Tap. Tap. Tap. Slowly, I come to my senses… I can hear someone's footsteps – the clacking of heels. There was a faint hum from a bright overhead light that was making the insides of my eyelids glow red. I squeezed my hands into fists and felt the bed underneath my aching body.
"Emily?" An older woman's voice brings me around. I squint through a fading blurriness and sit up.
I found myself in the medical bay with the nurse peering at me over thin rimmed glasses.
"You fainted in Chemistry class, Emily, do you remember what happened?" She asks me, picking up a small torch.
A trickle of cold runs from my head to toes. I nod, unable to speak.
"Luckily, one of your friends caught you before you hit your head, so I wouldn't be worried about concussion." The nurse explains, tilting my chin up to shine the torch into my eyes one at a time.
I nod again.
"You can stay here until lunch and rest up. I've called your Dad and let him know, but you should be alright to finish the school day. Give me a shout if you begin to feel nauseous or faint again, I'm just outside in the office." The nurse takes one last examining look before leaving me alone with my conscience.

Sighing, I lie back down and fold my hands over my stomach. A glance at the clock on the wall adjacent to the bed tells me that I had been out for a good while. I had half an hour to wait until 12, when I could find Stiles and Scott in the canteen and discuss-
I could hardly think about what I had just seen without wanting to curl up into a ball and stop existing. Let alone discuss it with the boys.
Find something real, Emily. I clutched at my jumper with white hands and focused on my breathing…

How I lay there for half an hour I have no idea, but when my time was up, I jumped off the bed, grabbed my bag and headed towards the canteen with a determined pace. The faces that I stormed by turned into a multi-coloured blur - I only had eyes for the two faces sat on the corner table, whispering together worriedly.
My feet carried me over and I threw myself onto the bench on the opposite side of the table, raising my eyebrows at the pair.
Stiles and Scott did their matching expression routine – wide eyes, slightly open mouths, baffled.
I coughed subtly and pretended to feel confident, "So does someone want to explain to me what the hell happened this morning." I press my fingertips together and stared the boys down.
Scott's eyes flick to the table as he replied, "It wasn't me."
"It wasn't Derek either," Stiles added, "But my Dad is certain that it was an animal attack. They found wolf hairs on the body."
I take the information in slowly and purse my lips, "So it was the Alpha then? This mysterious murdering werewolf?"
"We think so…" said Scott, "But the bus driver…" He trailed off, unable to meet my eye.
"What?" I squeaked out, knowing that what was coming was going to hurt.
"He died on the way to the hospital…" Stiles told me, reaching out to place his hand over mine.

My mask slipped slightly and I had to bite my lip to stop it wobbling. I used my free hand to wipe back my hair, anxiously.
"We did nothing to stop this happening, guys." I spoke quietly as Scott and Stiles glance at each other guiltily.
"We didn't know when or where it was going to happen, Em, you can't blame yourself," Stiles tried to offer comfort, squeezing my clammy hand.
"Yeah," Scott chimed in, "This was only one time. Now we know for future to take anything you draw seriously and put more time into protecting these people."
"That won't make the bus driver any less dead," I spat out, ripping my hand free and hugging my arms across my chest protectively.
"It won't happen again." Scott yelled suddenly, slamming one hand down on the table loudly, almost denting the plastic. A few freshman from the next table glanced over at us judgingly. Scott flexed his fingers and tried to calm away the werewolf urges.
"It better not had," I whispered, ending the conversation.
"We'll figure it out," Stiles assured me.

"Figure what out?" Lydia Martin asked, standing over us with her lunch tray. She placed it down next to Scott. We all stuttered for an answer, completely thrown off guard.
"Just, er… homework," Scott waved a hand nonchalantly. Stiles and I nodded in agreement.
"Why is she sitting with us?" Stiles freaked out, his eyes wide.
The next thing we know, all of the most popular kids in our year are taking their seats around us. I literally didn't know what to do but stare as Lydia beams at her friends. Allison appeared and slid in next to Scott, who flushed a deep red.
"Get up," I heard a deep voice command. I groaned and rolled my eyes at Stiles. Jackson. Great.
The boy Jackson was talking to stammered out and excuse before moving to sit at the other end of the table. The imaginary anxiety meter in my head was hitting dangerous territory. I tried to make myself go unnoticed.

"So I hear they are saying it's an animal attack," Danny, one of the lacrosse players, mused, taking a bit from his apple, "Mountain lion?"
Oh god, anything but this.
"Who cares," Jackson droned, with all the intelligence of a five year old.
"Ugh, can we talk about something more fun please," Lydia rolled her eyes and waved her fork about, "Like… Where we're going tomorrow night?" She leans to look at Allison and Scott. They both freeze.
"Yeah, Scott and I were just going to hang out…" Allison replied, unsure of what Lydia meant.
"Well, I am not sitting in watching lacrosse videos again," Lydia looked pointedly at Jackson, "So the four of us are doing something fun."
Stiles and I exchange a glance and it's hard not to burst out laughing at Scott's panicked expression.
"I'd rather stab myself in the eye with my fork," Jackson moaned, but fell silent after Lydia glared at him.

"What about you, Emily?" Lydia acknowledged me and I almost choked on the breath I had just taken. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stiles smirking at my discomfort.
"W-what do you mean?" I ask, feeling a weight drop in my stomach.
Lydia smiled her perfect pink lipped smile and insisted, "You're coming too right? You can bring that guy I saw you with at the party. Like a triple date!"
Our expressions must have been polar opposites. Lydia was beaming at me expectantly while I gaped at her like a fish out of water. She means Isaac. Oh god.
I hesitated before replying, "Um, no, we're just friends."
But it was as if my words went in one ear and out the other, because Lydia cried, "Great. Oh my god, what about bowling? Jackson loves to bowl, don't you?"
"Yeah, with actual competition."

They begin to chat amongst themselves but I don't listen to any of it – my mind is attempting to come up with an excuse to get out of the 'triple date'. Issac wouldn't even want to go. The likes of Lydia and Jackson have probably never even acknowledged his existence. But what if… what if he did want to go. With me. On a date.
I gulp and try to concentrate on eating my sandwich, hardly noticing Jane walk by, open mouthed and tense, watching me eating lunch with Lydia and Jackson. Oh no. Oh no. By the time I have raised my head to acknowledge her, Jane had already sped off haughtily. Oh god, I bet she thinks that I have completely ditched her for more popular friends. Oh Jane, you should know me better. At least let me explain and answer one of my hundreds of phone calls… If I could turn back the clock, I would. I promise.

…

That night after school, I waited at Jane's locker to see if I could catch her on the way to watch lacrosse practice. But she never showed. Nor did Sarah or Summer.
I found out why when I reached the pitch – they had gone on without me. A hint of resentment touches my heart before I wash it over with disappointment. Alright then, if that's how they want it then fine. I pass them on the bleachers pretending not to notice them whispering and take a seat at the top, as far away as I can. Alone.

The days are getting shorter towards winter and the sun is already setting in the sky. I pull the neck of my coat up slightly and feel grateful for the lukewarm coffee left in my flask from this morning. The players stroll out of the locker room and make their way to the field, jogging to try and get warm faster. I see the curly hair of my anchor before he spots me. My heart is in my throat as I watch his eyes scan the bleachers, searching. I give a small wave and he raises his hand in return, smiling anxiously. Isaac points a gloved hand at me before making an o.k. sign and giving me a questioning eyebrow raise. Nodding, I give him my best smile, remembering that he hasn't seen me since my fainting episode in Chemistry and has probably been worrying his head off all day. Isaac flashes me a grin that makes butterflies swarm in my stomach and runs over to join his teammates.

Almost automatically, my hands reach into my bag and I pull out my sketchbook and a biro. Maybe now would be a good time to get some of my homework done for art class. We had to start filling our sketchbook pages with different types of identity. I had already thought of passports and flags of countries, things like that, as well as fingerprints and even logos of companies before digging a bit more personal. As I watched Isaac running about the field, I realised that lacrosse is a part of his identity, as an individual as well as part of a team.
My hand moved quickly and softly as I sketched out the back of his lacrosse jersey. Swiftly, my eyes scanned the page before looking back at the field and repeated. Almost falling into a trance, I took down every detail I could notice, like my eyes were binoculars: the tiny wrinkle of concentration between his brow, the way he licked his lips every so often from the cold, or from habit, the way the fabric of his shirt bunched up across his back then quickly pulled tight again when he threw the ball to another player.

I found myself turning the page and I began to look deeper without even realising. The way Isaac flinched any time a player almost barged into him – that afraid glint in his eyes flashing up for a second. An unfamiliar memory popped into my head: a smashing plate, a cowering boy… I wasn't even sure it was my own memory. My eyes began to slide over and peer deeper into the unfamiliar thoughts that were speeding through my mind, like pressing fast forward in a film. There was a woman with a kind smile frozen in place who soon disappeared, fading away into black. I tried to reach out to find her, but my hand was grasping at air… An older boy grabbed me in a headlock and ruffled my hair, his musical laugh echoing in my ears… but like smoke, he faded away too… A suffocating feeling grew like a weed in my chest. All the memories were turning sour and flashing quicker through my head as if they didn't want to be revealed. So much shouting and smashing and crying. Terror was seeping through my blood, afraid of every word and every noise; Jumping at every shadow.

And then a face appeared as clear as day, his eyes bulging and his cheeks red with fury. His hand flew out and yanked my arm so hard that I cried out in pain. His voice was screaming words I could hardly register while dragging me over to a door that nearly flew off its hinges when the man ripped it open. I tried to escape, crying and yelling for anyone to help me, but with each step he took me down, my throat closed up further and further until panic had completely taken over my senses. The scene skipped slightly as I felt strong hands pushing me down and down and down. The lid of the container slammed shut and I was trapped. Suffocating. Panic. Dark. I screamed at the top of my lungs, tears running down my face. I tried whacking the top with my hand, knees, feet, clawing away feebly. No escape.

But then warm arms were wrapping around my waist, trapping my arms to my sides to stop me thrashing about. Help me, please, help me, I sobbed. Let me out, please.
"She's not calming down!" A boy's voice was faint in the back of my mind. I was torn between two worlds, half of me trapped inside the cellar, the other part listening to the voice and feeling the arms around me.

All of a sudden, a whole load of water splashed over my face and my eyes shot open, coughing and spluttering as I did. Reality hit me like dropping a stone into a puddle. I'm stood on the bleachers. In the cold. At school. Oh.
Scott and Stiles were stood in front of me and Issac was holding me from behind. My eyes fell from their panicked expressions, to the empty water bottle Stiles was holding, to the field of lacrosse players and spectators, all staring in my direction.
"Emily?" Stiles asked me, unsure.
I could only blink at him in shock. What the hell had just happened?
"Emily? You're okay now, nothing's going to hurt you." Issac told me softly, moving his hands to my shoulders to sit me down. He knelt beside me and as we looked at each other, I remembered the thoughts that I had just trespassed into. Oh, Isaac…
"What happened?" I asked him, weak and exhausted.
Isaac placed a hand over mine and explained slowly, "Out of nowhere, you started thrashing about and screaming. It was like you were being attacked but…" He trailed off, unsure of how to finish.

Scott picked something off the floor next to me and I dragged my eyes away from Isaac. My sketchbook. Scott's mouth fell open as he flicked through the past couple of pages, Stiles peering over his shoulder.
"What?" I managed to mutter out, my teeth chattering.
Scott gulped and simply turned the pages to face me. The pages were covered in deep, black scribbles, cutting so harshly in parts that I had gone through some of the pages behind it. Page after page bled with ink, reminding me of the darkness and claustrophobia of the box in the cellar. How scared I had felt – it was all there to see on the pages of my sketchbook.

I tried to stand, but my legs wobbled underneath me. Isaac caught my elbow and sat me down again.
"I'm fine," I attempted to say, but my voice was as frail as my body.
"No, you're not," Stiles shook his head at me, "You look like death."
"What did you see?" Scott asked cautiously, closing the sketchbook and hiding the damage.
Ignoring that Isaac had absolutely no idea what was going on, I looked him right in the eye and whispered,

"Your dad, Isaac. It was your dad."

A.N.

Hi! I know this chapter has come out a tiny bit later than I planned, but I had trouble getting it to sound right – so much is going on at once. For everyone who is loving Isaac, you will love the next chapter I've got planned so keep your eye out ;D
Thank you to everyone who has followed this story, I'm so grateful for everything and hope you stick with me! And to whatsunderneath, sillygame, femalewhovian and sillychick13 for your reviews! :D Keep em' coming! 3