Hello and welcome!
First and foremost, a warning/spoiler. This story will feature intense and mature content such as self harm, eating disorders, etc. It will not be graphic, but will be thoroughly explored from the psychological stand point.
Second, as far as time line goes, I'm not entirely sure when this is going to be taking place. As of right now, it's more than likely the beginning of 3A.
Anyway, onward and enjoy! Review, critique, let me know what I'm doing right and wrong!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, its characters, or any affiliated entities. I maintain artistic license of my original character(s).
"It's not that I don't think it's completely ridiculous, I'm just asking you to consider it as a possibility."
"I think all of this supernatural stuff has finally gotten to you, Stiles."
"EXACTLY. A year ago you would have completely blown off even the chance of half the crap we've seen being real, Scott. To be honest, I'm surprised you'd count out anything at this point."
"So what exactly are you saying?"
"Alright, imagine this –." Long, dark wavy hair. "Uh..." Green eyes. "I just..." Rosy cheeks.
"Hello?" Scott snapped his fingers in his friends face as he scrambled to hold on to his thought process. "Stiles? Earth to Stiles! You in there buddy?"
Stiles shook his head snapping his focus back to Scott. "Uh yeah," he mumbled, raking his hands through his hair, centering his mind again, "I just thought I saw Em."
"C'mon dude, I thought you were past that. I need you to be focused, and that means realizing she's probably got it much better at this fancy school. You've got to let it go."
Stiles thought back to the last time he'd seen his friend. They'd just started school as Freshman at Beacon Hills High, but they'd known each other as as he'd known Scott, which was pretty much forever. His mom used to call them the Three Musketeers, Emmalyn had been hell bent her entire childhood to be treated equally by the boys. Anything from how high they could climb a tree to how fast they could eat dinner, she didn't want to be underestimated. Then, one day, nothing. She vanished in a cloud of smoke. Her father had told the boys she'd gotten an offer to attend a great technical high school, one she couldn't refuse. They hadn't heard from her since.
"I'm insulted! Out of everyone, I'm the one that's always there to handcuff your wrists to radiators...that sounded so much worse out loud than it did in my head."
"You sure you're feeling OK?"
"I may or may not have forgotten to take my adderall when I ran out of the house this morning. Don't worry, I'll hit the nurses office and grab my back-up. I'm fine...seriously."
In all reality, he wasn't. Emmalyn's disappearance ranked right up there with Bigfoot as far as unsolved mysteries go. Her running off had always confused him, it just never seemed like something she would do, to just pick up and leave Scott and himself in the dust. His hands flew above his head like the sky was falling when the warning bell rang. He let out a disgruntled huff as he picked the papers that flew from his hands in his episode off of the floor, Coach had never been, and never would be a morning person.
oOo
"Ms. Richards? Your paperwork and transcript have finished processing."
A petite brunette across the room lifted her head up, tucking a strand of wavy hair behind her ear. Her frame was slight, pale green eyes wide with anxiety. She made her way across the room, gingerly reaching out for the maroon folder in the receptionists hands.
"This will have most everything you need to make your transition here at Beacon Hills High an easy one. I've taken the liberty of highlighting the locations of each of your classes, as well as your locker and Ms. Morrell's office."
The girl looked up at the elder woman, an eyebrow cocked slightly in confusion. She leaned forward and continued in a hushed tone.
"Ms. Richards, I know that you've certainly been through more trials at your young age than you should have, but please be mindful that regular sessions with Ms. Morrell were a requirement of your discharge. You've got a free block after lunch, that's when we have set aside time for you to see her, every day. At least for your transition. We'll see how things go and if Ms. Morrell sees it fit, we'll pull back on how frequently you need to see her."
The woman looked down and grimaced slightly, seeing the girl leaving behind bright red scratch marks on her forearm. When she noticed, her jaw clenched as she pulled her sleeves back down, refusing to make any further eye contact. The air was thick with awkward tension until the principal came tumbling out of his office.
"Ah, Emmalyn isn't it? I trust you've gotten all of your paperwork with no speed bumps?"
She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin, suppressive line.
"Excellent. I've taken the liberty of also including a schedule for our lacrosse team in the hopes you'd join the ranks and show some team spirit!"
She hadn't forgotten how important lacrosse was to this town in her time away. Growing up, joining the team was all she would ever hear about from some of her friends. Fidgeting slightly and rubbing her opposite shoulder, she silently hoped that he wouldn't continue his social hour much longer.
"Well, best see you off to class then. We've already told your first teacher to expect you a few minutes late. He shouldn't give you...much of a hassle. And Emeline, if I may ask, what brought you back to Beacon Hills."
Grateful that the entire world didn't know her business, her answer was short, voice scratchy and meek, "It was time to come home."
Emmalyn readjusted her textbooks in her arms as she struggled to find a more comfortable position for her bag on her shoulder. She'd had no trouble finding her locker, but underestimated just how many things she would be carrying throughout the day. Fumbling through her folder from the office, she finally managed to find her daily schedule, a grimace lining her face when she saw she would have the unfortunate pleasure of starting every day with Economics. She wondered to herself if Coach Finstock was still the one teaching it, silently praying that if that were the case, that he wouldn't make much of a fuss upon her arrival. The map was a kind gesture, but overall an unnecessary one. Beacon Hills was one of those towns that once you knew your way around, you always would. It had a way of never changing, and the high school was no exception to that rule. The closer she got to class, the clearer Coach's bellowing insults got.
"Alright you hooligans, pipe down! You've had all summer to flap your jaws at each other, now it's my turn. Hey! Attention, now. I'm looking at you, Greenburg! We've got a returning student with us today. I, for one, have no idea why anyone would come back to you knuckle draggers, but my therapist says my unhinged anger towards all of you and receding hairline are some kind of mid-life crisis. I'm sure you'll all do well to welcome back Emmalyn Richards." Coach waved me into the room frantically, "Good luck with these ones, I sure has hell wouldn't have come back."
Emmalyn slid into the room, hoping to go as unnoticed as possible while she tugged her thick knit cardigan tighter around her slight frame. Her breathing was shallow, an attempt to tame the incessant desire to toss what little breakfast she had eaten. Her light eyes traced the floor tiles, only glancing up long enough to locate the nearest empty seat to the door, but long enough to give her away. Shoulders cringing upward, the sound of scraping metal rang through her ears a someone scrambled out of their seat.
Stiles, she thought to herself as her eyes landed on the same warm nutmeg ones she'd known her entire childhood. Taking advantage of his lead feet, Emmalyn quickly ducked into the desk she'd hide in for the rest of the semester. She sat there, eyes wide and boring holes into the back of whomever was in front of her. This wasn't the plan, she told herself as anxiety began to peak in her chest, I wasn't supposed to see him, to see either of them this soon. Too soon...too soon. Squeezing her eyes shut, she began counting down from ten in an attempt to calm herself and avoid the awkward gaze from Stiles across the room. She hadn't heard from her best friend in nearly two years, she wasn't ready to change that quite yet.
When she opened her eyes, she sank deeper into seat seeing that Stiles was still staring dumbfounded at her. Managing a look of sheer desperation in Coach's direction, she'd hoped he would put an end to her misery. A request to which he happily obliged.
"Stilinski! For the love of god, it's a miracle that I can handle your usual level of social ineptitude. Sit down!"
"Huh?"
Finstock walked over to Stiles' desk, slamming his hands down in front of him.
"See this vein here in my forehead, Stilinski? This is what happens every time you're within shouting distance from swallowing my desire to strangle you!"
"Coach, that's like...all the time."
He shoved his index finger into Stiles' forehead, "Exactly. So sit down!"
Stiles grabbed blindly for his chair and slapped Scott's shoulder on the way down.
"Scott!" he demanded in a hushed whisper, "What did I freaking tell you!"
"OK, you were right about seeing her but I don't know dude, she didn't seem too excited to see you."
"Man, you've got no idea what you're talking about. She's my best friend, our best friend!"
Scott shook his head defiantly, "Werewolf senses don't lie."
"That doesn't even make sense, your radar must be broken or something."
Scott shrugged, defeated. Tapping the end of his pencil harshly on his desk, Stiles couldn't help but keep glancing in her direction throughout the class. Scott didn't know the Emmalyn that he did. When he would leave town to see his dad, she and Stiles were practically inseparable. She knew him like he knew the back of his own hand.
Eventually their eyes met in one of his passing glances and he awkwardly waved to her. Her body went rigid and the eye contact broke as easily as it began, and Stiles couldn't help but wonder, did she really want to avoid him? The smile that had been on his face since the beginning of class had fallen and shattered on the ground. His right leg began to bounce nervously and he regretted not stopping by the nurse before class for his adderall. Chewing on his pencil, he began to mull over any and all reasons she may not want to talk to him in his head. He had always written to her. Even when she hadn't written back, he always did his best to keep her up to date on himself and Scott.
Oh god, he thought, what if that's it? What if she had been ignoring me and I hadn't taken the hint? What if she thinks I'm some crazy weirdo now?
If the desire to talk to her hadn't been strong enough before, he had to talk to her now. Convince her that he wasn't some kind of stalker or something. When the bell rang, he lunged for the door just as fast as she did.
She had to get out, a conversation with Stiles was not one she was willing to have right then. Two years was a long to time to just pick up like nothing had happened. Especially when plenty did. Plenty of things that she went through, alone. No crutch, no so called friends, just herself to depend on. It had been years since they had spoken, it hurt her just to be in the same class as him. Her breathing became slightly labored as her skin began to crawl, the sudden sensation of being suffocated by her clothing overtaking her senses. She couldn't be there right now, so she ran.
"Em! Hey, Emma, it's Stiles! Wait!" He muttered apologies to the students he ran into in his pursuit of her while she did her best to merge with the sea of classmates.
His pleas for her attention began to die off the further she got down the hallway. She couldn't handle this. Her first day back was already so much more stressful than she anticipated it being, which was really saying something considering getting out of bed each day was enough of a stress for her to be medicated.
She began clawing at her forearms again, desperately trying to scratch away her overwhelming desire to be normal. She would never be normal again, never be the Em he once knew. He couldn't see the monster she had become.