I'm having a blast writing this story and I hope y'all are enjoying it too! What do you think of Chelsea so far?
FOUR
"I don't think that's a good idea." I snorted. My mom's idea was hilarious, but her face told me that she was very serious about it.
"You have enough college credits." She leaned against the threshold of my bedroom. "You can work a few days a week. It's not hard work, just don't let the kids light anything on fire."
"Mom, that school would have to be high as a kite to allow ME of all people to be a sub." I laughed at the thought. She had a point though. I did have enough college credits. To be a substitute teacher I didn't necessarily need a degree, I just needed 50 credits. Which thankfully I had. I'd dropped out of school with 58 credits under my belt… like an idiot.
"Well," she pulled a packet of paper out of her bag. "I filled most of it out for you." She tossed the application onto my bed. "You just need to add a few answers and bring it over to the school."
"Thank you." I said seriously. When had she found the time to do it? She worked nearly 65 hours a week.
She left me with a small smile. I could tell there was more she wanted to say. Maybe ask me about my injuries, or if I've heard from him again. But thankfully, she didn't.
It had only been four days since I'd come back to Beacon Hills. The last few times I had moved, it had taken about a month for Dylan to show up. I'd usually get by waiting tables or bar tending at some local watering hole. Working in a school sounded safe. Cameras, lots of people, usually some type of on campus police presence. He'd have a hard time showing up unannounced. Plus, how hard could substitute teaching be? The teachers literally leave a script of what to do. Maybe this was a good idea.
What did I have to lose at this point?
Sucking in a long breath of air I pushed myself up into a more comfortable sitting position. Mom wasn't kidding when she said she filled most of the application out. Dad would have never been able to do this. I doubt he even knew my actual birthday let alone my social, license plate number and the name of the college I went to.
The only question that was left blank was my phone number. I'd changed it so many times and told mom the other night that I just recently cancelled with my phone carrier altogether...plus, I'd tossed my phone out of a moving vehicle a few days ago.. I'll have to get a new number eventually. But for now, I wrote down Scott's cell which was scribbled across a post-it note on my dresser in case of emergencies. He'd be the best way to reach me right now considering mom worked nonstop.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, knowing full well that I couldn't show up to Beacon Hills High School dressed in an old pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt. I'd have to borrow some clothes from mom's closet, if she had anything other than scrubs.
The bathroom was still the same ugly blue tile it had been when I lived here with both of my parents. It always cast a bluish hue on my skin. And I guess mom had never seen the need to replace the broken lock on the door. It had been a while since I looked in the mirror. Mainly my bathroom trips were short and sweet. I avoided my reflection like the plague. I knew I wouldn't like what I saw.
But it was unavoidable today. I needed to make a decent impression on the office staff when I handed in that application. Everyone knows that the guy in charge of hiring usually asks the "little guy" or in this case, the receptionist, what they think of candidates.
Well, sir, to be honest, she looked like she was coming off a four day bender.
That was NOT the impression I wanted to leave behind. So after a long hot shower, I spent time looking myself over. The towel stayed clamped around my frame. There was no need to look at the damage on my torso. No one would see it.
I used my mom's makeup to cover the bags under my sleep deprived eyes and added a bit of mascara. It wasn't much, but I also didn't want to over-do it.
Well, sir, she looked a bit like a painted whore.
Also not the impression I was after.
Choosing an outfit was tough. Mom's clothes ranged from nurse, to nurse, to prostitute. I doubted she ever wore half of the shirts hanging in the closet. More than likely, they were clothes she'd purchased right after dad left. She probably had every intention of wearing them out to the bars with friends, working the floor to get some free drinks and a quick lay. But the little boy left at home prevented that from happening.
I went for a white tank that I could throw a denim jacket over and a pair of my own black jeans. Stylish, business casual, and comfortable. I had a tan scarf that I'd gotten used to carrying around with me. I draped it over my neck and looped it once. It hid the bruises on my throat nicely.
My hair, well there wasn't much I could do on that end. It used to be a beautiful vibrant shade of red. Nowadays it's more of a dirty rust color. I had chopped it off almost a year ago after Dylan had used my long ponytail to drag me down the hallway. The memory made me shudder and caused my neck to throb in ghostly pain. Since then it's grown to hang just above my shoulder line.
A few years ago, I would have considered myself pretty. Not anymore.
I let out another sigh before turning away from the mirror. The less time I spent staring at myself the better.
With a quick glance at the clock, I snatched the application off my bed and headed for the door. School would be letting out soon. If I was quick, I could miss the after school traffic jam.
The halls of the school were quiet since all the students were still sitting in their final period desks, watching the hands on clock count down to their freedom. I remembered the halls well enough to make it to the main office.
The older woman behind the desk wore a bright pink dress. It was blinding. Almost as blinding as the smile she gave me when she finally looked up from her computer.
"Hello." I made sure my voice was sweet. "I just wanted to drop this off. It's an application for a substitute position." I handed her the packet.
"Oh good." She dropped her glasses to the bottom of her nose. "We're in desperate need these days. I'll make sure this gets in the right hands."
I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next. I'd worked myself up to coming here, and it was so short and sweet. Was there something more I needed to do? Something else I should say?
"Okay, well thank you." I said awkwardly and turned to leave. But a thought occurred at the last moment that had me spinning back to face her. "Oh, and the phone number I wrote down is actually my brother's. My phone broke a few days ago and I haven't had a chance to get a new one."
"I'll make a note of it. Just call us when you get a new number." She smiled sweetly and jotted down the message on the top of the application.
"Thank you." I gave a small wave and headed out the door just as the final bell rang. "Dammit." I whispered to myself when students started pouring into the hallway. It's not that I minded crowds. In fact, I'd learned to love them. They allowed me to blend in, to disappear when someone was searching for me.
It was teenagers that I disliked.
I rode the wave of bodies out the front doors of the building. It wasn't hard to spot Stiles in the parking lot. His old jeep was a shade of blue that couldn't be overlooked. If he was around, that meant Scott wasn't far. My feet started in his direction. I needed to tell him that I used his cell number in case the school calls him looking for me.
But when Stiles hopped in the jeep and started the engine, it was clear that Scott wasn't with him. I rolled my eyes in annoyance. How dare they not be together and inconvenience me. I thought sarcastically as I shifted to walk back to my car on the other end of the parking lot. That's when I spotted my brother. He was standing near the steps with Allison, the brunette from the game the other night.
Scott's nervousness was visible even with all the distance between us. It was comical to watch his jerky movements and off center smile as he talked to the girl. I couldn't help but smile at the normalness of his life.
The sudden blaring of car horns caused my shoulders to jump. Looking back, I wasn't the least bit surprised to see that Stiles was the reason behind the road rage. His jeep was the first car in a long line of backed up traffic. Did it break down?
Upon closer inspection, I realized that the Jeep wasn't the problem.
Leaning against the hood was a very sick looking whatshisname. I saw him just in time to watch him collapse to the cement. My eyes widened in shock.
"What the hell?" I said aloud. Something pushed past my shoulder. No, someONE. And that someone was Scott. I followed quickly behind him. What the hell was going on?
"Get up!" Scott whisper-yelled at the guy on the ground. Derek, his name came to me suddenly.
"What's going on?" I stooped down by my brother's side. More horns honked behind us, accompanied by a few angry shouts. Derek leaned forward and spoke into Scott's ear, making sure he was the only one could hear him. I shot a questioning glance at Stiles. Was he as confused as I was right now?
"Get him in the Jeep." Scott said suddenly, thrusting his arms under Derek's and attempting to drag the man to his feet.
"I'll call 911." I offered, but quickly remembered that I no longer had a phone. "Give me your phone." I held an expectant hand out to Stiles.
"Uh, I don't have one." He stammered before quickly moving to help Scott.
"I can literally see it in your fucking pocket." I shout at him. They all ignore me as they all but throw Derek into the front seat of the Jeep. Scott says something about going to find Allison and runs off. I'm tempted to follow him, but some invisible force pulls me to Stiles's backseat.
Everything happened so quickly that I don't even think Stiles knew I was behind him until he checked the rearview mirror after peeling out of the parking lot. When his eyes hit mine, he slammed on the breaks.
"No. No, no, no." he turned his body completely around in his seat. "Get out." I could tell he was trying to sound tough. But compared to what I've faced, Stiles Stalinski was a walk in the park. I didn't even justify his demand with a response. I simply stared at him, arms folded across my chest. He seemed to get the hint, but he didn't like it.
"Stiles, drive." Derek breathed in the passenger seat. The man had slunked down so far into his seat that his knees were hitting the dashboard. I leaned my body forward so I was resting on the center console between the two of them while Stiles tore out of the parking lot.
"Can't this go faster?" Derek panted a few minutes later.
"Hey, try not to bleed out on my seats okay? We're almost there?" Stiles answered.
"Almost where?" He asked through bated breaths. I let my eyes rake over him. His skin was far too pale and glistened with a sheen of sweat that had broken out from the pain. I could see that his jaw was clenched, lips pulled back over his teeth and his eyes were shut tight. He had nearly perfect teeth, which was an odd observation for me to make in the moment.
"To the hospital." I said at the same time Stiles responded,
"To your house."
My head turned to him so quickly I felt a twinge in the muscles. He couldn't be serious.
"What?" I snapped, but Derek spoke over me. My body was slowly heating up from the annoyance and adrenaline. I shrugged out of the denim jacket and unlooped my scarf as the two bantered.
"No. You can't take me there!" he hissed. Finally, someone was making sense.
"I can't take you to your own house?" Stiles's voice was steadily rising.
"Not when I can't protect myself." Derek shook his head. The entire conversation was ludicrous. I tried multiple times to find the right words to say, but came up empty each time I opened my mouth.
"Okay. Alright." Stiles huffed before he pulled the Jeep to the side of the road. He turned to Derek. "What happens if Scott doesn't find your… find it?" He shot a sideways glance my way. "Are you dying?"
"Stiles." I pushed my way forward to get his attention. "We need to get him help." Was he having a nervous breakdown?
"Not yet." Derek answered, ignoring my comment. "I have a last resort."
"What do you mean?" Stiles threw his hands up. "What last resort?" as he spoke, Derek rolled up the sleeve of his sweater. A ghastly quarter size hole sunk into his forearm, black lines radiating out around it.
"Is that a bullet wound?" I sucked in a breath to settle my queasy stomach.
"Oh my god. What is it that?" Stiles shifted uncomfortably. "Is that contagious?"
"We need to get you to the hospital." I couldn't take my eyes off of his arm. The wound itself definitely looked infected. I wasn't a doctor, but those black curling lines protruding from it didn't look good. Or normal.
"No." Derek's eyes moved to me. It was the first time he even acknowledged my presence.
"Have you seen yourself?" I asked with raised eyebrows. He was an inch from death based on his appearance. He didn't answer, but his eyes raked over me, lighting my skin on fire. I didn't like his eyes on me, I didn't like the heat they left behind. They landed on my neck, where I'm sure the skin was flushed and rosy…. And bruised. I quickly sat back against the seat, cutting off his line of vision.
"You know, I think you should just get out." Stiles was visibly holding back from vomiting all over the two of us.
"Start the car. Now." There was a slight threat hidden in Derek's tone. I shook my head vigorously as I tried to understand the conversation. Why wouldn't Stiles just drop him off at the hospital? Maybe this was drug related and he didn't want to get anyone in trouble.
"Are you selling my brother drugs?" the question popped out of my mouth the instant I had the thought. Maybe that's Derek's connection to Scott. They're not dating, they're not friends. So maybe he was supplying my baby brother with whatever shit he was clearly on.
He was dropping something off. I thought back to my brother's explanation in the locker room.
"What?" He gave me an incredulous look. "No. Just go Stiles."
"I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay." Stiles said quickly. "In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little...ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead."
"Stiles, calm down." I tried to interject, but once again, Derek spoke over me.
"Start the car or I'm going to rip your throat out." His voice became deep and ominous. "With my teeth."
Maybe it was him. Maybe it was the fact that Derek had been the one to say the words that made them frightening and real. If anyone else had spoken them, I might have laughed in their face. But something about the look in his eyes and the darkness of his tone made me sit back again, lengthening the space between us.
Stiles seemed to have the same reaction because after a short pause, he started the engine and pulled back out onto the road.