CHAPTER 28

Bad Man

The evil of her father was preferable to looking at Sheriff. So, Mars went home after Stiles picked her up from the station.

Since she'd been back, Mars discovered something beautiful.

The art of blackmail.

And she was determined to milk her father's affair for everything it was worth. She'd make him crack.

Money, cars, Stiles being formally allowed to spend the night in her room. Best of all was that she hadn't said a single word to Sayid, only shook her head yes or no to his guesses. Which is how she received the key to the Mercedes- something she didn't know she'd wanted. He'd even scheduled the driving test for her the next week.

It was the most involved he'd been with her in her entire life.

"Ness, want to stop looking in the mirror? Let's move it, princess." Ineas rolled her eyes and threw her windbreaker over a leotard.

"You don't have to be a bitch all the time you know," Ineas noted as she brushed past her sister. Mars bit the inside of her cheek, holding her tongue. "And try not to kill us." She remarked, getting in the car. She was less than comfortable with her sister driving, but if she wanted to get to the rink, she knew she had to grin and bear it.

Ineas could never figure out why everyone seemed to love Mars so much, why she got invited anywhere and everywhere. She couldn't wait for the day when Mars would be some washed up has-been with leathery skin, stringy hair, and the voice of a 90-year-old smoker. Maybe Ineas was a little jealous. That everything was always so easy for Mars.

Maybe it was the big blue eyes, maybe it was just simply because she was so easy. Ineas could never figure out what drew people into Mars, why she didn't have to work for anything, but part of her hated her sister for it.

Whereas, Mars wished she could be more like, look more like Ineas.

Ineas was truly striking, objectively more so than Mars, and for comparisons sake, bore a remarkable resemblance to a young Alicia Keys. Yet, somehow, in a way neither could quite explain, Mars always seemed to get all of the attention. From adults, peers, young children… Male or female… it never quite mattered.

It was that God forsaken gravity of hers.

Not a word was said the whole drive, Ineas jumped out of the car without so much as a goodbye and went to practice.

Mars turned up the radio as she left, not wanting to be alone with her thoughts. Music was her best bet to drown them all out. The engine roared, as she flew around the roads of Beacon Hills.

V8's were a beautiful sound.

She whipped into turns and went far faster than was strictly legal. This was the first time in days her mind was completely off.

It was liberating.

The longer she carried on, she knew she should stop. But then she'd catch a glimpse of another curve in the road, and imagine she was Grace Kelly in the mountains of Monaco, and take it.

Sirens wailed behind her, and Mars jerked the wheel with a start.

She hit the steering wheel with enough force for it to feel like she broke her wrist. "FUCK," She screamed, hitting the wheel again, and then once more.

Unless this was Sheriff, she was going to prison. Even if it was him, she wasn't so sure that would be the case. If she'd had her license, she would still be fucked. And that wasn't scheduled for another 6 days.

She took in a shaky breath and pulled over, thinking of all the ways out. She'd known the risk she was taking, she just hadn't believed she'd get caught. If she couldn't run, maybe she could bribe him or her.

She unbuttoned her shirt and hiked up her skirt, rolling down the window. She nearly screamed in frustration when she saw it was Marks. The stick in the mud, out to get her, sole reason she couldn't even look at Sheriff right now Deputy.

"Deputy," she greeted, trying to mask her nerves. "What can I do for you?"

"If it isn't Miss Moss," he cooed, leaning against the side of the car in such a way that she felt smothered. "I would ask for license and registration… but we both know you don't have either of those."

"Keeping tabs on me, sir? Someone might get the wrong idea if they caught you." Mars bit her lip. There were a few instances that flashed in her mind, where she'd caught him staring at her, like the night Derek's sister was found. And he was handsome enough. He wasn't that old. Maybe 25. She slowly, but assuredly, talked herself into her last resort.

"Step out of the vehicle." he ordered, motioning her out of the car. Mars complied. "Hands on the vehicle, please." She did so, leaning over the car's hood.

She felt his hands pat her down, lingering longer than was strictly necessary. She rolled her eyes. Of course. She thought. It felt like he was a little too close. "Hands behind your back." She felt cold metal of his cuffs around her wrist as he read her Miranda Rights. She knew them by heart. The cuffs clicked into place.

Mars boldly turned herself around. Pressing herself against him. "I'm sure there is some arrangement we can work out, Deputy." Marks made the mistake of looking into her hypnotic eyes; he licked his lips, clearly struggling with the idea. She saw the moment he decided.

"You didn't think I'd really arrest you." His hand slid to her ass, she smirked. "Sheriff may say it's okay, but we both know I wouldn't exactly be number two anymore." He justified. Mars stood on the tip of her toe and kissed him. He reflexively pulled her closer to him and pushed her against the car. "This is a bad idea." He said, looking around. The road they were on seldom had drivers on it, and it was getting dark. She simply looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes.

"Bend over the hood." He unbuckled his pants and turned her around, she bent over, with no choice but to have her face pressed to the car without the use of her arms. She reminded herself it was this or juvenile detention. She would take this any day. She'd hooked up with plenty of regrettable men before, and this wasn't the first time the man was significantly older than her. 9 years? That was nothing. Her first was with one 20 years older when she was even younger.

You've done worse. She reminded herself.

After they were done, no, after he was done, Marks uncuffed her. Her arms were sore already.

The ball of nerves she'd had knotted up in her stomach had dissipated but it was replaced with disgust in herself. She pushed herself off of the hood and adjusted.

She would get over it. She always did, and she always would. "If you ever want to do this again, you know where to find me." He winked, making Mars want to know what was going through his head. But she wouldn't let herself ask.

"Thanks for letting me off with a warning." She joked, it was the only thing she could think to say.

She got back into her dad's car, drove to the pharmacy for the coveted plan B pill, and headed for Stiles.

If she steered clear of the common area, maybe she wouldn't have to see Sheriff, God knew she didn't want to.

On the ride over, she was locked back in her head. She was over the deputy quickly, it hadn't been awful, after all, and she'd merely done what she had to. She'd done worse for far less. She wouldn't let herself see the fault in it. And why should she?

She found herself at Stiles' bedroom door, and she went in without knocking. "I'm sleeping in here tonight." She stated, not wanting to elaborate. Thankfully, he didn't ask questions. The only guilt she felt was over using him as her security blanket. It was the only guilt she ever really felt.

He looked up from his spot on his bed, a very chewed up pencil in his mouth. "Okay, but for the record, I'm still mad at you. My room still smells." Mars bit her lip, she'd nearly forgotten.

"I said I was sorry. I had an episode."

"Yeah, I got that." She sat beside him. "Don't get me wrong, having you stay here is awesome. But can you tell me why now? It's been over a week and your Teta is home. Is everything okay?"

Mars was silent as she contemplated coming clean about what happened with Sayid. Ultimately, he would find out and she did appreciate him not asking until now- even after everything that went down with the school and his dad (which he still wasn't very clear on).

"I walked in on Da with some bitch." She flipped through the papers he was looking at, catching a glimpse of headlines:

-The Benefits of Rehab,

-Interventions: A how to wiki-guide.

Something twisted in her stomach, and as she saw the next one it was like someone knocked the air from her. Understanding Schizophrenia.

She tried to cover the papers, pretend she didn't see them- but her face gave her away as it always seemed to. Stiles froze, Mars tried to go on with a now weak voice. "Aje, he- he asked me not to say anything." She continued. "And it's… it's Ahmir." She took in a deep breath. "So, you know." She couldn't look at him. "Anything fun going on this weekend?" Mars changed the subject, smiling as if nothing happened.

"Not particularly." Stiles recalled, more than happy to play along for the time being.

"Let's get Scott drunk. He's all mopey because of Allison." Mars paused. "I hate mopey people."

"Question. In getting Scott drunk, am I getting drunk, too?" Stiles questioned excitedly.

"That's a given." She laid down. "I'm sleeping in here tonight. I miss you and I'm rather sick of the couch," she noted.

"Fine, but if you start grinding your teeth again, I am literally kicking you off." Stiles threatened, and Mars knew he would. To be fair to him the twin bed didn't allow for much personal space.

Stiles moved the remainder of his things off of his bed, relocating them to the ground. They both changed into their sleepwear. Which consisted of an old (kind of smelly) shirt and plaid flannel bottoms for him and next to nothing for her. Just underwear and a shirt she was bound to toss off in her sleep.

Stiles turned off the lights and got in bed with her, she laid against his chest and he wrapped his arm around her middle. Just as they'd done for years.

Once his breathing steadied and his muscles relaxed, Mars got up and went to those papers, pulling out Understanding Schizophrenia.

It would turn out to be the longest night she'd had yet.