Cause I've got nothing left to lose
"Oh, my God, are we done yet?" Isaac complains from the dressing room couch, slumping against the wall childishly.
"You didn't have to come," Lydia responds tartly without sparing him a glance. "Turn around, let me see how they fit on your hips."
You do, dutifully, feeling more than a little dumb. Lydia had finally gotten sick of your worn flare jeans and declared that if you insisted on wearing pants all the time then you had to get some skinny jeans. The ones you're wearing are nice, you suppose, but you thought that about the last three pairs, which Lydia had deemed unacceptable for seemingly minor offenses.
"I like them," Lydia says, thankfully. "They fit well."
"Yup, they're great, can we go now?"
"Try on that shirt now with them," Lydia orders, completely ignoring Isaac.
"I don't need anymore shirts," you complain, but go back into the dressing room to try it on anyway.
"You need an entire wardrobe, but one thing at a time," Lydia responds as you pull off your t-shirt and cardigan, scowling at the pudge of fat on your stomach. You've started running again now that it's warmer out, but it still hasn't gone away. Which makes sense because you've only lost a pound over the last couple weeks, but still.
"Are we seriously doing this?" Isaac complains.
"Yes, because her clothes are terrible. Just be glad I haven't started on your clothes."
"Isaac needs new shirts," you call out as you pull the red tanktop over you head and straighten it out. It's a bit longer than you like, but apparently that's the style now. You like the loose quality and tiny henna design inspired patterns, though it is a bit lowcut. You'd probably have to wear a cami under it.
"I don't need new shirts," Isaac says, even though you're pretty sure he only has four that he keeps alternating between. "And if I did I wouldn't buy them with you."
"It's okay," you say awkwardly, coming out of the dressing room and resisting the urge to fold your hands over your chest uncomfortably. "It's a bit too lowcut, I think."
"What are you talking about, it looks great," Lydia says, pulling it down so that even more of you bra shows. "You just need a better bra to wear with it."
"You should buy that shirt," Isaac tells you, perking up for the first time in nearly an hour.
"Grow up," Lydia says disdainfully, while you roll your eyes. "But, yes, that's definitely a buy. Are you sure you don't want to look at the dresses?"
"No, I'm good," you say, to Isaac's visible relief. You actually prefer dresses. They're a lot more comfortable than skinny jeans, but they're just not practical when you live in a crazy town like Beacon Hills. Who knows what could happen at any moment?
You buy the jeans and shirt, and eat crappy Mexican food in the mall food court before you head to the library to do some homework. Then Lydia makes you come to her house to get ready for the party in Deer Valley, and Isaac actually falls asleep on her bed out of sheer boredom while she does your make-up.
Deer Valley is about the same size as Beacon Hills, but it's a lot more middle class. The houses are averaged sized instead of gated mansions, and they all have that same suburban cookie-cutter look that makes them hard to tell apart. The house the party is at is a little white house on the corner of the block with practically no backyard and ugly brown carpet everywhere except the kitchen and the bathrooms, but the people are welcoming and not at all cliquey. It's a lot more low-key than you imagine parties in Beacon Hills are, and you and Isaac even manage to have fun by telling stories about how terrible Beacon Hills High is, which the Deer Valley kids love, considering their lacrosse rivalry. You have a beer and two shots of vodka which is just about enough to get you drunk and you collapse on Isaac's lap on the couch and giggle at the people dancing in the middle of the living room.
"Wanna dance?" you ask Isaac, nuzzling into his neck happily.
"Not at all," he says dryly, wrapping an arm around your waist and adjusting you so that you're not almost kicking the girl sitting next to him.
"Laaaame," you say, punching him weakly in the shoulder. "C'mon, don't be shy."
"Can you even stand up straight?"
"Maybe," you say, yawning and glancing around the room. "Hey, where's Lydia?"
Earlier she'd been in an involved conversation with her friend from elementary school, a shockingly pretty girl with terrifyingly red lipstick whose name you've already forgotten, but now that girl is making out with a black boy with a cool pattern shaved into his hair in the kitchen and Lydia is nowhere to be found.
"Let's just say she's busy," Isaac says with a smirk and throws a glance upward.
"What?" you say in confusion.
"I saw her go upstairs with a guy," Isaac tells you, adjusting you again for no other reason than to put his hands on your ass. "Let's just say they won't be coming down for a while."
Isaac clearly means it to be funny, but you frown and shift uneasily. Lydia didn't even know anyone at this party except her old friend right? Why would she go upstairs with some random guy she didn't even know? You know she's kind of a slut, but wouldn't she have at least told you where she was going?
"He didn't...you know," you say worriedly to Isaac. "I mean, you saw them go up there, right? How drunk was she?"
Isaac looks confused for a second, like the thought never even crossed his mind. "No, definitely not...it wasn't like that," he says, frowning and looking uncomfortable. "She definitely knows what she's doing."
"Okay, good," you say, relieved, but then you register the present tense. "Wait, are you listening to them?" you say, louder than you should.
"Huh?" the girl sitting next to Isaac says drunkenly. "Listening to who?"
"No, I'm not, I just-" Isaac says, going beet red. "I can't help it!"
"Oh, really?" you say, more amused than judgmental, because Isaac always looks adorable when he's embarrassed. "Are you getting off on this?"
"No, Allison, don't-" he hisses when you drop your hand down between you to try and check, which seems like a completely reasonable thing to do at the time.
"You need a distraction," you declare, straddling him and causing the girl next to you to grunt in annoyance. "I'll distract you."
"Uh," Isaac says, leaning back against the couch as far as he can go. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"It's a great idea," you say, leaning in and wrapping your arms around his neck.
"Allison!" he hisses, grabbing your waist to hold you off. "We're in public."
"Doesn't seem to bother half the people in this room," you say, gesturing clumsily at another couple making out in an armchair next to the coffee table. "Don't be such a prude all the time."
"I'm not a prude," Isaac protests, scrunching his face up.
"Yes, you are," you tell him firmly, lying down against his shoulder and poking him in the chest. "You're weird. You're weird about sex."
"Wow, okay, can we not talk about this right now?" Isaac mutters uncomfortably.
"I like sex," you tell him guilelessly, "but you'r-"
"No, you don't," Isaac says quietly.
"What?" you say, frowning and pulling back to look at him in confusion. Maybe you heard him wrong.
"Nothing," Isaac says tiredly, and then his eyes widen. "Um, Allison, your shirt's kind of-"
"What?"
Kind of showing way more of your bra than is probably necessary.
Instead of adjusting it, you look up at him and smirk. "You like my shirt," you say, leaning in closer so that he really cannot avoid looking at your boobs.
"I do," Isaac admits after a pause, but reaches up to readjust it anyway. It's a surprisingly caring gesture and you're just about to screw it and crush your mouth against his when he suddenly goes rigid, eyes widening with horror.
"Oh, my God," he hisses and claps his hands over his ears. "You have got to be kidding me?!"
"What's wrong?" you say, looking around for the source of the noise, but the pop music from the stereo is the same volume as ever and even the amount of chatter in the room seems to stable. Is someone blowing a dog whistle?
"No, no, no," Isaac moans, forehead dropping down against your chest. "Talk to me about something. Anything!"
You start laughing as you realize exactly what is happening. "Wow, she's that loud, huh?"
"It's not funny," Isaac says, glaring up at you balefully. "I am never going to be able to lo-mmfph!"
You kiss him furiously and take one of his hands and bring it up to your left breast. Isaac groans as you slowly rock your hips against his and then gives up on his prudish ways and slides his hands up the back of your shirt.
Lydia comes down half an hour later when the party's wound down and you're all crowded around the TV watching Iron Man, which is extremely funny while drunk. She looks perfectly composed and only sways a little when she sits down next to you on the ugly carpet with a satisfied smirk. Both you and Lydia are too drunk to drive and Isaac doesn't have his license (not that Lydia would let him drive her new car anyway) so you end up sleeping on the living room floor with half the rest of the people at the party and then stumble out in the morning before Lydia's friend's parents come home. Isaac has a hard time looking Lydia in the eye on the way back, but Lydia either doesn't notice or doesn't care, just seems incredibly pleased with herself. It wasn't a life-changing party-you don't even remember any of the names of the people you met-but it was a nice break from your usual stressful existence. It was nice to pretend to be a normal teenager, even if it was only for one night.
"Look, we're running out of time," you tell Scott the next time you meet, in an unused science classroom this time, while Stiles tries to unsuccessfully flirt with Lydia while they guard the door. "I don't know how much longer we can keep this up. He's bound to notice sometime that he's not taking the right pills."
"What else are we supposed to do?" Scott asks, looking frustrated, and it is a really good question. "Our plan hinges on him going after Derek, but he hasn't really made much of an effort to do that yet."
"Oh, then I must have imagined getting shot in the chest," Isaac says in annoyance, leaning against the black lab tables and glaring at Scott. You'd really rather him not be here because of the animosity between him and Scott, but Isaac had insisted.
"That's not what I meant," Scott says, though he looks a little guilty anyway. "I just...he has to make a move sometime, right?"
"Hey, don't look at me, I barely know the guy," you say, holding up your hands when Scott eyes you expectantly. "But he's a lot more cautious than we first thought. I don't think he's going to make a move until he finds the perfect opportunity."
"But he's dying-he doesn't have all the time in the wor-"
"Then we give him an opportunity," Isaac says.
Both you and Scott turn to look at Isaac, frowning. "What do you mean?" Scott says.
"We give him what he wants," Isaac says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Or we make it look like it's something he wants."
"You mean, Derek?" you ask slowly, because you'd never have thought that Isaac would ever betray Derek.
"You mean a trap," Scott says, looking at Isaac speculatively.
"Yeah," Isaac says, looking a little surprised at Scott's attention.
"But we'll need bait," Scott says. He seems a little taken aback at Isaac's insight, which you suppose makes sense considering they've had so little interaction so far.
"Yeah, well," Isaac scoffs, shrugging his shoulders and looking a little rueful.
"What?" you say when you catch on a second later. " No ! You are not going to be bait."
"Who else is there?" Isaac says, slumping his shoulders a little and looking resigned. "He has to have guessed that I'm not with Derek anymore. We can use that."
"And get him to, what, follow you into a trap? Do you know how many ways that could go wrong? What if he just decides to kill you instead?" you say, angry that he would even consider such a suicidal plan.
"He won't," Scott says quietly, watching the both of you carefully. "He's too smart for that."
"This is a terrible idea," you say, starting to feel sick as you realize you're the only person in this room against this plan. "You can't do this."
You can't lose him. If he died during some stupid gambit to get your grandfather to finally make a move...
"What other choice do we have?" Isaac responds uncomfortably, looking across the classroom at the blackboard instead of at either you or Scott. "Just wait until he kills us all? He knows where we all live, Allison, everyone except for Derek. The second he decides to stop waiting..."
He'll go for Erica and Boyd, you realize. Probably try to torture Derek's location out of them. Might even go after Scott's mother to force Scott into action.
This can't be the only way, you think in horror, watching Isaac silently, but you're unable to come up with anything else.
"They'll be lots of other hunters with him, hunters that presumably aren't in on his plan," Scott says to Isaac. "You'll have to be careful."
"Oh, are you serious?" Isaac says angrily, glaring at him in disgust. "That's what you're worried about? You do realize that they're murderers, don't you? They'll kill anyone like us, including you."
"What, no, I mean you," Scott says, looking bewildered. "I don't want you to get hurt."
Isaac doesn't seem to know what to say to that, his expression suddenly shockingly vulnerable. Scott's earnestness seems to unnerve him and his eyes flit away after a second, embarrassed by Scott's sincerity.
"We'll talk about this later," Isaac says to you, pushing off the table and making for the door like a coward. The back of his neck is red.
"I'm sorry," Scott says quietly as you watch him go. "But in the absence of another plan..."
You didn't have to go along with it, you think furiously. You could have told him no.
"Do you really think it can work?" you ask, knowing what he'll say. But you just need to hear him say it.
"It will," Scott says firmly. "We'll make sure of it. He's not going to get hurt, I promise you."
His expression is so earnest that for a second you want to throw yourself into his arms, take shelter in him. It's an impulse you've felt before around Scott, and hated yourself for, but it's never been as strong as it is now. It's not fair that you feel this way around him. You barely know him. But there's just something about him that makes you feel safe and cared for.
Scott must see it in your face, because his own expression softens and he steps closer to you, taking your right hand between his own. "Hey," he say, gently, shockingly close even though he's still more than a foot away. "Everything's going to be alright. We'll get through this."
He has no idea what he's talking about, of course, but that knowledge doesn't seem to impede you from believing him. You nod shortly, your throat too tight to risk speaking and wish you could ask him to hold you without it being weird. Neither of you move for longer than is probably appropriate, and you know that this is getting weird, that this is probably crossing a line somewhere, but you don't want to be the first one to pull away.
The bell rings and Scott jolts a bit, seeming to come back to himself.
"I-sorry," he says, letting go of your hand and taking a step back, cheeks heating up. "I, um, I didn't mean to-"
"It's okay," you say, uninterested in his apology. If he apologizes even half as much to other people as he does to you it's still far too much. He's probably the kind of guy who apologizes to someone who bumps into him in the hallway. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"
You just barely see Scott nod, looking worried, before you head out into the crowded hallway, blinking furiously to prevent yourself from crying.
Isaac's mind is made up. He's tired of waiting around for Gerard to kill you all, and just wants to get it over with. Your attempts to convince him out of it are weak at best, because you really don't think there's another option either. You just tell yourself to be strong and resolve that when he does finally end up doing it you will be on the sidelines with Kate's sniper rifle to protect him. There is no other alternative. There is no way you're going to let him go out there by himself. Nothing's concrete yet, not the place or time or even the bare bones of the plan, but that part is non-negotiable.
You plan to meet with Scott and Stiles over the weekend to finalize the plan, but that never ends up happening because Gerard does end up making his move. It's just a move that no one could have ever predicted.
You're on your way down the stairs, already late to Lydia's for lunch, when you get the call. It's the third time she's called you in two minutes, and you roll your eyes, because seriously, she can't wait five minutes? Her obsession with punctuality is annoying, but you'd better answer it this time rather than ignoring it.
"Hey, sorry," you say, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you lock the front door behind you, waving distractedly at your mother in the kitchen, "I'm on my way now, so it'll be about fi-"
"Allison!" she sobs, sounding terrified. "Allison, please, don't get in the car, you can't get in the car!"
"What?" you say in confusion, shocked by the emotion in her voice. "Lydia, what's wro-"
"You can't get in the car, Allison, please," Lydia begs, her voice full of fear. "Please, you have to promise me you won't get in your car, okay?"
"Why?" you ask, not moving from the front porch, not understanding why the concept of you driving is so obviously terrifying her. "Lydia, what's wrong? Why do you think-"
"You just can't, okay!" Lydia sobs. "Please, you can't! I know it sounds crazy, but I swear, if you get in that car you'll...you'll-"
"I'll what?"
"You'll die!" Lydia chokes out, the words sounding like they were torn out of her throat. "Please, I'm not crazy, you have to believe me! I know it doesn't make any sense, but I just know, okay? Please, please, please don't get in the car!"
You turn to look at your car in the driveway. It looks the same as it always does, and you wonder if Lydia's having some sort of psychotic episode or delusion. But you've seen enough movies to be stupid enough to ignore her warning.
"Lydia, how do you know I'll die?" you ask her, trying to sound as rational as possible. "I mean, do you think I'll get in an accident?"
"I don't know, I don't know," Lydia sobs, breathing heavily on the other end of the line. "I just...I know. I can feel it. I don't how it will happen or when or why, but, Allison, if you get in that car you will die."
Her words ring in your ears for a second, and even though it doesn't make any sense you feel chilled down to your bones.
"Please," she sobs desperately. "Please, you have to promise, you can't-"
"I...I won't, okay?" you say distractedly, mostly just to calm her down. "Lydia, I swear, I won't, just..."
Lydia just cries over the phone, and you turn to stare in bewilderment at your car. You approach it carefully, feeling slightly stupid as you examine it for...what? Exposed wires? You'd just gotten your oil changed a month ago-surely they would have noticed if something was wrong. It's a pretty new car, too. And how would Lydia know that there was something wrong with it anyway? You feel stupid just staring at it, wonder if you should open the door and pop the hood, but you're irrationally afraid that it might explode if you get inside it. Or maybe someone cut your brakes like in an episode of some serialized police show where the victim is murdered for the insurance money or because she cheated on her husband or stood up to the mob or just got on someone's bad sid-
Gerard.
You don't dare move for a second, trying to convince yourself that you're being paranoid. Lydia can't possibly know if he'd done anything either way. But you live in a world where werewolves exist and your parents kill them. You'd be stupid not to consider the possibility.
You get down on your knees and lean down to look under your car. Everything looks normal, as far as you can tell, not being particularly familiar with what the undersides of cars look li-
There's a small black circular box attached to the front of your car. You're pretty sure that's not supposed to be there.
You sway dangerously when you stand, a loud ringing in your ears drowning out Lydia's sobs. She was right then. He was really trying to kill you. Was it a bomb? No, that was probably too obvious. He'd want to make it look like an accident. You look up at your house, almost expecting to see Gerard staring down at you from one of the second floor windows, but of course he's not. It still feels like he's watching you. You feel like you're going to be sick, right here next to your booby-trapped car.
"Lydia," you say, voice strangely calm. "Pick me up now."
Lydia's make-up is completely ruined, mascara running in tracks down her cheeks, when she pulls up in front of your driveway. You get in the passenger seat immediately and she speeds away faster than is probably necessary, arms shaking as she makes a turn.
"He sabotaged my car," you tell her when she stops at a red light, still unable to believe it yourself. "He sabotaged my car."
"Who?" Lydia asks shakily, wiping her eyes, which only serves to smear her make-up more.
You let out an insane laugh. "Gerard! There was this box on the bottom of my car. He...he's trying to kill me!"
"A bomb?" Lydia whispers, turning to stare at you with teary eyes.
"I don't...I don't know," you say, bring up your feet onto the seat and hugging your knees, imagining if she hadn't called. You'd have gotten inside and started your car like normal and-and you'd probably be dead right now. "How did you know?"
Lydia shakes her head quickly, looking distressed and keeps her eyes fixed on the road in front of her. "I don't...I don't know," she whispers, face contorting with fear. "I just... I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"I can't go back there," you realize, clutching your knees tightly. "I can't, he'll, he'll kill me!"
"Why is he trying to kill you?" Lydia asks, pulling into her neighborhood. "Why would he do that?"
"He knows," you realize, heart pounding hard in your chest, you hands shaking uncontrollably. "He found out about...about everything."
"How?" Lydia asks tearily, clutching the steering wheel so hard her knuckles are turning white.
It doesn't matter how. Maybe he noticed the pills he was taking. Maybe you weren't careful enough when you hung around Isaac or met with Scott. Maybe the hunter you hit with you car saw you after all. It doesn't matter. It's done and now he's coming for you.
You spend the rest of the day with Lydia trying to figure out what to do, but when your parents call about dinner, you make Lydia take you home even though she begs you not to go. You don't tell Isaac.
Gerard doesn't react when you sit down for dinner, just makes polite conversation about the new recipe he was thinking of trying out for dinner tomorrow, but when you check under your car again after dinner the box is gone. You guess you better not eat anything he makes tomorrow.
Gerard is waiting for you in the upstairs hallway when you go up to bed and you freeze in your tracks on the stairs, holding onto the railing to prevent your knees from buckling in fear.
"You got lucky this time, but you won't again," he tells you calmly, a smug smile on his face, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket casually. "You understand that, right?"
"I'll tell," you say, clutching the railing and trying not to show how much you fear him, even though it's probably all over your face.
"They'd never believe you," he responds with a short, quiet laugh.
You hate that he's right, feeling your eyes well up with tears. Your parents would think you're a complete head-case, probably have you committed. You have no proof, for any of it, and trying to convince them that Gerard is trying to find Derek to become a werewolf himself would cause even more problems.
"Good night, Allison," he says calmly, lips turning up in a self-satisfied smile. "Sleep well."
You stand there long after he turns and heads into his room, shaking like a leaf. You're jolted out of your fear-spiral when you hear your dad yell something up to your mom from the basement about new light bulbs and practically run into your room, locking the door with trembling hands. You bury yourself under your covers and try not to have a total panic attack for about an hour until everything becomes kind of numb, though you don't dare emerge from your bed, not even to change into your pajamas. You know what you have to do now.
Gerard has to go.
A/N: Ugh, Gerard is so gross. That scene where he put his hands on her neck to figure out if she was lying, blechhhh. Anyway, many thanks to my awesome beta for looking over this! Please review!
