So sorry this took ages to get up! I've just started back at university so I've been busy.

Thanks x

Chapter 9

Stiles rode on an emotional high that week. They didn't have any more trouble from the Omegas and all of her friends had been admitted into the Beacon County Community College, except for Lydia, who hadn't bothered applying because she was way too smart for that. Like Stiles, they were waiting to see if they were admitted to anywhere else before they accepted their offers, but it was nice to know they had gotten in somewhere, especially Malia, who was ecstatic that she would be going to college.

Stiles' throat healed up quickly after Derek had absorbed some of her pain, and Scott was helping her with the pain in her arm. It was mainly itchy because of the stitches, but she was having them taken out on the weekend. Thanks to her college acceptance letter and Derek's apology, the first week back at school flew by. The only downside was that Coach had forbade her from participating in lacrosse practice because of her arm, which was understandable, so she just sat on the bleachers with Malia and watched instead. After school was finished on Friday, Stiles went home alone. She promised to call if there was any problems but they doubted there would be. It looked as if Derek had scared off the Omegas; he was pretty intimidating.

She was surprised to find another letter for her in the mail. This one was from the UCLA. This was the second college letter she had received this week, and she was sure it would be her first rejection letter. She thought about not opening it until the weekend was over so it didn't dampen her mood. But she was Stiles, she wasn't exactly the most patient person in the world. She put the envelope on her desk with her college pile and paced around the room, trying not to look at it. This lasted for about two minutes before she gave up and opened it with shaky hands.

Dear Miss Stilinski,

Congratulations. The Admissions Board is pleased to inform you of your acceptance to the University of California – Los Angeles for the fall semester.

Stiles forgot to breathe, then began to breathe too quickly. How had this happened? She'd been accepted into UCLA, her mother's alma mater. This was huge for Stiles. She hadn't really counted on being accepted, she figured she'd just go to a college nearby, like somewhere she had applied to in San Francisco, or worst-case scenario, to the community college. She knew if she told her Dad that he would want her to go to UCLA. He wanted her to get as far away from Beacon Hills as she could and make a life for herself, but she didn't want to be that distant from him. UCLA was an 8-hour drive.

She heard her Dad's footsteps approaching and swiftly shoved the letter in her college pile. He knocked at her open door.

"How was school?" he asked.

"Good," she said, trying to act normal. "You working tonight?"

"Nope," he beamed. "My night off, so I thought maybe we could go and get a pizza for dinner?"

"That'd be great," she replied.

When he was gone, Stiles sat at her desk and stared at her two college acceptance letters. She had a lot to think about.

On Saturday afternoon, Scott went with Stiles to the hospital to get her stitches out. She had lied to her Dad and said her appointment was Sunday, but that was only because she didn't want him to be there when they were taken out in case it was bad. They went in to see the doctor and he began taking out the stitches. Scott purposely held Stiles' hand so she was in less pain, and talked to distract her. She didn't look until the doctor was finished, and when she did look, she felt sick.

There were four scars in total, all only about 3 inches long, centred in the middle of her forearm. Where they lacked in length, they made up for in width, because the scratches had been so deep. And the colour was disgusting. They were a horrible reddish-purple. Stiles looked at the doctor.

"They're not going to stay that colour, are they?" she asked, her voice uneven.

"No, but I'm afraid it will be a while before they change to a skin colour," he said, applying a fresh bandage across the ugly scars so they could continue healing.

"How long is a while?" Scott asked.

"Years," he answered regretfully. "I'm sorry."

Stiles swallowed whatever feelings she had that were beginning to rise.

"That's okay," Stiles laughed. "I can just cover it up or something. No biggie."

After they were finished at the hospital, Stiles took Scott home. They sat silently in the car for a moment.

"I'm really sorry Stiles," Scott said eventually. "I'll talk to Deaton, see if there's anything he can do about it."

"It's fine, really," Stiles smiled, trying to reassure herself mores than Scott. "But thanks."

"Do you want to play the Xbox or something?" Scott asked, his voice pitiful.

"I think I'll just have a nap and do homework, I'll text you later," she said.

When Stiles got home, she did neither of those things. She simply did nothing. She lay on her bed and had a good old-fashioned wallowing-in-her-own-grief session. She just wanted to feel sorry for herself. It could have been worse, it could have been worse, her mind repeated, trying to convince herself that the fact she now had nasty scars on her arm was okay. Her Dad was going to flip when he saw, she would have to figure out a way to put that off for as long as possible.

Gradually, Stiles mental exhaustion poured over into the physical side, and she fell asleep. It used to be so hard for her to fall asleep, for a long time, that she usually just allowed her body to sleep whenever it wanted. If she felt tired, she napped. After the whole Nogistune incident she would never take the opportunity to sleep for granted.

When she awoke, the sun had long disappeared on the horizon and was replaced with a beautiful blue glow omitted by the full moon. It was 11:01pm, dammit, she thought, she'd be up all night now. She soon noticed that it was a knocking sound that had disturbed her slumber. She wandered downstairs, following the source of the noise, and quickly realized that there was someone at the front door. Her Dad must have been at work, so she was alone. The thought made her panic. Who could it be? Scott and her friends would have text her first if they were coming over, and she had no messages or missed calls.

She grabbed her trusty aluminium baseball bat – just to be safe – and cautiously opened the front door, her hand gripping tightly on the bat handle. She swung the door open swiftly, prepared for whatever may come.

Well, almost prepared. She was not prepared for Derek Hale to be standing outside her front door. She was confused on so many levels.

What was he doing there? And what was he specifically doing there, instead of climbing through her bedroom window?