Author's note: set in 1x04.

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.


Popular.

Popular.

Nerd.

Nerd.

Nerd.

Popular.

Nerd.

Cody. "I'm working on it, Cody," I said with a wink.

Nerd.

Popular.

Popular and his popular girlfriend.

I skidded down Beacon Hill's corridors, trying to find Rick. Did that boy ever go to high school? I couldn't keep on lying to my father much longer before he noticed I was foul playing. Today's made up excuse was that I was taking a bus to visit some university, so I had to be extra careful that nobody saw me around Beacon Hills.

It also explained why I was wearing a knitted hat and sunglasses inside a building.

Be it because of the tinted sunglasses or because I was focused on finding the elusive teenager that had stolen my co-worker's heart, I felt the floor slid beneath my foot and I made to grab something to avoid meeting the hard tiles.

I managed fine, though earned a few snickers.

What had made me slip this time? Looking down, I was met by a red liquid. Red ink? I crouched down and ran my fingers over it. Ink was less liquid and smelled differently. So, much to my regret, I confirmed it to be blood.

I grabbed a passing teenager, who stared back at me with fearful eyes. "Excuse me, do you know whose locker is this?" I pointed to the locker in front of me.

"I-I think it's Jackson's," he stammered.

"Jackson who?"

"Jackson Whittemore, the lacrosse team captain."

I smiled. "Thank you." Then saw him run down the corridor.

I chuckled. I was being paranoid. The boy had probably broken his nose in a lacrosse practice or something and here I was fretting over a little blood. Not everything in Beacon Hills had to be connected with its more supernatural affairs, right?

The bell rang and more and more students started to crowd the corridors. Some talking about what they had done over the weekend, some talking about what they would be doing the next weekend.

I saw Cody approaching me and I waved, "See you later, Cody." He got the message and headed away.

I kept my eyes opened wide for Rick. How could I miss him? Not every boy in his teens was 6' 3'' tall. In a desperate attempt to find him, I grabbed another teenage girl and asked her, "Do you know someone named Rick?"

She raised an eyebrow and looked contemptuously at me. "I know lots of Ricks."

"Um, really tall and blonde, with blue eyes."

She laughed. "Oh, that Rick. Sweetie, I'm sorry, but you have nothing to do with him." Her friends agreed with snickers and chuckles.

"Could you just tell me where he is, please?" She pointed a long finger with an ornate nail at a bike parking area and I saw my target. "Thank you."

She snorted. "Good luck."

And effectively, I would need luck.

I walked to Rick, who, with his leather jacket, black motorbike, cigarettes and glare gave off a James Dean's vibe, but was just a walking cliché. He didn't bother to look at me. I cleared my throat, but to no effect.

"Rick?"

"Who's asking?" he said after taking a long drag at his cigarette.

Aware that if I gave him my name, it would multiply my chances of being found out by my parents, I opted for a simply, "A friend of Mia."

"I know a lot of Mias."

I rolled my eyes. "Mia Moore."

"Imogene!" I heard my name being called. Scott and Stiles were just leaving the school and they waved at me. Damn, here I was trying to go unnoticed and these two morons had to yell my name in a crowded place.

"I'm busy guys! I'll give you a call later!"

Stiles frowned and said something to Scott and Scott rolled his eyes, but then they went their separate ways, not giving me a second glance.

"What about Mia?" Rick asked.

How to do this? I had never played matchmaker before. "Um, what do you think of her?"

He gave a last drag at his cigarette, dropped it, stomped the butt and took another one out. "She's hot," he said while he lighted it with his silver Zippo.

I smiled my seller's smile as if all this was just a transaction. But when I opened my mouth to go in for the kill, a loud car's horn blared, muting me. Rick, with his towering height, saw him before I did.

"What a druggie," he muttered.

Derek Hale tottered in the middle of the road, not looking healthy. I debated with myself if I should help him, but the cons were too much. I couldn't be seen with Derek in Beacon Hills when I was supposed to be miles away.

I smiled back at Rick. "Well, you're really lucky. She just broke up with her boyfriend and is single. And she told me she fancies you."

"Fancies me? What century are you from?" Thanks, Jane Austen.

"She likes you?" Oh, God, had Derek just passed out? I focused on Rick again. "Mia is bored of playing with kids. She needs a real man that can rise to the occasion. Someone who…" Good, was that Scott helping him? Blue glowing eyes, oh, shit. "… knows how to take care of her and…" Stiles' Jeep. More honking. "… knows what happens to her and…" They put Derek in the car. What was happening? "… and I have to go!"

I charged through the parking lot, pushed Stiles aside and slipped inside the blue Jeep before anyone could take a good glimpse of me. Derek sat co-driver and was not looking good.

"What the heck is happening?" I asked, but the boys were also in a rush and ignored me.

"Get him out of here," Scott said as Stiles took the wheel.

"I hate you for this so much," Stiles told him between gritted teeth and I almost hit the back of my head when he accelerated.

"Okay, can someone explain what-?" Stiles took a curve and this time I did hit my head. "Ouch!"

"Sorry," Stiles said, but I don't think he even registered what had happened. He was really tense if his deadly grip on the steering wheel and maniac driving were any indication.

"Someone, explain!" I repeated.

Derek grunted his disapproval about my outburst and Stiles maneuvered another curve that sent me flying to one side of the vehicle.

"Stiles, slow down!" I shouted, fearing for my well-being.

"He got shot some kind of magic bullet," Stiles explained, calming down enough to notice the red light.

"What?" I asked in disbelief.

"Hunters," Derek said and hissed at the sudden movement of the car when the light of the traffic light turned green.

"Argents?"

"Yes."

"Right now Scott's trying to find the same type of bullet he was shot," Stiles grumbled irritated.

"What for?" I asked.

"To neutralize the wolfsbane in the wound. That way, I might be able to heal normally," Derek grunted.

"Might?" I said unbelieving. "What if you don't?"

"That's what plan B is for," he said with a ghost of a smile and I recalled using those same words in a very different situation. The humor was lost on me.

Unintentionally, Derek Hale had become an important part of my life; the part when I jumped into cars without a second thought and I broke into crime scenes and faced potential murderers. If Derek died, that part would be gone with him and I might never be able to figure out what secrets Beacon Hills kept. I would have to say goodbye to these moments when adrenaline clouded my judgment and I dared to do things I would never dream of doing otherwise.

No, Derek Hale could not die.

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" Stiles frowned.

"While Scott's trying to get the bullet, are we just going to drive around town?"

"Of course not!" Stiles exclaimed. "We'll stop to get some gas."

I scoffed. "There's anything else we can do?"

With half open lids, Derek turned his head towards me as best as he could. "The red book."

"What about it?"

"There should be information about wolfsbane on it. It might contain some kind of antidote."

"In case you've forgotten, I don't have the book anymore."

His eyes glowed blue and he gritted his teeth. "Find it."

I swallowed the lump in my throat chocking me. "I can't," I whimpered. "It's not in my house and I can't fully search the bookstore with my father there."

"I may have a solution for that. Give me your phone," Stiles ordered. I handed him my mobile and he started to scroll down my contact list.

"Stiles, I don't think you should be driving and using the phone," I said.

Derek was a bit more tactless than me. "What the hell are you doing?" He roared and even in his state, he was imposing.

"Shut up!" Stiles cried and held his own phone to his ear. "Hello, Mr. Wise?... Yes, I have to inform you of a possible fire in your house… No, your neighbor called… No, no, we can't do anything about it… Yes, the fire department has been contacted and they are on their way, but you should go to your household immediately… Okay, thank you." He hung up. "Problem solved." He threw my phone at me, which I barely caught before it hit me in the face.

I gaped, wide eyed. "You are a genius," I said.

Stiles grinned. "I know."

"Imogene," Derek growled. "Get the book." The seriousness in his voice left no room for arguments. It was my best shot and if I had any chance of getting that book back, it would be now.

"How is it that you never threaten her?" Stiles asked.

"She's cooperative." Derek glared at him.

"And he does threaten me," I pointed out.

"It's because she is a girl, isn't it?" Stiles pushed.

"No, it's not," Derek said menacingly.

"I bet if I were a girl you would be nicer to me," Stiles pressed.

"He's never nice to anyone," I mumbled despite being ignored.

Around five minutes later of Stiles incoherent rambling and colorful metaphors, he barely stopped the car to let me go outside. With a last 'Don't fight, guys' and 'Call me if something happens', I saw the Jeep drive away.

Until I was face to face with the closed door of the bookstore I didn't realize Stiles' perfect plan wasn't so perfect. How the heck was I supposed to get inside? They must have figured I had the keys to the store, which I didn't have. Why would I when I went everywhere with my father?

But there was no time for over thinking. I didn't know how much time I had or when my father would be back.

"Think quick, act faster," I whispered my personal mantra as I took one of my boots.

I threw it with all my might against the glass door, but the shoe bounced pathetically and ended on the middle of the street. I grabbed it quickly, looking at both sides to check that no one had seen me.

The next thing I threw was a stone. Then, it followed a bigger stone, my bag, a kick… but nothing broke the glass. It just let me panting and frustrated.

I took off my jacket and wrapped it around my elbow. Yes, I had seen this in films. With a shriek, I elbowed the door, and pained soared through my articulation, but the door was intact.

I sat on the ground beside it, feeling useless, weak and stupid. I couldn't break into my own workplace.

I ran a hand across my forehead, wiping the beads of sweat. How I envied those bricklayers and their cold sodas working on Miss Martinez's new shop. Maybe I should cross the street and ask for one…

Or for one of those heavy bricks that I was sure could break even the hardest glasses.

I shot up from the ground and crossed the road. Careful that no one saw me, I crept behind one of their containers and took a brick. It felt even heavier in my hand that I imagined and I grinned.

I went back to the shop unnoticed. It seemed practice did make perfect and I was getting better and better at all this breaking the law.

Taking advantage of the racket of the building work, I smashed the glass with the brick. I let out a little squeak of happiness and I went through it. A hiss of pain followed as my right arm graced the sharp glass and I felt the blood dampening my t-shirt.

For the first time in my life, I didn't care I was injured; I had more important things at hand. I ran to the office and started an impossible search.


'DID YOU FIND ANYTHING?'

'NO. AND SCOTT?'

'NOTHING'

I re-read the text messages and blew a strand of brown hair out of my face. I had lost all sense of time. I might have spent hours searching or just minutes, all I was able to register was that the red book wasn't there.

Defeated, I slumped over the desk, burying my face between my stretched arms.

At least Derek hadn't died yet. What would I do if he did? Would I be brave and stupid enough to expose the Argents? Probably. More likely I would go into another crusade to find conclusive proofs. The Argents, they scared me as much as Derek Hale did.

My fingers curled at the desk's edge and, without intending to, I noticed an irregularity on the wood. I raised my head and frowned. What was I touching?

I sat up and circled the desk, then crouched. At first sight, everything was normal, but as I traced the straight line, I confirmed there was a small part that barely moved under my fingers. I pushed it.

As a medieval mechanism taken out from an historical book, I heard a click and I knew my father's old desk was the key to the next secret to unveil. With a rush of excitement I sauntered to the other side of the piece of furniture.

I opened the familiar drawers, filled with receipts and bills, but found nothing new. I tried to pry open the plank with the hawk's engraving, but it didn't budge. Next I moved the shelves where I had first found the red book, but no hidden doors had appeared behind them.

I tried to move the desk, but it was too heavy.

I looked a second time for hidden drawers and this time I noticed something peculiar. The plank of wood beside the drawers sounded hollow. I knocked on it. Yes, there was a cavity behind it.

I tried to take out that part of the desk, but to no avail. It was a robust desk and I feared my faithful brick would be no match this time.

Think quick, act faster.

I took out completely the drawers and touched the wood on the inside. With ease, it gave in and revealed a compartment.

I hesitated. I had never liked to thrust my hand into dark unknown places. On our holidays in Italy, I had been the only one not to put my hand into La Bocca della Veritá, despite my mother's insistence.

But lately I had grown bold and it only took me three deep breaths to gather courage and do it.

At first, I met nothing, just emptiness, but when I kneeled closer, my fingertips graced leather. I moved even closer, sticking out my tongue in concentration. With a huge effort, I positioned the object vertically and was able to grab it.

I blew the dust away, but threw away the book when I saw a spider creeping along its leather cover. Once I was sure the bastard had gone away, I picked it up again and opened it.

Disappointment and confusion etched in my features. I didn't understand a word on it. I didn't even recognize the language it was written in.

"Oh my God!" Someone screamed from outside the shop.

My father.

I put on my jacket, the book inside against my stomach and zipped up the jacket. "Dad?!"

Seconds later, I was embraced by my father, who kept asking me if I was okay.

"Yes, yes, I am alright," I assured him.

"God, what has happened?" he asked.

Think quick.

"I-I don't know," I stammered. "I came here and everything was a mess." I ran a trembling hand through my hair. "The glass was broken and…" I trailed off. I hadn't stop to view the condition I had left the store after my frenetic search. Bookshelves knocked down, books scattered around the floor, the broken door… Yes, it looked like… "A robbery," I muttered.

"We must call the police," my father said, his tone grave. It pained me to see my father like this and he sensed my discomfort. "Go home, Imogene." I nodded silently.

Before I left, I heard him mutter, "Everything will be alright."

The new found leather book felt heavy inside my jacket, as a reminder of my new found remorse.


'WHERE ARE YOU?'

'GOING HOME. THE BOOK WASN'T IN THE STORE'

'WE'RE GOING TO THE VET.'

'ARE YOU F- KIDDING ME? HE'S NOT A DOG!'

'GO THERE IF YOU FIND ANYTHING!'

I ran faster towards my house. Normally, I would go on my bike, but I had left it on the school. I'd have to figure out a way to get it back later, but now I had to get to my computer to translate the leather book.

I had never been the athletic type, so by the time I reached my household, I was flushed and I had a stitch. But I didn't stop running and bolted towards my room, unzipping my jacket in the process.

No one was home. My mother was working and oblivious to this madness, and my father should be talking with the police by now.

I sat before the PC and switched it on, but forgot instantly about it when I realized what that flash of red on my peripheral vision was.

The red book!

The red book lying on my bed. I hurled myself towards it. I leafed through its yellowish pages and relinquished in its ancient smell.

For the umpteenth time that day, I ran.


Out of breath, I reached the vet clinic. It was already dark and I wasn't the bravest person, so I searched quickly for a way in. In my haste, I had forgotten my phone home, but I was lucky and found a door open.

Guiding my steps towards the voices I recognized as Stiles and Derek's, I waved the book and shouted, "I got it! I got the book!"

I jarred to a halt, my eyes wide. "What the hell are you doing?"

Stiles stared back at me, still holding the saw-like device against Derek's arm.

Derek raised his head. "Did you get it?"

I nodded mutely.

"Thank God," Stiles breathed and sighed, resting the tool against the metallic stretcher.

I placed the book beside it and opened it. A moribund Derek and a hyperactive Stiles moved to each one of my sides, but I was too focused on the book to bother. After some leafing, I asked the obvious, "What am I looking for?"

Despite it was clear it pained him to talk, Derek answered, "There should be a part about the effects of wolfsbane."

Yes, I remembered that part. Page 120. "What now?"

"Something about how to counteract its effects," he grunted.

I turned the next page, and the next and the next. But it was useless. I knew it, I had studied the whole book. There was not such a part. "Are you sure-?"

He just pushed me away and moved the book to his side and started to leaf frantically through it. I bit my lip; he was going to rip off its pages if he kept handling it so violently.

"Guys, maybe it's in page 127," Stiles said.

To my surprise, Derek turned to that page.

"There's no page 127," I muttered.

"Exactly," Stiles told me, taking the book away from Derek's hands and holding it up. "There's a jump from page 126 to page 158!"

God, how didn't I notice it before? Someone had ripped off 32 pages of the book I had so meticulously inspected.

With a sudden movement, pretty impressive for someone in his state, Derek snatched the book from Stiles' hands and threw it to the ground and pushed the saw into his hands.

"No, no, no," I exclaimed. "You can't do that!"

Stiles chorused my reiteration of 'no'. "I can't do that!"

"Do it, now!" Derek pushed.

"Wait!" I screamed. "What about Scott?! Let's wait for Scott!"

"By the time he gets here, I'll be dead," Derek growled.

"But you can't just chop off your arm!" I shouted. Was I really the only one that believed this to be madness? "Oh my God! It's that blood on the floor!"

Derek put his arm over the table and pressed the saw against his skin. He glared at Stiles and intimidating as only Derek could be, he spat, "Do it. Now!"

I felt light-headed and tasted bile in my mouth. I turned, faced the wall and draped my hands over my ears. I had never had a strong stomach and I was easily affected. I murmured, "Oh, God," over and over again, while I cursed inwardly the moment I decided to meddle into other people's business, especially when that 'other people' were werewolves.

"Oh my god!" I heard Stiles. "Here we go!"

I cringed, bracing myself for what was to come, totally sure I was going to throw up.

"Stiles!"

Footsteps.

"Scott?"

"Thank God." I dared to peak between my fingers. Scott was here and he ported the same expression I had on my face when I had seen Stiles about to butcher Derek's arm.

"What the hell are you doing?" he exclaimed.

Stiles put away the saw and managed a soft smile. "Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares."

Still lying over the table, Derek said, "Did you get it?"

Scott produced a bullet from his dark jeans' pocket and passed it to Derek.

"What are you doing with that" Stiles asked.

"I'm gonna…" Derek said, he staggered. "I'm gonna…" He was gonna pass out, to everyone in that room's horror.

"No, no, no, no, no," Scott lamented, as we all saw the bullet fall from Derek's hand and slip under a counter and down a grating.

"Oh, God," I whispered and kneeled besides Derek along Stiles. "We have to wake him up. He cannot heal when unconscious," I told Stiles.

"Derek." Stiles grabbed Derek's face, but he didn't respond. He slapped him softly. "Derek, come on, wake up. Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?!"

"I don't know! I can't reach it." Scott was trying to reach the bullet, but he seemed to be failing.

"He's not waking up!"

I stood up and started rummaging through cabinets. I had no medical knowledge except from what I had picked up from 'House' and my personal experiences, but we needed more of acting and less of thinking if we wanted to save Derek Hale.

"I think he's dying!" Stiles screamed. Acepromazine, Benadryl… "I think he's dead!"

"Hold on!" Scott screamed back. Hydroxyzine, Zantac, Ephedrine… Ephedrine! Bingo!

I grabbed a needle and filled it with Ephedrine. I kneeled beside Derek's good arm and felt for a vein.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked.

"Check his pulse," I ordered.

"What?"

I would have rolled my eyes, but I hadn't time. I checked his pulse. It was weak. I injected the needle slowly, gently, and pushed down on the plunger until the drug had disappeared from the syringe.

"Oh my God!" Stiles said. "What have you done?"

"It's Ephedrine! It will quicken his heart rate! It's like a shot of adrenaline!"

"Then why isn't he waking up!"

I looked at the syringe still in my hand and felt dread paralyze me. "I don't know! It might take a while."

"I got it! I got it!" Scott screamed.

"Please, don't kill me for this," Stiles said and he punched Derek in the face. He let out a yell of pain. Apparently, it hurt more for Stiles than for Derek, but it woke him up effectively. "Ouch, God."

"Give me…" Derek spoke weakly and both boys helped him stand up.

We crowded around the examination table. With his teeth, Derek ripped off the bullet and poured in the table the powder mixed with wolfsbane. Taking out a lighter from his pocket, he lighted it up and the powder burned in a spectacle of sparks. The stench of burnt powder watered my eyes and I took a step back to get away from it and the heat.

Derek gathered the remains and held them against his bullet wound. The scream of pain he let on gave me chills and I backed up until I hit the counter, grasping its edge to balance myself.

Derek fell to the ground, writhing in pain and growling. With astonishment, we observed the dark veins retreat and the wound disappear.

"That was awesome!" Stiles said. "Yes!"

Derek sat up and Scott asked him if he was okay.

"Well, except for the agonizing pain."

"I guess the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health," Stiles said smart-alecky.

I realized then that I was gaping and closed my mouth. "That was… intense. Let's never do it again."

Derek glared at the three of us.

"Okay, we saved your life, which means you're gonna leave us alone. You got that?" Scott blurted. "And if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad. I'm gonna tell him everything-"

"You're gonna trust them?" Derek said. "Do you think they can help you?"

"Well, why not? They are freaking nicer than you are."

"I can show you exactly how nice they are."

"What do you mean?"

Derek shook his head, picked up his t-shirt and said, "I'll show you," before leaving the room.

The three of us left shared a confused glance. I shrugged and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Well, I think I've had enough lycanthropy for the night," he announced. "By the way, where did you learn to give shots of adrenaline?"

I ignored the technicalities and told him, "I'm allergic to bee stings. In case of sting, Ephedrine is used. It increases the heart rate and blood pressure and opens up the lungs."

He blinked at me. I crouched and took the maltreated red book.

"That's the red book?" Scott asked. "Where did you find it?"

I cleaned its cover. Blood had spilled over it, merging with its carmine color. "It was in my room, upon my bed. Whoever took it, he doesn't need it anymore apparently."

"Do you think it was your father?" Stiles asked.

I sighted as I picked up the remains of the syringe and the Ephedrine and disposed them. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Yeah, about that…" Scott trailed off and we both looked at him. "I saw your father tonight, when I left the Argents' house. He was there to talk with Chris Argent."

"Do you know what he wanted to talk about?" I asked.

Scott shook his head. "I was in a bit of hurry to get here."

I bit my thumb, debating over whether to tell them or not. Stiles was perceptive and asked, "What is it?"

"There's something more." I paused. "Looking for the red book in my father's store, I found another 'special' book."

"About werewolves?"

"I don't know. It is written in a language I don't know."

"Where it is?" Scott asked.

"Right now it's hidden in my room. I'll try to translate it as soon as I get there."

"Do not hide it anymore in your room," Scott told me. "Keep the book always with you. We don't know if your house is a safe place anymore."

I gasped. "Excuse me?!"

"You heard it. We don't know if your father is a hunter or why does he want that book, but if it's so important, it's better to keep a close eye on it."

I stared at him, but it all made sense. "You're starting to sound like Derek."

As if on cue, Derek banged on the door, his sleek black car parked behind him. Whatever he was going to show to Scott, it couldn't be postponed a single day, it seemed. Scott grabbed the door handle, but before he left us, he turned to me.

"Be careful."


I was careful not to make much noise and wake up my parents as I slipped back into my house.

Fortunately, Stiles had given me a ride back to my home. Unfortunately, that was where my luck ended.

"Where do you think you're going, miss?" A strong hand of lean fingers grabbed me by the arm and I hissed in pain where the glass from the bookstore's door had ripped my fair skin. My father let go of me and turned on the light of the living room to get a better look at my arm. "How did you get that wound?"

"I-I got hurt when I rushed into the store. With the glass."

His eyes were hawk-like as he examined me, clearly not buying my lies anymore. I wondered if he ever did.

"Where have you been?" I faltered. "Well?!"

"I don't know," I mumbled.

"You don't know?! One can't not know where he has been." Silence. "Am I going to get an answer?" Silence. "Mia has told me Derek Hale was looking for you the other day."

"Derek has nothing to do with this."

"Where were you this morning?"

My lower lip trembled. I was losing this battle; a battle I wasn't sure anymore I deserved to win. I wished I didn't have to lie and I wished I could trust my father, but everything I could think now when I looked him in the eye was how much more secrets he kept from me and my mother.

"Where. Were. You. This. Morning?" he enunciated clearly.

The best defense is an attack.

I squared my shoulders and crossed my arms. "What did you have to talk with Chris Argent so important that you went to his house tonight?" His eyes widened. I smirked, though I wasn't feeling that confident. "What? No answer? It seems I'm not the only one in this house keeping secrets."

His features mellowed. "What has happened, Imogene? You used to be so sweet and now you're rebellious and bad tempered. You never talked to me like this before… I'm just trying to help you."

"Well, if you want to help me, you could start by telling me the truth…" I took out the red book from my jacket, "… about this." He furrowed his brow, but kept quiet. "Did you take it from my room?" No answer. "Did you rip off its pages?" Nothing. I snorted. "See, this is why I can't trust you anymore."

My father took me by the shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. "Imogene, please, listen to me. Stay away from Derek Hale and stay away from the Argents." My nostrils flared. "Please," he pleaded.

I pried his hands away from my shoulders. "I'm sorry, dad," I choked. I took the stairs and whispered, "I'm sorry," one last time.

Tiredness numbed my limbs, my eyelids felt heavy and my eyes were irritated by the lack of sleep. As I sat in front of the laptop, I knew that was where I would fall asleep that night. As I opened the leather book, I felt as Pandora opening the box to all the dark secrets and evil creatures.

As a moth drawn to the flame, I was letting the fire consume me.