Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf which is probably a good thing seeing as how I love to torture/break down my favorite characters.
Warnings: some of the future warnings from several chapters ago are now coming to fruition.
The door squeaked open. The injured teen opened his eyes, or at least he tried to, but his left eye was swollen shut. However, he still got a good enough view of who was coming in. It was her. He did his best not make a sound, even though all he wanted to do at the moment was cry out loudly. He laid on the floor with his back facing the air, because if he did it for her instead of forcing her to move him it usually was shorter, the same went for if he was silent throughout it. The whole being silent thing was hard not because he had the urge to talk because he didn't really anymore. The hard thing was he had to bit his lip hard enough to make his lip start bleeding just he wouldn't make it worse.
Stiles shot up a silent scream roaring from his still throat. He looked around the room quickly and reassured himself that he wasn't there any longer. That they were no longer hurting him, even though they have left him damaged, so very damaged. Stiles squeezed his eyes tightly. Against the silent tears. He hated himself, he hated himself for being so weak, so damn weak.
He got out of bed and started to make his way to the bathroom. He didn't take his crutches, he never did unless they were staring at him. Stiles noticed on the way that his leg didn't hurt anymore when he walked on it. The teen pressed his leg down heavily to the ground and it felt fine. No. He felt his arm it was fine too. Great, even that consistency was gone. He made it to the bathroom where he promptly threw up. His dad had made his eat yesterday while he watched, apparently he had noticed that he hadn't been eating much lately. He actually thought the food was going to stay down, of course that was before the nightmares. Which was why he didn't like eating, whenever he woke up he felt like throwing up. After throwing up, he cupped his hands under the sink and filled them with water which he tilted into his mouth and swished around and then spit into the sink.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and stared at himself. He looked a little thinner, he guessed and there were few light scars. Cutter had usually stayed away from his head, he said the head wounds bled a lot and wanted to earn the blood. The teen stared at his face, he scowled at his image. How was it that after everything he looked the same as before? Surely something should have changed on the outside to show the change inside him. But he looked the same. Anger grew in him, how could he have not changed!
He slammed his fist into the mirror. The mirror cracked a few pieces falling into the sink the rest stubbornly stayed. He looked at himself in the broken glass and that's exactly how he felt. He felt broken, shattered.
Only something was different now... the pain, the inner pain was receding a bit. Why was that? He looked at his fist, one of his knuckles had a big piece of glass embedded in it.
It hurt. He stared at his fist in fascination, the feeling it brought him it was the closest to the peaceful place he had been. Ever since was torn away from it by his so called friends and family, he had wanted it back.
He used his other hand to touch the glass in his injured hand, and pulled the glass out. When he pulled the piece out the pain ratcheted up, only, this pain was different. It wasn't the kind of pain they had inflicted on him, it was pain he had inflicted on himself. He was the one in control of how much pain he had felt and the pain made him feel better. He had to make sure. He rolled down his long sleeves and exposed a section of scars. He would be making his scars this time, not somebody else. That give him a feeling of power, of being able to take something back. He dragged the broken glass over his skin and reveled in it, he was in control and it felt great.
A/N: I do not recommend self-injury to anyone.