Strange Terrain

Chapter 8 – Circling the Drain

When he got her voicemail again, he didn't hesitate before hanging up and pressing redial. At this point, Stiles couldn't tell you how many times he had done this; he'd lost track after four.

He exhaled heavily as he leaned against the counter across from the refrigerator, on which a single yellow sticky note bore the message that he had committed to memory from the second he had noticed it that morning:

Going to stay with parents for a while. Need to think. –M

Stiles knew that he had been a little reckless the night before, but that Isaac guy had deserved every blow he had delivered. No matter what the circumstances were, Malia was still his wife, and he had no right to be talking the way that he had been. He hadn't even really felt bad about any of it until he'd woken up and found the note; even now, he wondered if he should really apologize at all.

But then he remembered Alana's face, and the fact that Malia wouldn't even look at him – rushing instead to her ex-beau's side. Scott and Erica had been the ones to get Stiles back to his apartment, but he hadn't let them stay, hoping that Malia would come home soon and let him explain.

She'd never shown up. And now he knew why.

After Malia refused to answer her phone for the millionth time, Stiles hung up and nearly slammed his phone down on the counter top. He didn't know what to do – he knew virtually nothing about Malia's family, and at this point they all probably hated him for causing a scene. Maybe this was it. Maybe she really wasn't going to come back.

Maybe it was over.

He considered his options for another minute, before picking up his phone again and dialing a new number.

"Divorce papers?" Scott said, his shock clear in both his face and his tone. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Stiles looked back down at the stack of papers in front of him on the table, staring at them as though it were the first time he was seeing them. He had called his lawyer and, after some serious internal debate, he had set up a meeting and gotten the papers. With a heavy sigh, Stiles shrugged, "Do I have a choice?"

"You always have choice –"

"Malia hasn't returned my calls in two days, Scott. And she still doesn't remember anything about us. Maybe it's time."

Scott shook his head, tossing a dishtowel over his shoulder and leaning his forearms on the counter as he leaned towards his friend. "Look, this isn't you. You wouldn't even be having these thoughts if it hadn't been for Malia's dad threatening you over dinner." He rolled his eyes at the memory. "Just give her some time. She'll come back."

Stiles didn't look up from the documents. "You don't know that."

His friend doesn't offer anymore advice then, just pulling out a large bottle and pouring Stiles a drink on the house. He slides it across the counter and then leaves him to wallow in his self-pity.

A few weeks later, Alana is married and Malia returns back to New York with her family, where her old bedroom is waiting for her, still the same as it had been when she'd left all those years ago.

She stood in front of the floor length mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door, dragging a brush through her hair slowly, her eyes flickering every once in a while to the stack of papers sitting on the corner of the bathroom sink. Divorce papers.

Stiles had sent them along with her when she had seen him the one time, right before catching her flight back to New York, since he had attacked Isaac at Alana's bridal shower. That had been two weeks ago, and yet, she still hadn't signed them. There really shouldn't have been anything to think about; he was just the guy that had been sitting next to her hospital bed when she'd woken up from a coma, the guy claiming to have been her husband for years.

She hadn't really felt connected to him in the weeks that she had spent sharing an apartment with him, but something didn't feel right about signing. Something deep down inside was stopping her.

"Malia, what are you doing up there? You're going to be late!"

The brunette jumped so suddenly that she dropped her brush with a loud clatter against the tile floor, and she had to scramble to pick it up and grab the papers from the sink as she moved back into her bedroom. "Coming!" She shouted back to her mother, who had made a point to wait for her every morning since she'd gotten home and make sure she made it to class. Malia gave one final glance at the divorce papers before shoving them into a drawer in her desk and snatching up her textbooks.

In five minutes tops she was heading out of the house, taking the front steps of their brownstone two at a time in her sleek grey pumps and hurrying down the street.

Despite the fact that she was tight on time, Malia couldn't help but stop at her usual coffee shop on the way to class, shuffling around her things in order to access her wallet at the bottom of her bag. By the time she had fished it out to pay, someone had appeared next to her.

"Allow me," the woman said with a pleasant smile, handing the cash over to the barista.

Malia blinked. "Crystal?"

The woman turned back towards Malia and something in her expression darkened slightly, her hand on her shoulder steering her away from the counter. "I thought you moved?" Crystal said.

"Well, yeah, I guess I did, but I'm back," she explained. "I actually have class in a few minutes."

"The law school took you back just like that? Wow, that's amazing," the woman replied brightly, but then she seemed to remember something and took a step closer, lowering her voice. "Look, Malia, I just wanted to say I'm really sorry."

Malia had pulled out her phone, finding a missed call from Stiles. "About what?" She asked distractedly, before shaking it off and shoving her phone back into her jacket pocket.

"Your dad? I mean, I'm not sorry for having feelings for him but I am sorry for all of the stress that it has put on your family." Crystal told her. "It's crazy how things can change, isn't it?"

She just stood there for a long moment, staring at this woman that she barely remembered. Crystal was a little taller than Malia, with curly brown hair and full, red lips. She was definitely pretty, very pretty, and younger than her mom, but probably older than Malia herself. But all she could do was stare, almost gaping, so long that she didn't hear her name being called to get her coffee.

"Uh, Malia, I think –"

"Just shut up," Malia snapped loudly. "Just stop… talking…"

"Malia –"

She shook off the hand that the woman tried to put on her arm, turning on her heel and almost running out of the coffee shop without another word.

When she got back home, she threw open the door and started calling out for someone, anyone to give her some answers. Her face was hot with anger, with betrayal, with something familiar that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She threw her bag down by the door, pacing back and forth as she tried to control her breathing.

"Malia? I thought you went to class –"

"Where is dad? I need to talk to him." Her mother started to open her mouth to respond, but Malia was quick to cut across her. "Don't tell me that he's working, because that's always your excuse. I haven't seen him since we got back, and we've been back for almost a whole week. Where is he?"

"Malia, please –"

"I saw Crystal. I know what happened."

Mrs. Tate pressed her lips together, trying to decide what to say. But they both knew that the game was up. "You're right, honey. We haven't been completely honest with you, but we thought – well, we thought that it was better that you didn't remember. That maybe you'd stay here, in New York, and finish your degree –"

"Mom!"

"Honey, your father doesn't live here anymore." Her mother said quickly. "I'm so sorry."

Malia couldn't breathe. Before her mother could cross the room to her, she had already thrown open the front door again and ran back outside, ignoring the pain that shot through her feet or the burning in her throat from the cold air.

She just kept running.