Stiles peeled off his layers of clothes and stared at himself in the mirror with disgust. His stomach was hollow and you could run your finger down his ribcage and count every single rib. Sharp hipbones stuck out and threatened to burst out of his ghastly-white skin. His broken, brown eyes were decorated with purple bags from lack of sleep and his hair looked like a birds nest. But what really disturbed Stiles was the scars. Silver and pink lines littered his wrists and thighs. Some were just old, faded white lines and the newest ones were scabbed up and puffy. Stiles lip quivered and he turned away, his back facing the mirror.
"I'm a monster," he whispered, his voice was croaky and on the break of tears. Next minute he swung around in rage and pounded his fist into the mirror. The impact sent glittering shards of glass across the bathroom. Stiles was no longer plagued with the reflection of his self-mutilated body. Crimson blood dripped of his knuckles and a sadistic smile painted Stiles features. He backed into the corner and slid to the ground, cold tiles embraced him and sent unbidden shivers up his scrawny spine. A pair of silver tweezers in hand, he began the process of picking out the small pieces of glass from his skin.
Stiles finished attending to his wound and dressed it with disinfectent and crisp white bandaging. He put back on his many layers of clothing, a tank top, two tee shirts, a long sleeved top, two pairs of jeans and a hoody to hide how skinny he was. Next he fetched the broom and swept up the glass and chucked it in the bin, slipping the sharpest piece that caught his eye into his pocket for later use. The chimming of keys and the clicking of the door unlocking made stiles body jolt with feat. "Stiles!" His Dad called.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. How am I going to explain this!" Stiles hissed under his breath.
"Stiles? Stiles! Are you alright, what happened?" His Dad asked, his words laced with panic and concern. He rushed into the bathroom, his eyes wide with worry.
"Ah... There was a spider, yeah a spider on the mirror and I freaked out. You know with my anxiety and all, and I punched it," the lie slipped out of Stiles lips and he almost winced at how stupid it sounded.
"A spider? You punched it..?" John questioned, his eyebrow cocked in disbelief.
"Yeah Dad, it was huge. Could have killed me," he said with a sarcastic grin. His dad sighed and shrugged.
"Just make sure you cleaned it all up," John left the room and Stiles just stood frozen. A relieved smile played at his lips and his quickly scanned the bathroom for more glass and when he was satisfied went back to his bedroom.
Stiles fished the piece of glass out of his jeans and rolled up his sleeve. His fist hurt but it wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed to feel the blood well up and drip down his wrist. Stiles needed the pain to distract him from his hurricane of his life. Just for one second he could focus on the pain instead of all his troubles.
The corner of the of glass shone dangerously in the dim lit room and Stiles dug it into his arm until it pierced the skin and slowly dragged it across his arm. Blood immediatly bloomed and danced down his skin. The monster within groaned with longing and clawed at his insides, begging for more blood. So he obliged, tearing his arm open even more.
Stiles knew something was seriously wrong with him but he didn't seem to care anymore. No one else did, he had been cutting for years and no one noticed how broken he was. Not that he blamed them, he wasn't stupid. He knew how to hide things. He knew how to skip dinner without anyone noticing, avoid questions and keep his body hidden. But even if they did find out, they would probably laugh. Call him pathetic, weak. After all he was just that clumbsy little human that the pack used to do their research and push around. No, Stiles could never be depressed. He made jokes and thought of plans. Not sit in his room crying himself to sleep and cutting up his body. That would be insane.
"No one cares," he croaked, tears silently sliding down his face.
Dereks nose burned with the intense sent of blood. His own blood went cold when he realised where the sent was coming from.
"Stiles," he growled. What had the kid gotten himself into this time? It was deffinately the smell of Stiles blood, he was use to it. The kid often fell over or bumped into walls. He was just so clumbsy.
He went through to the back yard and scanned the windows. Nope, Stiles wasn't on the first level. He jumped to the roof and peared into Stiles bedroom window. Dereks jaw dropped in shock. This is not what he expected. Stiles sat curled up in a ball on his bed with his bare back facing Derek. You could see all his spine and his shoulder blades almost popped out of his skin.
Dereks heart stopped when he saw where the blood was coming from. Stiles forearm and wrists were smothered in blood and deep, angry red lines had been carved into the skin. In Stiles hand was a shard of glass that was coverered with the red liquid. He lifted up the glass above his head and he was about to go agian but Derek raced in at werewolf speed and snatched the glass out of his hand.
Derek thought he was going to be sick at the sight of Stiles body. He was just so skinny, you could see all of his bones and it was obvious he hadnt been eating. Dereks nose burned with the intense sent of the blood. It felt like someone had poored a bottle of bleech up his nose.
"What the... Derek?" Stiles stared up at him with wide eyes. Derek didn't answer, he just stared emotionless at the weapon between his finger tips. Stiles did the unexpected, he jumped to his feet and grabbed the glass. "Get the fuck out," Stiles snarled.
"No! Can't you see what your doing to your body? Are you trying to kill yourself!?" Derek yelled in anger, towering over the teenager.
"Why would you care?" Stiles said with ice cold eyes that sent shivers up Dereks spine.
"Youre part of my pack, Stiles. Human or not, you have a place in all of our hearts. I have never been good with words but we all care about you. I have no idea why you have done this to yourself and I can't imagine how much pain you had to be in to start this. We all love you and you need to let us help you," Derek said softly, his eyes reflecing the love and truth in his words.
Stiles began to feel dizzy and he fell to the ground in tears. Derek slid next to him and pulled his fragile frame agianst his chest. "Im.. a.. freak," he sobbed into Dereks shirt. Derek was silent and just embraced Stiles even tighter. He was speachless. The happy, sarcastic, intellegent teenager that everyone knew as Stiles was broken in so many ways that the pack would never understand. He would do whatever was in his power to show him that he was loved and to stop hurting himself.
Derek investigated the wounds even further. They were very deep and he had just missed the major veins and arteries. "Stiles, these need stitches," Derek said, pushing down he panic in his voice and he tried to be as calm as possible.
"No, no hostipals," Stiles said with alarm. Derek shook his haid and was about to argue but stopped in his tracks. Stiles looked up at him with bambi eyes, silently pleading him. Derek sighed and ran a nervous hand through his dark hair.
"Fine. Just wait here," Derek said, gently helping Stiles prop himself up agianst the end of his bed. Derek was back into the room in record time with a first aid kit clutched to hit chest and a warm, damp washcloth. He tenderly pressed the cloth to the wounds. He was trying hard not to hurt Stiles but he didn't even flinch. He just stared into the distance with sad, empty eyes.
Derek finished cleaning the wounds and applied butterfly strips to hold them together. Hopefully the scars wouldnt be as bad with the strips. "I'm sorry for getting blood on your shirt," Stiles murmered, his cheeks flashed red with embarresment. Derek smiled softly.
"It's nothing Stiles. Just a shirt," he said.
Over the next week Derek was constantly checking his arms for new cuts. He would literally force Stiles to eat and he wasn't allowed to go to the bathroom after a meal, he had already tried that one, but the wolf wasn't stupid. Little did he know that Stiles had still been getting away with a cut here and there, on his thighs.
"I thought you were getting better. But you have been lying to me this whole time!" Derek said with frustration.
"I have been doing this for years Derek, ever since my Mum died. That was when I was 9. And you think you can just prance along and tell me to stop and everything will be better?" Stiles rebutled. Derek shook his head.
"I'm telling Scott , maybe he can help knock some sense into you," Derek said sadly.
"No! Please don't tell him, he will hate me. No, no, no," Stiles cried. He could feel the panic rising in his chest and he desprately tried to push it down.
"I'm sorry Stiles," Derek pulled out his phone and Stiles stood there with ears streaming down his face. Dereks fingers moved with rapid speed as he texted Scott to get over to Stiles house.
"What's wrong?" Scott asked worriedly. His eyes shot between Derek and Stiles. Stiles was curled up on his bed in a ball, head on knees and his frame shook with silent sobs. Derek stood next to him, his eyes fierce and his arms folded firmly across his chest.
"Tell him," Derek spoke firmly. Stiles shook his head. "Roll up your sleeves," Derek commanded with the same emotionless monotone. Stiles paused for a minute before slowly rolling up his sleeves. Scott froze at the sight of all the scars and it kicked in that Stiles had been hurting himself.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Obviously you're not as smart as you think. How could you do something so stupid to your own body?" Scott snarled furiously.
"Im sorry," Stiles squeaked with a small sniffle, he quickly tugged his sleeves back down.
"I don't want to hear it, you're a selfish emo freak," Scott snapped and he raced out the doors. Derek was hot on his trails and left with a growl, he was out to tear Scott to shreds. Stiles sat alone in his room. His heart had been smashed into a million pieces. The tears stopped flowing and he knew exactly what to do.
He locked the bathroom door behind him and began to run the bath. He knew it would be painful considering that your lungs filled with water atleast twice befors you actually died. But since his Mum died, the idea of drowning had always facinated him and he knew thats how he wanted to go in the end.
'Selfish freak, whats wrong with you, not as smart as you think' Scotts harmful words pounded in his head. He was just a useless, selfish, know-it-all freak that deserved to die. He knew he was doing the right thing and had no second thoughts as he layed his body in the tub.
His salty tears mixed with the water and his whole body burned with excrutiating pain from lack of oxygen. Soon after that everything went blank and his heart began to slow down. He could hear Derek yelling and smashing on the door but it was like a faint voice on the breeze thousands of miles away. Dereks desperate cries faded into nothing but I soft whisper. Then, with a click of a finger everything went numb and he could feel himself slipping into the darkness. Fingers clawed at his soul, trying to pull him down. He fought them. But this is what he wanted, he was doing this to himself. He gave up the fight and everything went black.
That was the night that Derek cradled Stiles soaking, lifeless body in his arms. Tears gushed down his face and he caught the glint of a silver razor. It might not have lasted long but it didn't mean the pain wasn't real. The blood dripped down and it instantly made him feel better. Even though his healed quickly, it was enough. He would do this as punishment for letting Stiles be so cruel to himself. He was a horrible alpha and he deserved to suffer. Derek would pay for Stiles death, with blood.
That was the night that Derek Hale made his first cut.