AHHH! Have I ever told you guys how AMAZING you are?! If not, ummmm y'all are DA BEST! The feedback last update was spectacular, and hearing my writing/storytelling wasn't the cause of the dwindling comments, well that certainly took a load off my mind!
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Allll righty, welp enjoy this update. And for those of you who (like me) live for action sequences, NEXT chapter DEFINITELY will have it!
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SEVEN: TEAR YOU APART
"They're coming back, we don't have much time to talk," Deaton rummaged around the cabinets, clearly looking for something as the young beta grimaced in pain.
"I can't believe Derek did this to you," I growled, examining the deep lacerations in my friend's side for the third time.
"It's just a cut," Scott tried to sound reassuring, having clearly saw just how upset I was. "I think he was doing it to prove something to the others… like reminding them that he's the Alpha."
"Yeah, and apparently a power-hungry sociopath," I vibrated with anger, but as I glanced up from the still bleeding claw marks to McCall's chocolate brown eyes, my rage was immediately replaced with guilt.
"You never would have gotten ambushed like that if I hadn't suggested we split up," I somberly shook my head, voice heavy.
"We needed to find Boyd," Scott reminded me, tone of voice soft.
"Yeah well that was too little too late," I spat bitterly, feeling beyond disgruntled that I had failed, yet again, to keep my cousin's destructive tendencies at bay.
"Lift your shirt back up," Deaton quickly returned, holding a cloth and bottle.
"What is that?" Scott asked whilst I backed a way to let the mysterious vet work.
Glancing from the questionable looking bottle and back to McCall's anxious face, Deaton smirked a bit: "Rubbing alcohol. You don't want it to get infected do you?"
Shaking his head 'no', Deaton then began dabbing the burning disinfectant all over Scott's ribs, making the tan teenager hiss in pain.
"You'll heal the same, just not as quickly because…"
"Because of Derek," I darkly finished the balding doctor's sentence from where I now stood next to the dead hunter's mutilated body.
Glancing at me quickly, McCall then turned his attention back onto his boss: "How do you know this? How do you know anything?"
Perking up slightly, I put aside my enraged thoughts about Derek to focus on the conversation at hand.
I had often asked Deaton how he knew so much, but I always came up short. Perhaps Scott would have better luck than I ever did.
"It's a long story," the African American man responded cryptically, but once he noticed my and Scott's unsatisfied faces, he added: "I can tell you, I know about your kind."
"Our kind?" I asked, practically challenging him to confess more.
Brown eyes drifting over to my direction, Deaton nodded, only for his gaze to land on the stiff lying next to me: "This… this is something different."
Standing up with a wince, Scott pulled his shirt back down and hobbled over to join us as we stared down at the grizzly body: "Well, do you know what did it?"
"No," he shook his head. "But I have a feeling the Argents will… and soon."
Immediately glancing at the clock, I knew sunrise was a good ways away, but the way Deaton phrased that, it led me to believe that our time was even more limited than he previously stated.
"And this is the crucial part," he looked to both McCall and I as if he was instructing us about something extremely important: "They will have a record or book with descriptions... histories, notations, of all of the things they have discovered."
Eyes wider than usual, Scott's pulse rose a bit as he looked between his boss and I with a slightly alarmed expression: "All of the things? How many different things are there?"
Remembering just how little this new beta understood about our darker reality, I opened my mouth to divulge some of the unsettling truth, only to hear multiple large vehicles pull up into the animal clinic's parking lot.
"Someone's here," I muttered, brows furrowed as I listened to about four different people's footsteps. "And they brought friends."
"It's probably the Argents," Deaton whispered back, quickly grabbing the bloody cloth and rubbing alcohol to stash it away. "Hide."
Opening his mouth to try to say something else, I immediately grabbed Scott and dragged him into the spacious supply closet with me, making it just in time as the door to the examination room swung open.
"I'm starting to think I need to buy a more prominent 'closed' sign," Deaton stated, voice and expression composed.
I had to hand it to the man… nothing ever seemed to fluster him…
Pressed up against the doors, Scott and I peered through the small crack between them and watched as an unfriendly looking Chris Argent and his two companions silently filed in. Glancing at my anxious friend, we then heard a colder, much more worrisome voice join in on the conversation.
"Hello, Allen," Gerard Argent appeared from the shadowy hallway, beady eyes glinting. "It's been a while."
Hearing Deaton's pulse rise slightly, I got the feeling the veterinarian disliked the white-haired hunter just as much as I did, and as my mind searched for a possible reason for the human's hatred towards the hunter, Gerard continued: "Last I heard, you had retired."
"And last I heard, you followed a code of conduct," Deaton shot back, voice even.
Taking in Gerard's clenched jaw, I knew the man hated being disrespected, but noticing how tense the situation was quickly becoming, Chris gruffly defended his father: "If you hadn't noticed, this body is one of ours."
Gaze flitting over to Mr. Argent's piercing blue eyes, Deaton nodded: "I did. And I also noticed the gunpowder residue on his finger tips." Clearly having stumbled upon something the hunters didn't want to be discussed, they all stared back at the vet in stony silence as he continued: "Don't assume I will be swayed by the philosophy because you raise a couple of questions."
"He was only 23," Chris argued, eyes holding such a look of pain and mourning behind them that it surprised me.
"Killers come in all ages," Deaton replied flatly, brown eyes staring directly at Gerard's smugly grinning face.
Yup. He definitely hated that guy, and from the looks of pure loathing being exchanged, it was definitely for reasons more complicated than simple personal differences.
"All ages, sizes, and shapes," Gerard coolly remarked. "And it's the last one that concerns us."
"How about you tell us what you found?" Chris nodded to the young man's disgusting and mangled body.
Nodding, Deaton walked over and turned the dead hunter's neck: "You see this cut? It's precise, almost surgical. But this is not the wound that killed him," he divulged with his usual dramatic flair. "This had a more interesting purpose."
"Relating to the spine," Gerard thoughtfully stated, and I could see the wheels turning in that demented brain of his, giving me the feeling that he knew a Hell of a lot more than we all did.
"That's right," the veterinarian nodded, voice slow. "Whatever made this cut, it's laced with a paralytic toxin, potent enough to disable motor functions. These, however," he pointed to the massive claw marks that tore into the man's chest and stomach, "These are the cause of death. Notice the patterns on each side."
"Five for each finger," Mr. Argent mumbled under his breath.
"Each claw," Gerard corrected his son, black eyes suddenly moving to the closet Scott and I were silently concealed in.
Jerking back a bit, McCall and I literally held our breath as we glanced nervously at one another.
Had he seen or heard us? Or was it just a coincidence.
Regardless, Deaton must have spotted the old hunter's odd stare, for he soon spoke up: "As you can see, it dug in, slashed up and eviscerated the lungs, slicing through the rib cage. On top of more… unsavory of attacks."
"Have you seen anything like this before?" Chris Argent asked, expression slightly troubled.
"No," Allen shook his head, voice heavy.
"Any idea at all?" Mr. Argent pressed, gaze steady though his heartbeat was racing.
"No, but I can tell you it's fast, remarkably strong, and has the capacity to render its victims helpless within seconds," Deaton's brown eyes held a hint of worry.
"You're saying we should be cautious?" Chris almost laughed. "We get it."
Not finding any of this amusing, the African American veterinarian stated gravely: "I'm saying you should be afraid. Be very afraid," the atmosphere of the room became dense and ominous as he continued: "Because in the natural world, predators with paralytic toxins use them to catch and eat their prey, but this prey was not eaten. That means whatever killed him only wanted to kill him… in fact, killing may be its only purpose."
And as Deaton and his four hunter guests exchanged disquieted looks, Scott and I glanced at one another, each of our hearts sinking in our tight chests.
I had definitely been led here for a reason, and now, I just realized how dire of a reason it had truly been.
Having waiting a good half hour after the Argents and their hunting party left, Scott and I bid Deaton farewell before heading back out into the night.
Mind racing, we both walked along the main road in stiff silence, combing over what this new monster could possible mean for us.
We had enough to deal with considering my idiotic older cousin was turning unstable teenagers into werewolves left and right, and the impending war with the Argents certainly didn't bode well for us, so now learning that these killings were the result of some impossibly strong, appallingly scary creature, well, McCall and I were obviously overwhelmed.
"Have you heard from Stilinski?" I finally broke the heavy silence, eyes focused on the cellphone screen that still showed no missed messages or calls.
Limping beside me in his blood soaked shirt, McCall winced as he checked his own phone and simply shook his head: "No. Why?"
"No reason," I blurted out a little too earnestly, causing the teen to smirk at me. Cheeks immediately growing flushed, I then swiftly added: "It's just, um, it's just been a while since I heard from him."
"You said Erica trashed his car," Scott reminded me calmly. "He's probably taking care of that."
"For four hours?" I asked skeptically, my brows raised.
Truth be told, I knew how I sounded to the young beta, but I still couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was off. Stilinski was always the person to send incessant text messages on a good day, let alone when we were trying to affirm something as important as Boyd being the new beta.
Eyeing my worried expression and hearing my most likely erratic pulse, Scott's face grew uneasy.
"Do you think something happened?" he asked tentatively.
Frowning, I tried not to unnecessarily worry my companion with my neurotic paranoia: "I mean, probably not, but when was the last time he just patiently waited for an update?"
Mind playing with my very valid point, Scott then asked: "Did you try to call him?"
"Pretty sure you would've seen me step away to make a phone call," I replied honestly, causing the tan teenager to nod his head.
I could tell that I was now worrying him, but there was something else going on behind his unusually serious face. Then I remembered that McCall had plans tonight. He had been talking about it all day, whilst I tried my best to ignore him, for adolescent relationships were never my favorite topic of discussion.
Feeling someone guilty for sullying what was supposed to be a good evening for him, I quickly said with a bright expression and tone of voice: "Hey, I'm sure he's fine. I'll check the auto-shop and you go on that super secret and nauseatingly romantic date you had planned with Allison."
Looking at me with a conflicted expression, I could tell Scott was still uneasy about just going off to have a good time with his girlfriend, and understanding that I was the one to put such unreasonably pessimistic thoughts into his head, I knew I had to remedy the situation.
Forcing the most convincing smile onto my face to date, I raised my brows and sincerely stated: "McCall, you barely get to see her. Go have fun, and I'll keep you posted, okay?"
Breaking out into his contagious, dimpled grin, Scott's heart practically skipped with excitement as he jovially thanked me.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I rolled my eyes with a light chuckle before playfully tugging at his crimson-stained shirt: "But you may wanna change first."
Chocolate brown eyes drifting down and taking in the truly horrific sight, Scott sheepishly nodded his head.
"Right," and as the boy took off, clearly feeling much better due to the prospect of seeing Allison, he quickly added over his shoulder: "Just call me, okay?"
"Yes! Now get going! It's almost 9!" I beamed cheerfully as I shooed him away, but once the beta disappeared onto the shadowy short cut to his home, my smile fell.
The moment McCall actually agreed to go on his date, I could have sworn I heard that eerily familiar hissing noise, and doing my best to seem unshaken so that the kid could go have a normal night for once, I knew that something somewhere was going to go terribly wrong.
I just hoped it didn't involve that gangly, defenseless dork.
The sky had opened up and thick, bone-chilling raindrops had drenched me through by the time I got within a mile of the auto-repair shop.
Leaping from tree to tree, I couldn't help but regret my decision to only wear that thin leather jacket, maroon shorts, and black and white tribal tank. Then again, I didn't quite plan on running around half the county this time of night during a storm.
Vision hazy from the pelting rain, I blinked furiously as I struggled to keep a firm grip as I quickly swung from one branch to the next, but the moment I spotted the disconcerting sight of flashing blue and red lights just ahead, my stomach lurched.
Halting to a stop, I tried to listen to the sound of the various loud voices over my heavy breathing and pounding rain, but the moment I picked up the sheriff's frantic voice asking for his son, I felt my body go numb.
Oh God no…
Distracted and panicked, I slipped and fell from the slick bark, tumbling down and down, only to land in a puddle of freezing cold rainwater.
Icy liquid snapping me out of my momentary paralysis, I took off, sprinting the last 5,280 feet as fast as I could. Tripping over the slippery and wet rocks, the auto-shop finally came into my line of blurry sight, and once my eyes landed on the dozen cop cars and single ambulance, I felt myself grow sick.
"I told you, I just walked in and saw the thing on top of the guy, that's all," I finally heard Stiles' strained voice over the chaotic noise.
Letting out a loud sigh of relief, I finally allowed myself to slow down, having made my way clear across Beacon County in record time.
Gasping for air, I put my hands on my head as the Sheriff's concerned voiced asked: "What's wrong with your hand?"
"Nothing," I heard the perfectly safe kid lie. "Can I just get out of here now?"
"Look, if there's something you don't think you can tell me…"
"You think I am lying?" Stiles cut his father off defensively as I gradually made my way closer, now spotting the Stilinskis sitting beside one another in the back of an ambulance.
Getting a visual confirmation that both of them were, indeed, unscathed by whatever horrific event had taken place tonight, I still felt the need to send Scott an urgent message. So quickly pulling out my phone, I wrote a text and hit 'send' just as a body bag was wheeled out of the store.
"No, of course not," John shook his head, face firm but eyes soft. "I'm just worried about you."
I could hear Stiles' anxiously beating heart, and although he was trying his very best to seem fine, I knew that the pale teen had definitely witnessed something beyond unpleasant.
Interpreting his son's silence the same way I was, Mr. Stilinski continued to try to ease his only child's mind: "Now, if you saw someone do this, if you are afraid maybe they'll come back and make sure you don't say anything about it…"
"I didn't see anything," Stiles cut his old man off as his caramel eyes finally looked up. "At all."
Still unsure of whether or not to believe him, the sheriff merely gazed back at his boy's steady stare.
"Now can I go, please?" he raised his brows, voice impatient and face tired.
Nodding his head, Mr. Stilinski slowly rose with a slight groan: "Sure."
"Jeep?" the dorky kid eagerly looked around, no doubt excited to leave Beacon Hills' most recent crime scene.
"Gonna have to impound it," John stated, but once Stiles let out a loud outburst of aggravated syllables, the officer of the law patted his sour kid's shoulder: "Sorry kid, evidence. See you at home."
Face extremely disgruntled, Stiles quickly called after his father: "All right… well, at least make sure they wash it!"
And as his dad went back inside the taped off repair shop, Stiles Stilinski grumbled to himself and ran a hand over his head, annoyed and exhausted brown eyes finally meeting mine from where I silently stood just behind the row of squad cars.
Immediately standing up, his composed façade dropped as I rushed forward, ducking under the yellow 'caution' tape. Visibly shaken, he seemed even paler than usual, and his body was trembling even more than my shivering one, and as we reached one another, all I could do was breathlessly ask over and over: "Are you okay?"
Nodding, his face was stiff as we stood toe-to-toe in the pouring rain, and my heart ached for the shell-shocked and unnervingly quietly kid.
I felt absolutely horrible for the poor guy. It was clear whatever had happened was terrifying, and it was my fault he was alone.
Yet again, a friend got hurt because I wasn't there…
"Stiles, answer me," I was still panting as I looked up at him pleadingly.
Words finally registering to him, the lanky boy with flushed cheeks blinked, only to jerkily nod his head: "Y-yeah. I'm… I'm fine."
I knew that he was just trying to appear brave, but based on his erratic pulse and the look behind those usually bright brown eyes, I understood just how big of a lie that was.
He had so much to process ever since Scott turned, and he had been trying his hardest to adjust, but there was only so much fear and anxiety a person could deal with. It was a crushing weight. One that slowly suffocates you as you helplessly hold on, and I knew it too well.
Suddenly lifting my arms, I went to hug him, but the moment we both registered what my body was involuntarily doing, I froze. Cheeks growing hot under his puppy-dog stare whilst my hands hovered in the air, I then awkwardly patted his shoulders.
Odd and slightly confused expression plastered on his face, I quickly stepped back and gruffly brushed some soaked hair from my drenched face: "I-I, ugh, I'm glad you're okay."
Catching a small, appreciative smirk tugging at his lips, I avoided his gaze as Mrs. McCall's car zoomed into the parking lot.
"Oh, good!" I practically cried, "Scott's here."
Screeching to a halt in front of us, I still felt Stiles' stare burning holes into the back of my head, but I merely jumped into the backseat of the vehicle and tried to tell myself that all of these crazy emotions I had been experiencing were the residual effects of my withdrawal.
"You okay?" Scott's deep brown eyes darted from his best friend to me as I stared out the window, gnawing on my nails.
Not even answering the question, Stilinski said darkly: "You were right."
Puzzled, Scott furrowed his brows as his buddy continued: "It's not like you guys."
"You saw it?" Scott practically gasped as we drove down the road back towards the Stilinski residence. "What did it look like?"
Forgetting my odd and highly embarrassing behavior from just before, I leaned forward, listening intently at the first lead we've had on this mysterious and deadly monster all week.
"Its eyes were almost like… reptilian," Stiles recalled, voice flat. "T-there was something about them…"
"What do you mean?" I inquired, mind traveling back to the strange hissing sound I had been hearing all day.
"You know like when you see a friend in the Halloween mask?" he looked between his best friend and I. "And you feel like you know who it is, but you can't figure it out?"
"Are you saying you know who it is?" McCall raised his brows in shock.
Expression now extremely anxious, Stilinski then slowly shared the highly unnerving news: "No, but I think it knew me."
"So you think it's some kind of reptile?" Allison asked me quietly as we sat outside at one of the tables.
Eyes darting around the sunlit, crowded school courtyard, I turned back to face my brunette companion and divulged my thoughts in a low voice: "Stilinski said its eyes looked like it belonged to one, and didn't you and Scott say that it made a hissing noise?"
"Yeah," she nodded slowly, pretending to jot some notes in her notepad.
"Well I heard it too," I confessed, flipping absentmindedly though my newest book about computer viruses.
Instantly looking up, Allison's brown eyes were wide as she whispered: "You did?"
"Yeah, last night. Right around the auto-shop," I stated, only to add: "But what's weirder is that when this thing killed that hunter… it used a paralytic toxin…"
Too stunned to even ask how I knew this information, Allison mused out loud: "So its poisonous."
"Yeah, and you know what else is poisonous? A lot of reptiles," I couldn't help but be a bit excited over how things seemed to be falling into place.
Sure my forced study sessions with Stiles weren't doing much for my grades, but they certainly helped with my investigative skills.
Our brainstorm, however, was soon interrupted by an extremely out of breath Stiles Stilinski, who had been forced to relay messages between the star-crossed lovers all free period.
Cheeks blotchy and flushed, Stiles plopped clumsily down on the bench beside me, practically knocking my book off the table.
Giving him a slightly peeved look, I simply rolled my eyes as he huffed and puffed the latest memo from Scott: "Deaton thinks… that your family… keeps records," his breathing slowly steadied. "It's called a bees… bestiary."
Both of us amused over how flustered he was, Allison raised her brows and laughed lightly: "I think you mean bestiality…"
Grin immediately fading, I shot the girl an incredulous and somewhat disturbed look as Stiles shook his head and responded wearily: "No. I mean beast-i-ary," he sounded it out before referring to the love-birds with a disgusted expression: "The two of you… I don't wanna know what's going on in your heads."
Unable to contain myself any longer, I burst out into furious giggles, only earning myself an annoyed look from the brunette.
I mean, come on… could she blame me? Bestiality? Goddamn…
"Okay," she spoke over me. "Describe this thing."
"It's probably a book. Old, worn out," Stilinski thoughtfully stated.
Eyes lighting up, Allison clearly had an intimation as to what he was talking about: "Like… bound in leather?"
Perking up, we all exchanged enthusiastic looks as the lovely girl continued: "I've seen my grandfather with something like that."
Shooting up from his seat so quickly that he fell backwards off of the bench, Stilinski flailed a bit, rolled over, and ran back off into the school, not even caring to brush the dirt from his backside.
Hysterically laughing at the spazztic dork, I shook my head and watched him disappear into the building and begin sharing the information with McCall. The moment I took my eyes off of the two teenagers standing in front of the window across the courtyard, however, I turned to see Allison giving me the strangest look.
Smirk fading, I immediately asked: "What?"
Shrugging her shoulders, Allison feigned ignorance as she responded simply, "Nothing." But from the smug little grin tugging at her lips, I knew she was definitely thinking about something.
Before I could bark at the irritating brunette, however, Stiles came bounding back over to us, even more breathless than before: "W-where… where… does he keep it?"
Biting her lip a bit, Allison contemplated where someone like Gerard would keep something so precious, but after a moment or two, she looked up at the sputtering nerd and answered tentatively: "It has to be somewhere in his office."
"Office," he repeated between coughs, only to take off once again, slipping a bit over some dead leaves in the process.
Biting my lip to keep from revealing just how entertaining I found his antics, I quickly caught the same, maddening look of the young huntress' face.
"Oh my God," I groaned, giving her an impatient look as I sharply demanded: "What?"
"You're gonna get mad…" she trailed off, voice high and filled with delight for irking me so much.
Raising my brows, I matched her tone of voice in a mocking way and responded: "I'm all ready mad…"
Mischievously sparkling brown eyes darting from my tartly awaiting face to the pale kid bouncing back towards our table, I finally caught onto what was going through that dense little mind of hers.
Opening my mouth to, once again, voice just how wrong she and Scott were about my relationship with Stilinski, my words got caught in my throat as he bumped right into me, needing to grip the table-top for support.
Pursing my lips, I ignored Allison's sniggers and concentrated on the clouds drifting across the sky, figuring that was at least a safe place to look.
Sucking in as much air as possible, the sweating teenager shook Scott's old inhaler violently, only to take the largest puff from it that I had ever witnessed.
Pink cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, he was still holding his breath as he uttered: "You know, drug dealers have been using disposable phones for years."
"I can't send a picture of it to you guys," she explained, shooting down McCall's plan to most likely avoid personally breaking into Gerard's office. "My parents check every e-mail, call, and text message I send. Trust me, they'd find it."
Looking as if he were now about to pass out, the blue-faced teen let out a loud, exaggerated exhale: "All right. Can you get the book?"
"Not without his keys," Allison replied with a troubled frown.
Blood clearly having rushed back to his brain too quickly, the equally disappointed Stiles suddenly swayed a bit, took a dizzy step back, and let out a low: "Whoa."
"Probably shouldn't have taken that with Adderall," I nodded over to the inhaler in his currently shaking hand.
Caramel eyes landing on my humorous expression, the loopy dork breathed flatly: "Thanks for the warning."
Crooked grin spreading across my face, I quipped back: "Don't mention it," and after Stilinski gave me one last, unamused look, he darted back off to figure out a new plan of action for acquiring the bestiary.
Practically hearing Allison's wide grin, I didn't even need to look at her as I growled: "Don't even start."
"Why can't you just admit it!" she leaned forward and yanked my book away from me, taking away my only viable distraction.
Huffing in vexation, I looked up at my relentless companion with an impassive face: "Give it back."
"Only when you admit you like Stiles!" she persisted somewhat loudly.
Hot flash sweeping over me, my eyes quickly darted over to the window where McCall and Stilinski were talking, and once noticed Scott's chocolate brown eyes steal a glance at his girlfriend and I, I quickly hissed: "Shut up!"
Hoping to God it was just a coincidence that McCall had looked over at us, I tried to tell myself that since I could barely hear their conversation, the young beta didn't catch the preposterous accusation Allison shot my way.
But why should I care if he heard? Or what the both of them even thought, for that matter…
It was completely stupid and absolutely untrue!
Yanked the book out of her hands, I grumpily tried to find my spot again, but the brunette sitting across from me couldn't drop the subject.
"No one's paying attention to us," she pressed, but once she caught my irritated nod over to the window, she grinned: "Oh, Scott? Don't worry, he sees it too."
"No he does not," I objected through clenched teeth, feeling myself growing more and more antsy. "Cause there's definitely nothing to see."
Letting out a loud, disbelieving laugh, Allison shook her braided head and sighed: "You're so in denial."
"Denial?" I finally looked up, closing my book with a loud, impatient 'snap', but soon Lydia Martin's interested voice piped up from just behind me.
"Who's in denial?" she asked, practically making me fall over in my seat.
"Charlie," Allison grinned playfully whilst I glowered at her, silently seething.
"Ooh, about what?" the redhead asked, setting her books on the table as her hazel eyes lit up with excitement.
She always did love some juicy gossip, but unfortunately for her there was none to be had.
"Nothing, cause I'm not in denial," I stated rather tensely, unable to hide just how worked up I currently was.
"She's got a crush," Allison oozed, clearly taking great joy in my misery.
Almost letting out a pained groan, I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples as the queen bee clapped in exhilaration.
"Aw! Who's the lucky guy?"
"No one," I moaned, brain pulsating from my newest splitting headache. Eyes then drifting down to the pink leather gloves covering her tiny hands, I quickly saw my opening to redirect the discussion: "What's with the gloves?"
Glancing down at them, Lydia was now the one to seem flustered, but like me, she was able to quickly shake it off.
"It's a fashion statement," she haughtily responded.
"You look like Michael Jackson," I retorted flatly, making Allison snort a bit.
Shooting us both disapproving looks, the somewhat suspicious queen bee snapped: "And you're trying to change the subject," she called me out, immediately making Allison re-focus her attention. "Now who's this stupid boy you're pining over?"
Completely aware that there would be no ending the conversation now, I let out a heavy sigh and did the only thing I could think of to save myself from further humiliation.
"Fine," I caught Allison's highly surprised look as both girls awaited my confession with baited breath. "You guys were right. I've been a little lonely lately and just… I just want someone to like me back for once…"
Eyeing me closely, I knew Allison wasn't quite buying my sob story, but Lydia quickly ate it up.
"Oh, Charlie," she cooed sympathetically. "I'm sure there's someone out there for you."
"I don't know," I continued to play the highly insecure teenager card, milking it as I forced a fake sniffle. "I mean, I haven't met anyone that I really like yet, but still… i-it would just be nice to feel… w-wanted…"
And while Lydia's empathetic hazel eyes grew rather glassy, I shot Allison a smug look before continuing to play everything off like the pro I was.
"You just need a confidence boost," the redhead compassionately stated as Allison rolled her eyes.
Trying to act sad at this point was hard, considering how much fun it was to turn the tables on my brunette companion, but somehow I managed a weak: "You think so?"
"Yes, I do," she stated confidently.
"But who would want me?" I tried to sound as pathetic as possible. "I mean… even you said I'm hopeless."
Guilt suddenly flashing across her porcelain face, the strawberry blonde clearly felt bad, but soon she flipped her hair and responded sharply: "Oh, what the Hell do I know? My boyfriend dumped me and hasn't even tried to have break-up sex."
Biting my cheek, I stifled the urge to laugh, considering the strawberry blonde was actually being quite open about her turbulent relationship with Jackson.
Before I knew it, though, Lydia had bent down and given me an uncomfortable hug, only to quickly stand upright and state stiffly: "Well, I have my appointment with the counselor. Talk to you girls later."
And after the redhead gave me one last, awkward look, I sensed that that uncharacteristically tender display of affection was her way of apologizing to me.
Small smirk forming on my lips, I felt a new appreciation for the unemotional girl, knowing just how hard something so simple as a hug could be, but the moment I noticed Stilinski staring at Lydia now strutting past him in the hallway, I felt my chest tighten.
I may not have been the vulnerable mess I had just portrayed myself to be, and I certainly wasn't in need of a confidence boost, but a distraction on the other hand… that sounded just lovely…
"Where are you going?" Allison's eyes darted from Stiles and back to me as I threw my books into my bag.
"I have my appointment soon, too," I excused myself.
"Yeah, at the end of next period," the brunette knowingly called my bluff.
Turning back to face her as I threw the white tote bag over my slender shoulder, I raised my brows: "Is it?"
Giving me a hard look, I could tell she was onto me: "Charlie…"
Flashing her a crooked and cheeky smirk, I then called over my shoulder: "See yah!" and took off across the grass, mind now focused on only one thing.
Moving through the packed hallways, I only had about two minutes to find him before the bell rang, and so, maneuvering in and out of the crowds of students, I craned my neck, searching for my target.
Finally spotting him at his locker next to the art room, I strode over with an odd sense of determination, and just as he closed the padlock and turned around to head to the last class of the day, I pushed him into the empty classroom.
"What the Hell!" Greenberg was beyond startled by my aggressive behavior, but as I shut the door and locked it behind me, I turned and looked up into the handsome boy's extremely mystified blue eyes. "Charlie?"
Walking right up to him, I grabbed Kyle by the back of the neck as I went on my tippy-toes and firmly instructed: "Don't overthink this."
And before the Irish teenager could even voice his confusion, I assertively pushed him against the teacher's desk and kissed those dumbfounded and slightly parted lips.
"So, Charlie, how've you been?" Ms. Morrell's softly inquired from across her desk.
Drumming my fingers on my chair's armrests, my face was still flushed from rushing to this forced meeting, and as I stared at her patiently awaiting face, I evenly responded: "Spectacular."
Raising her brows at me, the African American woman with sleek, dark brown hair simply stated: "This won't work if you're not going to be honest."
"I am being honest," I continued to challenge her, expression one of boredom.
"One word from me to Sheriff Stilinski about how uncooperative you've been and we'll have to involve the principal," her voice remained pleasant as she threatened me.
Temper flaring, I sat still for a moment, trying to tell whether or not she was bluffing, but considering all I wanted to do was keep Gerard from figuring out that I was far more than just Allison's new friend from New York, I decided to swallow my pride and play it safe.
Leaning back in the chair, I crossed my arms and gave her a dirty look whilst growling: "Fine."
Smiling with satisfaction, the almost unreadable guidance counselor uttered: "Good, so you'll stop fighting me."
"Sure," I shrugged, trying to appear aloof again, though it did unnerve me that the human seemed to know exactly what string to pull to get me to comply. "I'm an open book."
Gaze steady, Ms. Morrell then repeated her first question of today's interrogation session: "How've you been since our last visit?"
Inhaling deeply, I idly bounced my leg and impassively remarked: "Haven't been sleeping much, anxious all the time, and been having nightmares like when I was a kid…"
"About what?"
"I don't know," I instinctively replied, but when the young teacher gave me a stern look, I sardonically jibed: "Maybe my mom dying or my entire family burning alive. Childhood PTSD's usually left undiagnosed in this country, you know."
Taking in my cold, arrogant sneer, Ms. Morrell ignored my usual attitude as she benignly affirmed: "You have had quite a traumatic childhood. Not to mention that you had to move all the way across the country recently."
Never having been a fan of receiving anyone's pity, I continued to respond in my usual detached manner: "Life's a bitch, but hey, all that crap's over now so…"
"Is it?" she cut me off, gaze unwavering whilst I merely stared back at her in inexpressive defiance. "Your cousin recently died, and her brother, Derek, was the one arrested for her murder," she brought up yet another fond family memory from my more recent past, clearly hoping for some sort of reaction. "Must have been quite difficult to handle on top of the move."
"Yeah, well lucky for me I'm used to taking care of myself," I calmly replied, still showing no crack in my icy exterior.
Picking up a pen, the prodding women then asked: "How so?"
Gaze drifting down to that manila folder lying under her thin arm, I raised my brows lazily: "Look, I'm sure you've got my entire bleak life story in that file, starting from when my oh-so-devoted father walked out on my pregnant mom," my voice then dropped to a disrespectful snarl: "So why don't we just skip to the part where you put that stellar college degree of yours to use and psychoanalyze me."
Unruffled by my rude jab at her, Ms. Morrell simply grinned a bit, opened the folder, and obediently skimmed my history.
Silently watching her, I felt my blood boiling. She seemed pleased with herself for getting me to show any type of genuine feeling, and now all I could do was mentally kick myself.
Christ, my emotions were all over the place!
"So you have abandonment issues," she finally looked up, unnervingly piercing brown eyes observing my every uncomfortable movement.
Picking my nails nonchalantly, I gave my jaded answer: "Sure, I guess you can say that."
"Is that why you avoid relationships and push people away?"
Eyes narrowing, I stared right back into Ms. Morrell's inquisitive face and simply confessed: "I generally attribute that to my deep-seeded hatred of anyone stupid, which unfortunately goes for most people in Beacon Hills."
Not falling for my deflection, the young African American woman kept the hard-hitting questions coming: "And it has nothing to do with your fear of trust and intimacy?"
Feeling my defenses going on high alert, I still needed to maintain my composure. This human was stupidly prying into things she shouldn't and I needed to make sure I sounded like any normal teenage girl with a troubled past. The last thing I wanted was to raise any unnecessary suspicion.
Flipping my hair in the exact, boastful manner that Lydia often did, I grinned wickedly: "Hey, I can be intimate. I was really intimate about a half hour ago."
Clearly catching the innuendo alluding to my recent steamy hook up with Greenberg, the resolute counselor clarified: "I meant emotionally."
Haughty grin flickering, I stonily stated matter-of-factly: "Well that… like trust… needs to be earned."
Having directed those harsh words at the attractive young language teacher, Ms. Morrell merely nodded in understanding: "True. So why did you do it?"
"Do what?" I asked, growing impatient with each passing second.
"Get intimate with someone when you just stated you don't remotely like anyone here?"
Looking away from her sharp gaze, I lethargically picked some lint off of my black high-waisted shorts. "I have my reasons."
"Is it because you do have attachments to people, but you're too afraid of acting upon such feelings and thus find a need to use someone else as a distraction?"
Icy chill running up my spine, I had zero clue as to how this goddamn woman seemed to know exactly what was running through my mind. I mean, she was definitely off about the whole 'having strong emotions to people' part, but using Kyle for a distraction was dead on.
"Maybe I was just bored and horny," I looked right into her eyes, face and voice even. "Does that make you uncomfortable? Me saying I'm horny?" I then asked somewhat irreverently, hoping to transfer my discomfort onto her. "I know public schools are supposed to preach abstinence and self control."
Casually shaking her head, Ms. Morrell, yet again, did not respond how I had hoped.
"No. I believe that exploring one's sexuality is a very important part of growing up."
Irritably blowing some hair out of my face, I looked out the window and muttered under my breath sarcastically: "That's very progressive of you."
"I just can't help but wonder if there are other ways to keep yourself occupied," she thought out loud.
"You mean like exorcising or concentrating on my studies?" I disgruntledly rattled off the other, useless suggestions I heard. "Cause I've tried those options and none of them did much help." Mind then traveling back to how Greenberg and I were tearing each other's clothes apart no more than 30 minutes ago, I grinned slyly: "Besides, I find this new method way more fun."
"How about joining a club or sports team?" she recommended offhandedly. "Those are fun and much more productive."
Brushing off her dreadfully wholesome ideas, I yawned: "I get social anxiety."
"You seem to be making friends just fine," Ms. Morrell countered my excuse as she noted: "I always see you with Miss Martin and Argent."
Making a face, I admitted half-heartedly: "Yeah, they're nice…"
Catching my pause, the perceptive counselor pushed: "But?"
"They're just different than I am," I confessed the honest truth, cause I mean, I was literally Lydia's polar opposite, and Allison and I… well we were pretty much supposed to be mortal enemies. "They don't quite…"
"Understand you," Beacon Hills' nosiest faculty member finished my sentence.
"No," I firmly replied.
Scribbling some notes down as I now played with the zipper on my leather jacket, the attractive young woman proceeded: "How about Mr. Stilinski?"
Tensing up, most likely from the extremely exasperating ordeal I had underwent with Allison that very afternoon, I testily asked: "What about him?"
Eyeing me closely, Ms. Morrell explained: "You two obviously spend a lot of time together since you've been taken up a residence at his home."
"Yeah, but I'll be leaving soon once Derek's charges are dropped," I answered, mind wandering off to how that entire dismal situation was going to play out.
"And how do you feel about that?" she caught onto my apprehensive disposition.
"Good. I mean, he's an ass, but he was innocent," I indifferently answered with a slight shrug.
"I meant moving again."
"Oh," I tried not to shift under her scrutinizing gaze.
God, did that woman ever blink?
Expression completely deadpan, I convincingly fibbed: "Haven't thought much about it."
Obviously not persuaded, Ms. Morrell inquired with interest: "Why did you call your cousin an ass?"
Laughing a bit despite myself, I couldn't help but deridingly snort: "If you met him, you'd understand."
"I guess it's safe to say you don't want go back to living with him," she rightly ventured, but when I merely kept quiet, she probed some more: "Why? Is he mean? Does he remind you of your father?"
Blazing eyes now shooting up to meet hers, I understood she did that on purpose. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know my relationship with my dad was a sore spot, and Ms. Morrell was hoping to use it against me.
Not willing to fall prey to her manipulation, I glowered across the desk at her and rigidly gave my rebuttal: "Maybe I just don't like being told what to do by someone who's only 6 years older than me."
Pursing her lips slightly, I could tell Ms. Morrell sensed that she had gone too far. No longer taking part in her little mind game, I crossed my legs and stared blankly back at her, and from behind those usually collected eyes, I caught a glimpse of frustration.
And now smirking smugly, I just gazed at her in stiff silence, the only noise filling the room that of the ticking clock, counting down the last 20 minutes of our insurmountable impasse.