He whistles, surprised by the amount of basic knowledge about me that he's missed out on. "I'll tell you what, you can give me a lift if you can tell me how long I've been living in Beacon Hills for."
"Four." The surety and confidence in his answer causes something to click.
"You've searched for me of the county police records, haven't you?"
Again, he scoffs. "What? No, what makes you think that?"
"Because a few hours ago you thought that I would know about the Hale family fire despite it being ten years ago. So tell me the truth, Stiles, I'm tired."
"Okay, okay. I've asked around about you."
"You did what?" I whisper menacingly, getting up and taking a step towards him.
Holding up his hands, suddenly looking afraid, he back up stuttering something like, "I-I'm sorry, I was worried that you were… You know." My brows furrow in confusion as he gives me a knowing look.
"'You know' what?"
"A stalker."
"Haven't we already had this conversation? Jesus, okay, the only reason why I was in the forest last night was because I was out for a run, I happened upon you guys and decided to take part in some healthy, completely normal investigation that I am now regretting. I wasn't stalking, how many times do I have to say it?"
Stiles takes a moment to deliberate for a second before coming to an unknown conclusion on where I stand in his criminal radar.
"Fine. I believe you. Now, do you want a lift or not?" He asks with a smile. Surprised at the welcoming tone, I just nod my head and follow him outside, making a run for his jeep to avoid the rain. He doesn't bother putting on a seatbelt before driving off. "So what's your address?"
All of a sudden a familiar fear washes over me as I take in how small the space that I'm confined in is. And I'm not alone. I'm with someone who expect me to talk to them and make conversation and I can't do that when I have nowhere to escape to. I know it's pathetic but there have times when my anxiety has been much worse. I'm barely able to murmur he address, no longer able to find my voice.
He nods, taking the correct turn and we drive in comfortable silence and my previous nerves start to disperse as I become increasingly more comfortable with the space and company.
"How do you do it?" Stiles' voice cuts through the silence like a knife, almost scaring me.
"Do what?" I keep my eyes looking outside the car window.
"Take all of the things that people say and do to you, calling you a witch and a murderer, and not let them affect you?"
"Oh." Almost dumfounded, I stare up at the brown eyes that are focused on the road, looking for any indication that's he's making fun of me. Alas, he seems genuinely interested. "I-I don't know. I just know that what they say isn't true, so why should I let it affect me?"
His lips lifts up into an amused smirk, "Well, you saved my best friend last night and I know that that is the truth." I laugh, shocked that I didn't cringe or deflect the attempt to soften me up. "Now answer this question. How come you never act this way at school? You know, happy and social. How come I've never noticed you?"
"I guess because I don't really have any friends so I'm never going out or making the effort to socialize. I just don't feel the need for it."
"What about extracurricular activities? Do you do any of them? Soccer? Tennis? Chess?"
"Why are you asking me so many questions?"
"I want to get to know you better."
"Why?"
"Because…" He scratches his head and scrunches up his nose, trying to think of something to say, "Because you're an interesting person."
I don't even try to withhold the bark of laughter that escapes my chest.
Because you're an interesting person.
"Stiles," I say when the bewildered laughter subsides and I meet his confused eyes. "I hope you don't say that to all the girls." He looks back to the road, embarrassed.
Poor guy, I've seen the way he looks at Lydia Martin, the Queen of Beacon Hills, beautiful and untouchable, and he looks at her like she could set him on fire and he'd still kiss her perfectly pedicured feet.
We drive in comfortable silence for the rest of the journey and when he pulls to a stop outside of my house I jump out, giving him a speedy thank you and running into my house before he can say anything else. Before we have to decide whether tonight means something to the budding friendship blossoming between us.
...
As you can expect, due to my reckless actions my car privileges were taken away and I couldn't walk Axe until my guidance counsellor gave it the all clear – this being because my parent have this crazy idea that I got my dog ran over on purpose? All this had a domino effect on many other things; without my car I'd have to get the bus; the bus only gets to school fifteen minutes before lessons start; I can't have my early morning run around the lacrosse field; I'm pent up with stress for the rest of the day; and that means that nobody who comes into contact with me has a nice day. Simple as.
So here I am, slamming books into my locker with the same force I'd use if I was killing a child molester. My headphones are in, blaring the latest post-punk tune, and I'm basically knowing on a now swollen lip.
I'd had another nightmare. One that involved a weird blue flower buried in a spiral graveyard. I was buried six-feet under, my mouth fills with dirt as I try to claw my way out though my desperate effort are futile. I try to scream but mud and worms sink further into my throat. It was torture, lying there and knowing that you were never going to survive but that death would not come quickly. I woke up screaming for help, almost waking the neighbours. I stayed in my mom's arms for what seemed like hours, just rocking back and forth, wide awake and afraid. This morning didn't feel real; I put on some shorts and a jumper without even knowing; had eaten three pancakes without tasting any of them; and had gotten on the bus without realising.
Even now I'm still not feeling right. Hell, I've been staring into mu locker for so long I've forgotten where I'm meant to be. It's not until my locker door is slammed shut that I'm pulled out of whatever zombie state I was in.
"Hi!" My eyes flicker to Allison, who stands next to me with a bright smile. I look around to make sure she wasn't talking to someone else but no, the corridor is basically empty: the final bell had rung a while ago.
"Um… Hi?" I'm not naïve. I know Allison's first friend here was Lydia Martin and her second was that dick Jackson, and these questionable choices in friends has a girl wondering what Allison's intentions are. "Can I help you?"
"Well, yes actually you can." I inwardly groan at my mistake but manage to barely keep a passive expression, "Firstly, I want you to come to Lydia's party on Fri-"
"No."
"Please, Romey? It's the least I can do for… you know-"
"Running over my dog?" Her brilliant smile falters slightly and I realise what a bitch I'm being. "Sorry, it's just been a succession of really bad days. I'll think about Friday but I'm not making any promises." Lie. I'm definitely not going.
Allison squeals with delight and bounces on her toes, "Okay, great! And the second thing it, can you come to the lacrosse try-outs with me? I want to support Scott but Lydia has debate club so I have no one to go with."
"I don't know…" I was hoping to go for a run before they closed school but I guess if the field was already taken then I could put this poor soul out of her misery – and besides, she actually seemed nice, "Fine. But just this once. And if you ditch me I'm definitely not coming on Friday."
"Deal." She loops an arm through mine and drags me towards the lacrosse pitch.
When we get there, the players are already on the field. Allison waves at Scott as we get onto the bleachers, finding a seat near the center, Scott tries to wave back but is immediately called out by Coach, making me laugh despite my pitiful mood. I spot Stiles, worriedly looking around. I try to catch his eye but his nervous focus remains on the field and when Coach Blows his whistle, my attention is taken to as the players start to gear themselves up.
As this is the first time I've actually watched a lacrosse game, I really don't understand what is happening. Instead. I watch Allison's reactions in order to understand whether or not what is happening is a good or a bad thing. So when Scott is thrown to the floor, I assume that's bad because she winces and takes a harsh intake of breath. And when Stiles misses another catch she laughs so I assume that's a good thing and cheer. But when I see Scott do a ninja routine of insane evasive moves and skilled gymnastic flips I don't need Allison's screaming to tell me that that was an extraordinary thing.
Actually, from the look of every other lacrosse player, I gather that it was totally out of the blue. For an asthmatic guy, Scott was fast and his reflexes were quick. I mean, the guy ran the length of the field, jumping around and going all 'Jackie Chan' and he wasn't even a little bit about of breath. It was unbelievable.
"You're starting buddy." Couch gleefully claps his new star player on the shoulder, "You made first line."
Pretty much everyone stands up to clap, even me, but once again my eyes find Stiles who sits rubbing his chin in though. Maybe he has the same idea that I have – that something very strange in happening.
For some idiotic reason, I gave Allison my phone number. Which means that Thursday night and the entirety of Friday was spent texting her. However I didn't do much of the texting: it'd get several messaged in a row and occasionally reply with 'k' or 'kl' or 'I refuse to text kisses'. I doubt that Scott really knew what he was getting into with this chick.
Somehow, by some supernatural force of nature, she'd managed to convince me to go to the party at Lydia's house. Yet, I'm in serious denial that I agreed to it willingly considering the kind of people that are going. The thing is that whilst I have nothing against Lydia (who, despite being the social superior to us peasants, has never been malicious or rude to me) her friends I would rather watch burn than have a conversation with them. I just thank my lucky stars that Allison and Scott are going so worst comes to worse I'll just talk to them. Or I can sneak out and go home.
You can assume that my parents were surprised that I got invited to a party considering that I have not brought a friend home from school in the entirety of the four years that we've been living here. Like every other normal pair of parents, they immediately assumed that I was lying so I could sneak out of the house and do crack-cocaine. But after I made them speak to Allison they settled for the explanation that I was finally spreading my wings. I chose not to correct them.
Allison wanted to come round to help me decide what to wear, which made me incredibly self-aware that I owned about four half-decent outfits so I assured her that I could pick something myself (due to the lack of choice) to which she reluctantly agreed.
Staring at my wardrobe for about five minutes straight, hair still wet from my shower, all that I could decide was what underwear I was going to put on. Groaning, I flop backwards and onto my mattress. How do they do this every weekend?
"Romey," My mom calls from behind my closed door, "Can I come in?"
The lock clicks open before I can respond and I immediately know that my mom's brought me something. My eyes flicker to her and then widen considerably when they see the Macy's bag.
"Jesus, what did you do?"
"I noticed your closet was a bit bare and with the party I wanted to get you something special. And now that you're actually becoming the sociable daughter that you used to be, I think you needed something more than those disgusting things you call jeans."
"You're going to turn me into a Barbie Doll, aren't you?"
"Now don't look at me like that! I didn't get you that pink, frilly crap that you hate. In fact, some of the things I brought are quite ugly." She tosses the bag onto my bed a few items spill out. Black and red. My favourite colours.
"Mom," I say as I reach for a pair of red checked leggings, pretending to choke up, "I think I love you."
She laughs heartedly as she places her soft hands on my face, she leans in in the way she used to when I was younger with her cheek against my forehead, "I should hope so." She whispers before walking out and closing the door behind her with a soft 'click'.
What I end up looking like is just a slightly spruced up version of what I usually look like; black, frayed crop top; converses; and the checked leggings my mother oh-so-kindly bought me. I didn't put any makeup on (seeing as I don't actually own any) and I let my hair dry into its natural wavy mess.
Allison picked me up at around 8, nodding in approval at my outfit. And, when asked about whether she could do my makeup, I simply reply, "One step at a time."
Don't get me wrong, I've been to parties. Although I was twelve and it was fancy dress with carrot sticks and disco tunes. But it was a party none the less. And I've watched enough of my mom's teen movies to know what tonight was going to be like: lots of drunk people making out in hallway closets and those who weren't doing that would be crying in the upstairs bathrooms. Walking up to Lydia's front door, which was wide open, I could already see a girl with a tear-streaked face sobbing in a corner. I wanted to laugh but nervousness prevented me from doing so much as a smile.
"Don't worry about it," Allison says loudly, so that I can hear her over the pop music, "I'm sure that everybody's drunk enough to talk to you," Flattering, "trust me – you have nothing to worry about."
The music is booming and pretty much all of the guests were in the beautifully decorated garden… so the garden is the last place I want to be.
"You know Allison, I kind of feel ill I think I might just sit this one out." I waste no time in turning around and heading straight back out of the door but she manages to grab me by the shoulders, dragging back to the depths of Hell.
"Oh no you don't. If I'm doing this then so are you."
Grabbing a tight hold on my hand, she drags me towards the garden where bodies are gyrating against each other in some primal display of seduction – it's all so romantic.
"Scott!" A head of brunette hair turns around at the sound of Allison's voice, a smile plastering on his face as he sees her. I look over at her, watcher her tuck her hair behind her ear and smile bashfully. They're such a cliché that I'd be in hysterics if I wasn't so god-damn nervous.
Oh, Jesus, I need I drink.
I leave them to it and head back into the house and into the kitchen. I grab a comically stereotypical red plastic cup and fill it with whatever is in the keg. I sip it slowly as I walk around the almost empty parts of the house, staring at the family photos and paintings hanging on the walls.
I find a particularly interesting photo, tucked away in an alcove, on a shelf near a coat rack. A small redhead, Lydia, sits on the lap of an elderly woman who is frozen in the action of plaiting Lydia's hair and whispering something in her ear. At first you'd think that Lydia is laughing at something the woman has said, as her eyes sparkle with mischief and her mouth is open wide in what seems like laughter, but if you take another look… it almost looks like she's screaming.
"Uh, Rome. Hey!" my eyes pull away from the photo and meet the hazel irises of Stiles whose lips are pulled back in a friendly smile, "I didn't know that you were coming tonight." I take another gulp of the foul tasting beer.
"Yeah, me neither." He wear a pink shirt and a grey blazer, a combination that I wouldn't normally like but seems to suit him.
Not that I'd ever tell him that.
"Are you, uh, okay? You seem a bit lost."
"Not lost," I murmur, looking at the picture again, "Just thinking."
"Can I ask you a question?"
A chuckle hiccups from my throat, "Haven't you asked me enough questions?"
"I guess I have, " he whispers, looking almost forlorn as he leans against the wall, "What do you know about werewolves?"
I almost choke on the beer I'm drinking. What the Hell kind of a question is that?
"I-I'm sorry, werewolves?" He nods, giving me a look that says not to ask for the long story. "Well I guess the usual," I begin with a laugh, "turn on a full moon, have a bloodthirsty urge to kill, make a regular reoccurrence to the Twilight series-" The cup is ripped from my hand as Stiles grabs hold of my arms, making sure that I know that he's serious.
"Come on, Rome. Help me out."
I stare into his eyes as he looks down at me. They're big and framed with long, dark lashes. His eyes will no longer be described as brown – it's too dull of a word – they will be a hazelnut and chocolate swirl, complete with a dark rim and decorated with flecks of brilliant gold.
Gold. The word triggers something in my mind, causing my vision to darken and transform the world around me in a nauseating haze. The change comes on so quickly that it feels like head rush and whip lash all-in-one. Stiles and the party disappear, merging into the picture of a murky forest. Between to trees lies a space void of any colour, like a sky without stars. I stare intensely at it, knowing that if I look long enough then something will happen.
Two eyes glow, a brilliant gold that looks like power and strength. I feel the absurd need to get closer to the golden orbs but I find that I can't move: my feet are held firmly in place by an unknown force. And that's when I hear it. The frightening, soul ripping, mind numbing howl. A howl that only the Devil could conjure.
I blink.
Stiles looks down at me, face clouded with worry and confusion. I don't give him a chance to talk.
"Liquid gold." I whisper, voice shaking, "Werewolves have eyes like stars."
Stiles opens his mouth to say something when his body is slammed into mine by a passer-by, causing my head to hit the wall. I hiss in pain, sending a glare to the clumsy drunk. Scott. And he looks wasted.
"Hey man, watch it-" Begins Stiles but when he sees who it is his face morphs from one of anger to worry. He clasps a hand on his best friend's shoulder, "Yo, Scott, you good?"
He doesn't look good. Scott's brow is slick with sweat and his eyes are restless and his body looks like it weighs a hundred tons. He ignores Stiles, choosing instead to shut his and cling to his hair as though he has a wrenching headache.
"Scott?" I ask, "Scott, slow down." I say, noticing his disorientated state of walking, I fear that he's going to collapse and die from choking on his own vomit. "Stiles, something is wrong with him, like more than drunk kind of wrong."
He sighs, rubbing his head and staring as his best friend wanders out of the front door, Allison in toe.
"Yeah, you're right." Thoughts whirl in his mind before he turns on me, "Are you okay? You hit that wall pretty hard." He touches that back of my head lightly. Probably feeling for a bump, but I cringe and shake his hand away.
"I'm fine, really. You should be more worried about how Scott's going to get home without accidentally killing someone."
Fear flashes in his eyes – a fear that tells me that the duo is keeping something important to themselves. "You're right, I'm sorry but I need to go."
Before he can escape I grab his hand. "Ah, ah, ah. No you don't. Allison is going after him and if you hadn't noticed, without her, I'd be at home with a bucket of ice cream and a mile long queue on Netflix." I feel as though I'm quickly coming to the conclusion that the confused expression on Stiles' face is a permanent one: exclusive for me. "I'm coming with you." I state plainly. Stiles looks like he's about to argue so I just groan and start dragging him by his arms towards the area where Scott and Allison went.
"Ahhh," the pained sound escapes his lips, "you've got a real tight grip for someone of you stature."
The quick drive to Scott's house was tense, the whole aura of the place reeking of danger. I'm so desperate to ask Stiles for the truth about Scott. Was he on drugs? Did he have some kind of mental issue? Or maybe, perhaps, is it something a bit stranger? But my questions could wait. We'd seen Allison get into Derek's car and despite him being creepy-incarnate, it didn't seem as though he was going to do anything, so Stiles and I drove straight to Scott's.
Pulling up in front of his house, we saw the front door wide open, no lights were on, just the increasingly alarming atmosphere that filled the night.
"Wait here." Orders Stiles as he fumbles with his seatbelt.
"Are you kidding me? Have you watched a horror movie?" I scoff as he sends me a guilty look confirming that he is, in fact, a horror movie virgin.
"They give me nightmares." He replies, shrugging faux-casually.
"Well, the white guy, aka you, tells the white girl, aka me, to stay put and then the white girl gets brutally murdered by a chainsaw wielding psychopath that likes to skin people!" I get louder with each word, eventually causing Stiles to jump back into his seat with fright. "So no. I will not wait in the car."
"Okay, okay! You can come but just, be careful."
I give a sarcastic 'Duh' as we abandon the car and jog into the house. I follow Stiles up the stairs and down the hallway to a door which I assumes is Scott's. From inside the room I hear a breathless pant and images of him bent over a toilet, hurling his guts out, comes to mind.
Stiles gives the door a knock, "Scott, it's me." He tries the handle but the barrier of wood is slammed shut again before he can move it an inch.
"Go away." Growls Scott. Stiles tries and fails to budge the door with Scott leaning against it on the other side.
"Let me in, Scott. We can help."
"We?" he growls again – there seems to be a lot of that.
"Yeah, Rome is here."
"No! Listen, you need to leave and you need to find Allison."
"Scott, she's fine!" I say, trying to reassure him that his teen crush is %100 A-OKAY. "We saw her get a ride from the party."
"No, Stiles, I think I know who it is." Know who 'who' is? I try to ask what he's talking about but the boys talk over me, seemingly no longer aware of my presence.
"Just let me in." Stiles tries to push the door further, "We can try-"
"It's Derek. He's the one that bit me." My blood runs cold as I listen to him, partially out of fearing Derek but mostly out of the absence of sanity in Scott and Stiles.
"Stiles, what is he talking about?" I ask again, more forcefully this time. He looks back at me, an apology is written all over his face, one that says, "I'm sorry, I want you to know but I can't tell you." Suddenly, a realisation flashes behind his eyes and a look of pure fear derails him. He turns back to the door.
"Wait, did you say 'Derek'?"
"Yes, he's the one that killed the girl in the woods." Impressions zip through my mind's eye like a slide show. Starting with the girl's Hellish gaze and ending with the molten orbs of the – the wolf. My back hits the mantelpiece and I clutch at it, beginning to feel sick.
"Scott," Stiles murmurs, the dread evident in his voice, "Derek's the one who drove Allison from the party."
There's a moment, and incredibly angst. Stretched out moment, before the door slams shut with a daunting finality.
"Scott!" Stiles shouts, slamming his palm on the door violently, but there is not reply. "Scott!" He bangs again, and again but isn't able to open the locked door.
"Stiles," I whisper, still shaky. When he keeps trying to open the door I shout. "Stiles!" He flips around, chest heaving up and down, "Allison."
From that one word, a hundred sentences are said between us. He nods, taking my hand and running back to the car. As soon as I slam the passenger door closed we're off, surpassing the speed limit by a stretch. We to Allison's in seconds, vaulting to the front door. Whilst I knock, Stiles rings the doorbell, together making enough noise to wake the whole damn neighbourhood.
"Jesus, come on." I breathe, slamming my hand against the hardwood. He door swings open, a very angry looking redheaded woman standing there, staring Stiles down, making him shiver in the pink shirt.
"Hi, Mrs. Argent. Um… you have no idea who I am-"
"I'm Romey, Allison's friend." Her eyes rest on me, as if noticing me for the first time, before she smiles warmly.
"Romey? Allison's told me so much about you. We're so sorry to hear about what happened to your dog… Max? Was it?"
"Axe." I correct with an exasperated laugh. "I'm sorry to disturb you but have you heard from Allison? It's important."
Her eyebrows furrow before turning behind her and calling upstairs, "Allison! It's for you!"
Both Stiles and I release a much needed breath of relief as the brunette comes into the view, unmarred and sane and pleased.
"What are you guys doing here? Is Scott there, is he here to apologize?"
Stiles and I look at each other, a silent improvisation-session passing between us. His eyes flicker to the tasselled bag on my waist. I nod.
"Um" I begin, plastering a calm smile on my face, "Allison, I was just wondering if you'd picked up my phone? I think I left it in Lydia's kitchen."
A look of disappointment crosses her face when she realises that our visit isn't about Scott ditching her. "No. I haven't, sorry. But I'll get Lydia to keep an eye out."
"Right, well, with that sorted," Stiles sighs, once again rubbing his head – a habit that I can't help but notice, "I think we-we better go." We look at each other nodding in confirmation of our next plan, "Yeah, yeah. We're gonna go. Bye!" he spins on his heels and bolts down the pathway.
"See you on Monday!" I call over my shoulder as I quickly follow him.
"Where to now?" I ask as I get in, clicking my seatbelt in place and feeling giddy with adventure, realising that this is the most fun that I've had in a long time – despite it involving running around, dead bodies and even the crazy prospect of mental instability.
"We drive around until we can find him I guess."
And we did just that. We spent a few hours just driving and talking. I found out that Stiles was the worst lacrosse player to ever walk Beacon Hills High, besides someone named Greenburg, and has never played a match. I learnt that he used to have a pet Boa and has a real issue with spiders. And I learnt that he's been in love with Lydia Martin since third grade. He learnt nothing about me, I didn't let him. And when it reached one in the morning, I crawled into the back seat, lying down and listening to him discuss that differences between Deadpool and Deathstroke as I fell asleep.
I didn't have a nightmare. I didn't even dream. And it was the best sleep I've had in months.
I half wake up to Scott and Stiles talking to each other, not catching anything that was being said between them, not caring, until I hear my name. I listen with my eyes shut.
"And what about Romey?" That was Scott, sounding extremely tired.
"What about her?" And that was Stiles, sounding uncomfortable.
"Are you gonna tell her?" Tell me what? Tell me what?!
"I don't know, man." There's a thoughtful pause before he carries on, his tone changing into one of concern, "you don't know what I see when I look at her sometimes, like at your house, or at Lydia's. There's this look she gets, and it not like your average spaced out daze, where she physically looks and acts like she's sleeping. I actually had to hold her up to she didn't drop to the floor." What? Are we thinking about the same Romey? "It looked like she was sleeping but with her eyes open. As if – as if…" Stiles shifts uncomfortably and I can feel his eyes staring at me even through the front mirror. "As if she was dead."
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