Title: Jubilee
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters are the property of Jeff Davis and MTV. No Copyright infringement intended.
Summary: God is judging you, Stiles... and he's not happy.
A boy who has always gotten everything he's ever wanted, anyway that he could get it, soon learns that there are just somethings that can never be fixed... or be redeemed for?
A/N: This story will be very experimental. There will be angst, and I will deal with very dark subject matter in this story. So, read responsibly! I do have a few places that I will go with this story, but nothing definite... but one thing for sure is that this story will not have a happy ending.
All Comments and constructive criticism is welcomed... but please don't be outright mean. No writer deserves that. Oh, and a special thanks to my beta O2shea, who encouraged me to post this story despite its dark subject matter.
another year for playing children/ another songs for them to sing/ i'm not alone, but I still believe in this Jubilee – (jubilee, Benji Hughes)
A test.
It's a test that ruins his life… and it is a pretty good life, too. The best life money can buy, really. He hadn't become the most popular guy in school entirely on his good looks. Sure, there was some raw talent, natural charm, and the ability to cleverly manipulate people into getting what he wants that helped him successfully climb to the top of the harsh and critical ladder of high school … but really, Stiles owes much of his success to being able to waste money on idle matters like it's nobody's business.
Money is what got him that co-captain spot on the Beacon Hills High lacrosse team…Sure, he's a talented lacrosse player, but not talented enough to make first-string. Money is what also got him Lydia Martin – the hottest girl in school, to be his girlfriend. Money is what brought friends, popularity, and the endless supply of insecure horny girls willing to sleep with him… despite the fact that he's supposed to be 'taken'.
So, yeah… Money is important. Money is what makes a pretty good life-great. It makes the world go round; it makes Stiles' life pretty fucking easy… But no amount of money could buy his way out of or erase this one.
A test is what tilts his life on its axis, shaking the ground beneath him. It's a printed out white piece of printer paper that makes him question things that he never questioned before. It's his own mind that makes him realize that maybe money couldn't fix everything.
Because, really, what amount of money could fix the fact that he has a brain tumor the size of Jupiter lodged deep in his brain and a minimal chance of living past his eighteenth birthday?
How much does it cost to keep him from dying? He really wants to know.
In fact, it isn't a test that ruins his life, it's a headache.
He pauses briefly near the sliding doors that lead out of the hospital, when he sees Lydia parked outside, sitting in her corvette, staring at her perfectly manicured nails with boredom.
He has to fight the urge to roll his eyes when he sees her. He forgot that she had volunteered to pick him up after his appointment. Pushing aside his urge to scream, he neatly folds the paper with his results on it, stuffing the papers deep into his left-hand back pocket of his custom-made jeans before he walks out of the hospital and into her car, slamming the door for good measure.
"How did it go?" she asks, not sounding the least bit interested in the answer. And he isn't at all interested in telling her.
"Fine," he says sharply, staring out the window. "Now, can we go?"
He can barely breathe by the time Lydia parks her car in the garage of her two-story house. He's still staring out the narrow window when she cuts the engine, trying to gain control of his breathing. He inhales deeply, filling his lungs up with air… and holds it.
His vision begins to blur around him, shapes thinning to a fine line in his view. He feels like he's drowning, trying to fight to the surface for one last breath… but he holds on, denying himself the pleasure of air.
Was this what it feels like to die? Wanting to breathe, but your body just not allowing you to… constantly fighting for that last gasp of air, for that last moment of life? Is dying like drowning? Or is it like holding your breath until you just can't breathe anymore? Beginning to black out, he decides to exhale. His breathing is harsh and loud, gasping… panting. He sighs audibly, throwing his head back against the small head-rest of the car and rubs his neck. He turns, after a few moments, and pops one eye open.
Lydia has a familiar look on her face, one he knows too well. It is her nice way of being annoyed and disinterested, while trying to fake concern at the same time. It is a look that constantly makes him want to slap her… but he doesn't need her concern. He doesn't need anybody's superficial version of pity… most of all hers.
She continues to stare at him intently as the silence begins to become stifling in the small interior of her car. Her perfectly manicured eyebrow is raised, questioning. He doesn't like it, not at all… The look feels too friendly, too full of genuine curiosity and concern… It touches something deep inside his being that makes everything feel too intimate… too heavy. He wants it to stop.
And after a few minutes he can't take it anymore… so he smirks, giving her an odd, disconnected leer. "How about we go up to your room, huh?" he asks with deadly charm, fighting for normalcy, something commonplace in their everyday interactions. Once again, he uses sex as a way to push her away, for her to become disgusted and uninterested in him again. He's using it as a default to the clutter suddenly clouding up his mind. He puts his hand on her thigh, brushing the fabric of her short skirt up and down her creamy skin.
"We're studying," she snaps, swatting his hand away. She opens and closes the driver's door with a slam.
He breathes… suddenly relieved, despite everything. The idea of sex right now hadn't appealed to him either.
"Of course, we are." He replies shortly, trying to sound put out for the sake of appearances. He climbs out of the car and slams the door behind him for the second time today.
As they study that night, he rubs his bare feet against the fine fabric of the quilt that lies across Lydia's queen sized bed. Lydia's eyes flutter briefly as she plays with the pen in her mouth… and in that moment, she looks like an angel… like someone who can understand anything.
This makes Stiles briefly wonder about telling her the results of his test, about his brain tumor… but he soon scoffs at the idea, pushing the thought to the back of his head as she reads him another passage out of their history book.
She wouldn't care that he was dying. Lydia doesn't care about anything but herself and money… and in that order. No, he definitely isn't going to tell anybody… especially not Lydia.
He has an odd dream that night. It's more like a memory, really- a memory that he's somehow stuffed to the deepest, darkest corner of his mind over time, never to be thought of again. It isn't an important memory, at least not to him… Not anymore. It's ancient history and rightfully belongs in the past… but he still dreams about it vividly.
It's a memory that he isn't even thinking about until he wakes up in a cold sweat, screaming….
He dreams about Scott McCall.
"Stiles, man…" Scott McCall whispers shyly. He looks toward the locker room showers behind him before he goes on. "You can't tell anybody!" Scott exclaims desperately, gesturing wildly with his hands.
Stiles tries to suppress an eye roll as he puts the rest of his lacrosse gear on. He shrugs his shoulder and says nonchalantly. "Who am I gonna tell, McCall?"
Scott has a curious look on his face as he continues. "Whoever you fuck around with is your own business," Stiles finishes with a jerk of his shoulder pads. "Even if it is a teacher." he winks arrogantly.
Scott blows a sigh of relief and claps his hands together happily. "Thanks, man! I owe you one!"
Stiles just smiles and goes off to practice.
Stiles is astonished at their ability to pretend around each other… like lying to the other has become second nature to them… almost like a game each wants desperately to win.
John Stilinski doesn't even acknowledge his son's disheveled state as he walks down the stairs and into the kitchen. He can almost hear his dad's thoughts… hear him chalking up his wild hair, dirty clothes, and bloodshot eyes to a late night partying and having sex with his beautiful girlfriend.
And Stiles is fine with that… He's fine with his dad knowing nothing about his life.
It's better than him knowing the truth.
It's unusual that Lydia is the first person he sees when he walks into school. It's even more unusual that the first thing out of her mouth is declarations of love and adoration. It unsettles him. Lydia is never this nice…especially not to him.
"What do you want?" he snaps, pushing her away from him. It's too early in the morning for this shit.
"What? A girl can't tell her boyfriend that she loves him?" she asks, rather loudly and kisses him on the cheek, ignoring his obvious discomfort. He raises his eyebrow.
Lydia never tells him that she loves him…. because Lydia doesn't love anything, not even her parents… the same parents who think that Stiles is the perfect blue blood marriage material for their daughter or his father, who pampers her because he believes that Lydia is a good influence on his son… No, Lydia doesn't love anything… most of all him.
He feels a brief moment of panic that maybe she knows… until he turns his head to the left and sees Jackson Whitmore leaning against a row of lockers next to their homeroom, glaring. Stiles sighs, deciding to play along and ignore what her sudden display of affection and love is about.
He isn't stupid. He knows that Lydia is just about as faithful as he is, which means that between them they have a multitude of lovers stashed in the background of their 'perfect' relationship… but it still doesn't stop the sharp ping of hurt that stabs him in the dark hole of his heart every time he remembers that she may be capable of some semblance of loving someone besides herself… it's just not him that she's capable of loving.
He's not so sure if anyone is.
TBC...