TRIGGER WARNING: for strangulation

I write for fun and an escape from the real world. With that being said, my real world (aka: my full time job) is filled with stories of domestic violence and sexual assault. I am an advocate for survivors and much of Chelsea's story has been taken from various clients that I've counselled over the years. Please know that if you or someone you love is experiencing abuse in any form, help is out there. Call the national hotline and ask to be connected with your local domestic violence/sexual assault agency. There is one in almost every single county throughout the United States. 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

EIGHT

I woke up in a panic, my arms thrashing as they got tangled in the blankets. But this time it only took me a few seconds to recover from the nightmare. In the old days, back in Jersey, my mind would take minutes to realize that the dream had ended.

It was usually the same dream, which is what made tonight's so strange. Normally, it was less dreamlike, and more like memories flooding my mind in a sort of sick slideshow. Tonight however, it was different. I was in an empty parking lot, the same one Dylan had found me in after work. I was running, and something was chasing me. But every time I turned around, there was nothing but darkness.

I gave my heart a few moments to come back to a normal rhythm. From the blackness outside the window, I could tell that it wasn't quite morning. My eyes fell to the small digital alarm clock beside the bed. 11:37pm, it wasn't even midnight yet. How long had I been asleep? What time had I even gone to bed? I tried to think back to the moment I laid down, but as soon as my mind broke the subject of the night before (or tonight?), the memories came floating back to the surface.

Derek!

He was still, as far as I knew, asleep in Scott's bedroom.

At least I knew Scott was safe. I had talked to him last night before falling asleep. The relief that had coursed through me at hearing his voice was like nothing else I'd ever felt before. They were all alive. I didn't ask who all was, since the last I remember it was just him and Stiles in the school. But the chatter of people behind him told me that there were a lot of people around him, including Sheriff Stalinski. Our conversation had been fairly short, but… enlightening.

"Derek's alive?" Scott had asked in a whisper.

"Barely." I replied thinking about how horrid his body looked with the blood staining most of his skin.

"Oh, crap."

"Oh crap?" I repeated. "Would you rather he be dead?"

"No, no of course not." Scott paused and I could tell he was walking away from the crowd of people. "Just, uh, tell him not to leave the house. Tell him not to be seen… by anyone."

"Scott, what the hell…"

"We messed up."

"Shit." I whispered to myself, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. My lower half was still in the jeans I'd pulled on after dinner yesterday. But at some point during the night, I'd shed my long sleeve sweater and I frantically searched for it before opening the door.

Quietly, I stuck my head out into the hallway. Scott's bedroom door was still shut and there were no signs of life coming from anywhere in the house. I tiptoed to the door, my heart picking up speed once again.

What if he's dead?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine and I prayed I wasn't about to walk in on a corpse. A small stream of light snuck into the room when I cracked the door, landing directly over his body. He was still shirtless, and once again, blood rushed to my face at the sight. A slight rise and fall of his chest told me he was, in fact, still alive. Relief crashed over me instantly.

I moved closer, careful not to make any noise. I felt the overwhelming need to be silent, to be invisible. His skin still looked pale, and dark shadows clung to the area beneath his eyes. The specks of blood adorning his face and chest were now dried and flaking. Those four deep puncture wounds on his back didn't seem nearly as fatal now.

A soft sound travelled up the stairs from the floor below. It sounded as though someone was jiggling the door handle, wrestling the door open with more force than mom or Scott would need to use. The soft noise turned to a loud bang as whoever it was pounded against the wooden door.

The Alpha, I thought. An image of the raging beast materialized behind my eyes.

I slammed Scott's door shut and frantically started searching for something, anything I could use as a weapon. His lacrosse stick was leaning casually in the corner. Not necessarily heavy, so it wouldn't do much damage. But it could stun the attacker enough to buy me some time for an escape. I took a few steps back, staring at the bedroom door as if the intruder would burst in at any second. But a sudden clunking at the window had me spinning on my heels.

Scott's face pooped through the now open glass, his uneven jaw slacked with surprise. I realized belatedly that Derek was up off the bed, his body poised for a fight only a few inches from my side. He'd been absolutely silent in his waking.

"You're…" Scott started, but he was cut off when I hurled the lacrosse stick in his direction.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I half screamed, making sure to keep my voice low enough so the neighbors wouldn't hear. "Why would you sneak in like that?" I clenched a hand against my chest where I could feel my heart hammering.

"I knocked." He stumbled his way through the window. "We don't have a key for the deadbolt." I stared for a few moments, trying to understand his explanation until I remembered that before going to bed, I locked the handle and the deadbolt.

"What happened?" Derek's voice was gravelly from disuse. I felt his gaze flicker to me for only a second before giving Scott his full attention.

"We thought you were dead." He said, dusting off his jeans.

"Well, I'm not." the older wolf responded with a scowl etched into his face. Thanks to me, I thought callously, knowing I would get no credit for the deed. "Where's the Alpha?"

"I don't know." Scott was shaking his head. "Listen, Derek," he paused and fiddled with the lacrosse stick. "We really thought you were dead…"

"We established that." Derek crossed his arms over his chest. The small flinch of pain he gave didn't go unnoticed.

"Well, we kinda… screwed up."

I left the room as soon as Scott admitted to pinning the murders and attack on Derek. I didn't want to be there to witness the chaos that I knew would surely follow. Now that I was sure that Scott and Stiles were safe, all I could think about was sleep. But I knew it had to wait. Our mother would be home in a few hours and our front room still looked similar to a murder scene.

After downing two cold glasses of water in hopes of waking myself up, I grabbed a sponge and small bucket from under the sink. Over the past few years of toxic boyfriends, I'd gotten pretty good at cleaning blood off of practically any surface. The blood on the steps came up easier than I imagined it would. Since the wood was already so dark, the small stains left behind were barely noticeable. Unless someone went through this place with a blacklight, they wouldn't have a clue what went on here.

The image of my mother searching the house with a blacklight flashed through my mind. A ridiculous thought that made me chuckle. With that, I headed to the door to unlock the deadbolt. Now none of us would have to wake up to let her in.

I dragged myself back up to my bedroom, each step sending waves of exhaustion over my body. With one last glance at Scott's door, I pushed through my own and let myself flop onto the bed. Face in the pillow and I was down for the count. Only to fall right back into the nightmare I'd woken from an hour ago.

I was standing in the road by the animal clinic. The sun had gone down but I don't remember seeing the sky's transition from blue to pink before it was utterly black. I just knew it was late, and it was dark. The pavement of the road was wet, casting eerie glimmers that made it look more like a river than a road. What was the water reflecting? There was no light. Even the moon was… gone?

How was that possible? How could there be no moon? I cast my eyes upwards, searching the sky, but a crunch of leaves near the side of the road drew my attention away.

"Hello?" I called, knowing the noise came from feet moving across the leaf covered ground. "Scott?" I moved closer to the sound, going against every fiber of my being. I wasn't brave, so why was I trying to be? Why was I moving TOWARDS the woods when I should be running AWAY from it?

Because, I had to help Scott. And if Scott was in the woods, I needed to be in the woods.

Some pretty shitty logic…

"Scott!" I called again when I heard yet another snap of twigs. A slight movement beyond the trees caught my eyes. It was too dark to see who it was… or what it was. But it was there, stalking behind the treeline, hidden by wide trunks and dying foliage. As I neared the edge of the blacktop, I felt a weight drop into the pit of my stomach.

Whatever lurked beyond the trees wasn't Scott. It was much too tall, too broad. A set of glowing red eyes illuminated from the darkness, sending me backwards in sudden panic. Definitely NOT Scott.

My heels hit the ridge of pavement as I staggered backwards away from the creature. But as it emerged from the trees it began to morph. From the dim light above, I watched as it's features changed from a beastly dog to human. A human I recognized. A face that injected fear into my veins like a needle. His light hair, greasy and unkempt, fell into his eyes and he shook it away in an all too familiar whip of his neck.

"Chels." he said sweetly, the sound causing my muscles to tense and a scream to catch in the back of my throat. This wasn't possible. But how could I deny what was right in front of me. My feet kept moving back, further and further from him. A voice in the back of my head screamed for me to stay out of his reach. If he got his hands on me, it would be over. I had to keep distance.

"I love you." he said softly, continuing his advance. "Don't you see that, Bug?" The use of the nickname had bile rising in my throat, threatening to choke me right then and there. Bug. Short for Lovebug. A nickname for a nickname. "Why do you keep running from me? Why are you doing this to us?"

I shook my head trying to keep the words from getting in. I knew this game all too well.

"This isn't my fault." I whispered as I shut my eyes tight enough to make little white dots appear behind my lids. "This isn't my fault."

"Chelsea!" his voice boomed. Small droplets of water hid my face and I opened my eyes in shock.

Not water. Spit. He was close enough for his spit to reach my face, for his breath to skim over my cheeks, for his hand to wrap around my wrist and yank me closer.

"You turned me into this!" he yelled and I watched in horror as his eyes shifted into a deep glowing red. "I wasn't like this before you!"

All at once, my feet stopped working. I wanted to pull away from him, I wanted to run for safety, but my muscles no longer obeyed. I felt as if I were standing in a pit of tar, my shoes caught in something so sticky and thick that no matter how much I pleaded, no matter how much strength I conjured, I could not move from the spot.

His free hand, the one not clamped down on my wrist, hastily flew to my neck.

The familiarity in the action was sickening. I knew what was coming. I knew how it felt to have my oxygen cut off, to feel the pressure build behind my eyes and in my skull. I also knew that in about 20 more seconds, I would lose consciousness.

And I knew what it would feel like to wake up with swollen muscles, with redness wrapped around my throat like a scarf. The headache I'd feel for hours afterwards. The cloudiness of my thoughts that would follow for days.

And I knew, I would probably wake up in a puddle of my own piss.

If I woke up at all.

"Bug." He whispered, almost pleadingly. As if I was causing him pain. As if I were the one with a vice grip around his throat, causing his lungs to burn.

But before the blackness came for me, as it had so many times in the past, something caused him to loosen his grip. It was only after the blood rushing in my ears quieted that I was able to hear the low growl that came from behind me. I couldn't turn to see, terrified to take my eyes off of the man in front of me, but I could see the terror reflected in his eyes.

Also reflected in his eyes were another pair of glowing orbs.

But these were blue.

When I suddenly surfaced from the nightmare a thick sheet of sweat had broken out over me, dampening the tanktop I wore to bed. I felt dirty, from the sweat or the nightmare or both, I couldn't be sure. I laid there, staring at my ceiling for an extra minute, letting my heart rate fall back to a normal rhythm before pulling myself out from under the comforter. My body protested against the cool air that replaced the blanket, causing the flesh of my arms to raise in tiny goosebumps.

I knew the dream was just that, a dream. But I could still feel the pressure of Dylan's fingers on my throat. He had no idea I was in Beacon Hills. As far as he knew, my home was in New York with my dad. Whenever I had referenced my mom and little brother or childhood, I'd been vague. "I grew up in California". No specifics, no towns, no names.

Last year, I realized that some deep part of my mind had done that on purpose. There must have been something about him that raised red flags in my subconscious, telling me that he was dangerous. Warning me to keep a safe place hidden from him.

With a long breath, I pushed all thoughts of the nightmare away. I was safe in Beacon Hills. Right? My hand hesitated on the doorknob. Outside of my bedroom was a whole slew of other problems. Scott, my baby brother was a fucking werewolf. Derek, also a werewolf. Stiles, annoying, but still human. And a giant enraged alpha hell bent on killing anything it can sink its claws into.

Maybe safe wasn't the best word to describe Beacon Hills.

But nothing met me head on when I pushed the door open. The hallway was empty, and Scott's door at the end was still closed. I glanced back at my clock by the bed.

5:22am. They were still asleep.

Was Derek still here? Or had he fled during the night? Was he strong enough to leave? Temptation tried to pull me towards Scott's bedroom, but the need to wash away the nightmare overpowered it.

The familiar bathroom, in all it's blue tiled glory, was comforting. I turned on the water, letting it heat up while I stripped down, avoiding my reflecting in the wide mirror over the sink. The hot water brought an overwhelming sense of peace. The steam rose up around me, thickening the air. I felt the stress and anxiety fall off of me, running down my body with the water and pooling around my toes before spiraling down the drain.

It was short lived.

A feminine voice wafted up the stairs with such force that I could hear it over the roar of shower.

"Shit!" I whispered to myself. Mom was home.

"Scott!" she called again, the anger very noticeable in her voice. Stalinski must have called her and given her the low down on what happened at the school last night. Scott was in deep shit.

Quickly turning off the water and stepping out of the tub, I grabbed one of the oversized (and overused) towels hanging from the rack. Pressing my ear against the door, I tried to listen and figure out where mom was in the house. From the jingling of metal, I'd say she was still struggling to get her keys out of the old rusted lock. How was Scott going to get himself out of this one.

I heard the footsteps an instant before someone plowed through the bathroom door, pushing me further into the room. Internally, I cursed my mother for never replacing the damn lock. My wet feet slid along the tile only stopping when my back hit the wall.

"Hide him!" I heard Scott whisper desperately as he shoved a still weak looking Derek through the door. Eyes wide and jaw slack, I sputtered a protest that my brother slammed the door on. I stared at the door in disbelief, my body paralyzed with confusion and fear.

The fear stemmed from the man that currently stood beside me, his eyes also locked on the door. I didn't look directly at him, but I could see in my peripheral vision that he still did not have a shirt on. And I was more than aware that I had nothing but a worn out towel around my body.

He stumbled forward, his hand hesitating near the doorknob.

"Where's the lock?" he peered back at me. I shook my head slightly, conveying that there wasn't one. His eyes scanned the area around us and I assumed he was searching for a solution.

"Get in the shower." I said, my voice coming out as more of a croak. His gaze lingered on me for another uncomfortable moment, during which I clutched the towel tighter around my chest. Green eyes trailed over my face and down to my neck where I knew they found the remnants of old bruises.

The sound of my mother's footsteps coming up the stairs seemed to startle him from his daze and he hurriedly hid himself behind the shower curtain.

"Scott McCall, get out here! Now!" her voice boomed from the hallway. I remembered the days when I was the recipient of the Angry-Melissa-Tone. At least twice a week she was screaming something similar to me back in my high school days. "Where the Hell are you?" She yelled. I heard her open Scott's door and let out an enraged grunt. "Chelsea!"

My heart, if possible, sped up. I could feel it slamming against my chest with each beat. Why was she calling me? Did Scott tell Stalinski I was there? And where the hell was my brother?

"Chels?" Her voice was near the door. My mind scrambled for a solution, a way to avoid a conversation with her. Without a second thought, I reached my hand passed the curtain and turned the shower head back on. Only sparing Derek a quick glance, I turned back to the door.

"I'm about to hop in the shower!" I called out to her. There was nothing stopping her from coming in besides her respect for my privacy.

But the round brass handle on the door began to jiggle and turn.

"Are you decent?" she asked as the door opened just a crack.

"Well, I'm naked." I tried to make my voice light and seemed to work because the door remained ajar, but not completely open. She couldn't see me. If she could, the jig would be up. Why was I getting IN the shower, when my hair was already wet and the towel damp?

"Have you seen Scott?" she continued with the conversation. Beneath the anger in her voice, I recognized the concern.

"Uhh," I pretended to think and focused on not allowing my teeth to chatter. Without the water to warm me, my wet skin was beginning to cool down. "He was heading to school early. Something about getting some practice in before first period."

"Do you know what happened last night?" she sighed through the door. It was difficult to hear her over the roar of the shower head.

"What do you mean?" I pressed my lips together when I heard my voice crack.

"He was at the school last night." my mother's voice was softer now. "Someone tried to hurt him, Chelsea." she confessed. I could tell she was worried about my reaction. Worried that she would trigger me with images of violence. Oh, if she only knew.

"What?!" I feigned surprise. But I didn't have to fake the surprise that broke over me when Derek poked his head out from behind the curtain. A few droplets of water clung to the ends of his hair, but other than that he was still fairly dry. I gave him an apologetic smile. I shouldn't have turned the water on, but I thought it would deter her from coming in if she heard it running. And it had.

"Noah called me late last night. Scott and Stiles and a few other kids were trapped in the school after the night janitor was killed." mom went on.

"Holy shit." I again pretended to be shocked by her story. "Scott didn't mention any of this."

"It was Derek Hale."

His eyes snapped to mine. I could almost feel the frustration radiating off of him as he bit the inside of his cheek and looked up towards the ceiling.

"Oh." was the only response I could think of. Now that the water was warm, the steam began to rise again.

"Are you alright?" mom's sudden personal question caused me to cough.

"Yeah. I'm glad Scott is okay. And it's so awful to hear about the jan…" She cut me off.

"No, Chels. I mean, how are you doing? Have you changed your mind about talking to Noah?"

It was as if the room had dropped 50 degrees, freezing me in place. I needed her to stop. These words weren't meant for Derek's ears.

"We'll talk about it later, mom." I tried to sway her, but she was already so fired up about Scott that she plowed on.

"We need to do this now." Her voice was stern. "I'm sick of watching people try to hurt my kids. What if he comes here? What if he finds you and he…" She trailed off for a brief moment. "I can't see you like that again. I should have brought you to the hospital right away. I should have made sure…"

"Mom!" I cut her off a little too loudly. "Please, not right now." I chanced a look up at Derek, who's eyes were mercifully not on me, but on the wall behind me. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and I don't know why but my eyes were glued to the spot. Stuck on the square edge of his jawline, right where his throat comes up to meet it.

"Fine, we can talk tomorrow. But we WILL talk about this. I want you to feel safe here. If you see Scott today, tell him he's in deep shit."

The door closed again and took a hesitant step towards it.

"Wait." Derek whispered, head tilted to the side. He was listening. Mom must have been standing outside the door, probably listening to see if I would cry… or scream. After another few seconds, he announced "She's downstairs."

I nodded, but supplied no other response. He reached out and carefully pulled the curtain to the side. My eyes watched him, as they were getting used to doing, and I was mesmerized the way the muscles under his skin moved.

It was those muscles that reminded me how naked we both were. Him in his dark jeans and, ugh, his boots (I cringed at the thought of walking in wet shoes and denim). And I in the old ratty towel. My heart thumped relentlessly inside my chest. It was too close, too intimate. I was too vulnerable in that cramped little space.

"You have to leave." I hadn't meant to say it aloud, but the words were said and he seemed to agree. His boots squelched when he stepped out of the tub and onto the tile floor. Small pearls of water clung to the skin of his back and his hair. "You've healed." I noted, seeing that the four puncture wounds had disappeared.

"On the surface." He nodded and turned to see his back in the mirror, much like he had last night. Nothing else was said before he slowly twisted the knob, opening the door just a crack. When he was sure mom wasn't around he sprinted down the hall and into Scott's room.

By the time I caught up he was gone, the window left wide open.