Alright, here we go again! I have edited and rewrote this, and made it it's own piece. I hope you guys like it and please forgive me for taking so long to work on it, I hope its worth the wait. And please REVIEW! I love the favorites and alerts but the Reviews are what keeps me going!
Betrayal: a sweet word, easy on the lips, languid, almost fluid in speech. From the word, multitudes of emotions come; they bubble and fester with the slightest push of a reminder. People respond differently when they are betrayed. Some rage against the world, expressing their raw agony by lashing out. Others whimper and wilt. And a special few shatter.
I have done all, I raged silently against the world; all the while constructing my own reality where no one could hurt me. Still, not even that had been enough to protect my fragile psyche and I broke. Personality gone, thoughts flitting, I watched through dull eyes as flowers withered and card lost their luster and eventually fell forlornly to their sides with the dried petals of flowers long past. I was forgotten, nurses passed by in soft pastels, their eyes never strayed toward my room, much less my prone form.
The few visitors had quickly dwindled, I never saw Derek, or any of the pack, not even Isaac, and that kinda hurt. I thought we had something, I mean, I was there helping him get over his claustrophobia and I was able to convince my dad, the sheriff, that he wasn't the one who killed his father. But, I guess because he's pack, he has to do what Derek says and Derek doesn't want to have anything to do with the broken human… Danny was the last to visit, he would sit awkwardly by my bed, sometimes he'd hold my hand, other times he'd attempt to learn sign language for me, hoping that I'd 'wake up' and correct him or make fun of how terrible he was at it. I think the silence was the thing that drove him away. If only I could escape it.
Eventually even my father stopped visiting, Ms. McCall was able to make his spend his nights at home, letting him stop by only briefly. She rarely looked at me, and when she did her eyes would be misted over, as if she wanted to take away my pain. Ironically it was the only thing the doctors were able to do for me, a good amount of the time I was in a blissed out state, my scars didn't hurt, my left leg was delightfully numb, if only they were able to do the same with my mind. To silence the inner me, but then, I don't think I'd survive if there wasn't some type of noise in my head.
When I do surface from my mind, I see the nurses pushing around carts and looking like content, pastel covered bees. The heart monitor was the only constant thing I found, it continuously proclaimed that I was still alive, with every steady blip on the screen. My heart was beating, lungs pushed air, all body parts intact, but I just didn't give a damn any more.
So, within the solitude of the room and the eventual lack of visitors, I was able to evaluate who I was and who I wanted to be. The more I reflected on my breaking point, I realized that it was the gram of wolves bane that killed the wolf. The first crack came from the death of mom, it cut deep and wept openly. A large chip came off with Scott, not only did he turn furry and try to kill me a good few times, but he eventually abandoned me for Allison. Then, seeing the love of my childhood life, Lydia die, or the equivalent of death, having been bitten so many times by an alpha, but dad was the last crack. He let Scott in, even though I had given him a vague reason into why we were no longer friends and why I didn't want to see him, and he still allowed him into my carefully constructed world. He broke his word in saying that I would be able to decide when I wanted to reenter the world, and with his broken word, he broke me.
In retrospect, I began to see how utterly pointless my attempts at being helpful had been. I had attempted to be upbeat, to be the researcher, the guy with the plan, and no one wanted that. Derek, Scott, even the Sheriff were only so willing to indulge me in my attempts to aid them for the 'greater good'. I began to hate them, I hated how they thought that they knew better than me, how even after all the hours of research I did before I opened my mouth I was discarded, as if I were nothing more than an out of season scarf. I hated them. But I hated myself more, I wore my heart openly on my sleeve, how I was the go-get-er and how I tried to be the upbeat person who was always ready to make someone smile. I was stupid. And that was the reason I was broken, physically, mentally, emotionally, I looked at the old me, I grabbed his image and I ripped it to shreds. Gorging on the fleeting innocence, imagining the sweet screams that would come from me, him, I killed myself. And I was no more.
CPR, electrical charges, nothing worked. Stiles was proclaimed dead at 3:36pm, and his body was taken to the morgue. Nurse McCall had to be restrained, Sheriff Stilinski was devastated, and all of Beacon Hills heard mournful howls floating through the air that night. Causing the residents to close their curtains and turn the lights on.
If you're one of those lucky few people who've never experienced pain, other than a skinned knee, then you wouldn't understand the agony that forced me back into the living. Or is it un-living? Everything hurt, my teeth hurt and I didn't know that that was possible. My limbs were leaden, molten lava flowed through my veins, heart pounded painfully in my temples. Eventually I was able to open my eyes to a paneled ceiling, one that could be mistaken for a school ceiling, but the smell was unmistakable. Death, the whole place reeked of cold metal, disinfectant and death. I moved my head to the side, and saw that I was on a table of some kind, really a table is glorifying the object, it was a metal slab. Oh god, a metal slab. I lifted my head up, neck cracked, eyes traveled down my very naked, very blue body to my big toe on my right foot. A tag. They only put tags on the dead people. I was dead. Am I still dead? Automatically my tongue went to my teeth, no sharp fangs, no sudden urge to lurch around wanting brains.
That was when I noticed the stitching, the Y, the dull ache of my ribs, I was dissected, like a frog, or a…rat or a … what else do people dissect now-a-days? I gingerly felt the stitches, at least I wasn't open when I woke up. Carefully I sat up, wincing as my left leg was jarred, and the stitches burned. I really hoped they used a clean needle. I know its mandatory for living people, but what about bodies? I hit myself in the forehead, forcing the thoughts from my mind. I had to get out of here, out of the morgue, out of Beacon Hills. I was already out of their lives, literally now, so who would miss a corpse?
The cold was starting to get to me, I glanced around the room, trying to ignore my slab neighbor, at least it was covered with a sheet. My eyes zeroed in on a lab coat conveniently located next to a door, finally something to cover myself with. Awkwardly I stood, hands clutching the slab, wincing as blood decided to rush towards my feet. One deep breath and I was wobbling towards the coat, painfully dragging my mangled leg behind me. A part of me, possibly the old Stiles, wondered what I must look like, more than likely like an over grown toddler wobbling towards a parental figure, or a drunkard who stripped and decided to move forward in the Adam and Eve ideologically.
Finally my hands clutched the white cloth; I leaned heavily against the wall and painfully put my arms through the arm…holes…what are they called anyway? Buttoning the coat, I let out another sigh, even though it was a thin cover, it was something.
I was alive, that was a start, I was breathing and I had to move. If I didn't then someone would find me, a morgue worker, could walk in at any moment and see the slab vacated, and me, the once-was-meat-on-the-slab, moving and breathing. Government research division, underground laboratory, all that jazz, more than likely would happen, or they would just shoot me…would a bullet kill me? Anyway, it was time to move.
Slowly I opened the door, praying to whoever was out there that it wouldn't creak, and I moved forward, dragging my mangled knee behind me. The hall was eerily lit, more than likely the lights were giving off the high pitched sounds of faulty electrical wiring, things that make a perfect scenario for a slasher movie. There are small favors in being deaf. Ignoring the cold tiles under my very naked toes, hand against the wall, I shuffled onwards. Pausing every so often, hoping to feel a vibration on the ground, or from the wall, anything to indicate that there was something coming. Nothing. I put too much stock into old western movies…damn it.
After a while I spotted an EXIT sign, I never knew how amazing those things looked. Once I stood outside, on the cold asphalt, naked under the lab coat, I sighed. I needed to make a list, a TO DO TO SURVIVE list, and yes, I know I capitalized the words, don't judge. I was guessing but I am pretty sure that I still needed the general things to live: food, water, clothing, shelter, warmth. But clothes first, if I didn't want to draw any attention to myself I needed to get dressed, in something normal, living people wear. No offense to those stuck up doctors and scientists who strut around in their lab coats all the time, even outside of the office, isn't that a no-no anyway? Good to know that the ADHD is still with me….
I broke into a goodwill, don't judge me. I was practically naked, broke and it was raining. I had been able to walk to the town over before the cold really set in and I decided to break in. Going commando is better than nothing. In a rather ragged backpack I was able to stuff five pairs of jeans, two pairs of shoes, I wore boots, six t-shirts, I wore three, and two hoodies, again I wore them. I also snatched two blankets and a sad looking pillow-pet, I only got the essentials. But then I realized that I would have to break into a convenience store to get food, I looked at the camera in the corner and winced. The police wouldn't believe the footage, and more than likely the hunters wouldn't either, I mean, who would believe that the dead sheriff's kid from a town over broke into a goodwill and stole clothes? Hopefully no one. I mean, I didn't believe it, and yet I'm the undead sheriff kid.
More to follow….please review! Hope you liked it!