There were so many reasons I shouldn't. So very many reasons why I shouldn't tell him. If I had my inhibitions about me, perhaps I would've realized. But I was drunk beyond belief, trying anything to stop myself from grieving, and I had long since ceased to have any control over what came out of my mouth. And if the sheriff had caught me drink driving, I'd have been able to add that to the -oh- thousands of reasons that telling him was a bad idea.
But I had.
He had been in his bedroom with Lydia, and I could hear them laughing. His laugh was like a drug, I swear, and I somehow became even more intoxicated by listening to it. I had stumbled over to the door, and knocked too much too loudly. Stiles had come to the door wearing sweats and a loose fitting t-shirt. He brow had furrowed at the sight of me, clearly confused why I had decided to beat his door to a pulp at half past one in the morning.
"Derek, are you okay?" He'd asked.
Always so damn concerned. He was always so worried about me and my feelings. Because for some reason he had decided I do have feelings. I was so distracted by the adorable moles on his cheek, I forgot that I was supposed to reply. I forgot that most conversations are between two people, and that most questions are usually in hope of an answer. Then my eyes flicked to his, and I was reminded why I was there.
"Stilesss..." I hissed, the alcohol making my speech slurred. "I c-came to...to..."
My words were cut off by puke. Me puking. All over Stiles' dad's magnolias. Just as the sheriff pulled into the drive. And Lydia decided to come find out what had Stiles so occupied. I don't really remembered what happened next. I think Stiles and his dad both helped carry me upstairs, to the guest room. And I think Stiles pulled off my shoes and jacket and helped me into the bed.
All I know is that when I woke up the next morning I was in Stiles' guest room, and Stiles and his dad were both asleep in their own rooms. I looked around me, at first confused, then the hangover hit. I felt like death warmed up, an awful feeling, really. All I knew is that I had to get home before the sheriff woke up and started interrogating me about why I ended up at his house in the middle of the night, totally hammered.
I climbed out of the bed, making sure to leave it looking neat, before sliding my shoes and jacket back on. My car keys were in my pocket, and even though I wasn't confident that I was in the limit yet-I had drunk a lot last night-I knew I had to leave. I hurried as quietly as I could downstairs, and out of the door. I threw myself into the front seat of my car, and started the ignition.
I don't remember much of the drive back to the house, only that once I got home, I had about enough energy to drag myself over to my couch, and flop down. I resided there for what must have been the last three hours, a huge pain searing through my head everytime I tried to move. I heard the sound of a car pulling up outside, and dread filled me to my very core.
I stood shakily from my couch, where I had curled myself into the smallest ball I could manage, and limped over to my front door. Even I found my level of self-pity ridiculous, I've been drunk before and will probably get drunk again, why I was nursing my wounds so badly I couldn't decipher. Perhaps it was that my grief for Laura was still fresh in my heart, making everything feel so much worse.
"Derek, come on. I know you're in there. Open up!" Came a voice through my thick front door, one I recognized instantly as Stiles. "I get you're not exactly Mr. Social, even on a good day, but you showed up at my house last night drunk, and threw up all over my dad's flowers. Do you not think I deserve an explanation?"
I growled at the peep hole, and let Stiles in only to shut him up. He was being so damn loud, and my head hurt far too much to deal with him. I unlocked the door, and opened it partially, allowing Stiles to push through into my hallway. He was wearing a Star Wars t-shirt and some dark blue denim jeans that seemed to hug his hips. I had to actually remind myself to look away before he noticed me staring.
"What the hell was up with you last night?" Stiles breathed out, closing the door behind him and following me into my living room.
"Sorry." I mumbled, sitting on my chair across from Stiles who managed to take up the entire space of my couch. "I was drunk.
"Yeah, I know!" Stiles replied incredulously, "But that doesn't explain why you had to ruin my big moment with Lydia!"
The words reached my ears, and made me feel sick. 'Big moment' could only mean one thing, and it was nothing I wanted to hear about. Nothing I wanted to know about. Nothing I thought I could handle. I stayed silent, not trusting myself to be able to speak without it coming out as a pathetic whine, because why her. What was so great about her? Why did Stiles love her, and not me? And even as I thought those things, I knew how stupid I was being, I just couldn't stop thinking them!
Stiles obviously misinterpreted my silence, however, as his next reply was, "Sorry. I'm sorry man, I shouldn't be yelling at you. Not now, not after what happened. I don't blame you for getting drunk, I think I'd have done the same."
I nod, glad that I could use this as an excuse. Over the freaking moon that I didn't have to tell Stiles the real reason I drove to his house in the middle of the night. I coughed, aware I hadn't made any noise in two minutes, thinking about how to respond. I came up with nothing, so instead continued to stare at the floor, and hope it would open up and swallow me whole so I'd never have to face anyone ever again. And my head hurt like I've never known before.
"Y'know," Stiles began, breaking the silence, and for once I was glad of his inability to be quite for longer than 30 seconds. "When we first met I never thought that we'd be this close. C'mon buddy, let's get some coffee in your system."
I spent the rest of the day with Stiles, drinking coffee and talking. Well, Stiles spent the day talking, and I occasionally grunted a reply. Stiles smelled nice, and he looked nice, and he was nice. And he talked nicely about Lydia, and all the nice things they'd do together when they finally had another big moment. I did not feel nice, I felt like every mention of her name was a knife in my back, but I knew deep down I had no right to be jealous.
When night came, I spent most of it drinking, knowing Stiles would be with Lydia. I didn't run three red lights and drive at three times the speed limit, instead I just drove. I followed the law-well, aside from the whole repeat drink driving thing-and just drove watching Beacon Hills disappear behind me. Watching Stiles disappear behind me. Y'know, there's a reason they tell you not to drink and drive. Not ten miles away from the town I detested, I let the car drift between lanes, and my reflexes weren't quick enough.
A Coca-Cola truck hit me head on at 50 miles an hour. I died instantly, and my last thought was of how nice my life could have been with Stiles.