Look at the sun and once I hear them clearly, say:
"Anything new to report since we last saw each other?" your therapist asks during your next session, smiling placidly.
Well, my homeless boyfriend moved in with Scott McCall. It seems to be going well, except for the fact that he's sort of terrified of them. Also, he's, like, weirdly obsessed with getting me off during sex and it makes me really uncomfortable. Especially because he's suddenly really happy and excited about sex now, which he wasn't before at all. Making me realize that maybe the fact that he wouldn't initiate anything before was kind of a warning sign. How does that make me feel? Really annoyed. I don't like the idea that he needs validation, that his happiness depends so much on my body's...whatever. I don't like losing control, which apparently extends to disliking really great orgasms. I'm a control freak, because my parents raised me that way, and even though I sort of hate them I can't seem to stop. Please fix me.
"I don't know," you say instead, shrugging uncomfortably. "I've just been working a lot."
"Made any new friends at your job?"
"No," you say flatly.
"So what have you been doing outside of work this summer?" she asks, like she's actually interested in the answer.
"Just...I dunno, hanging out with Lydia."
"What kind of things do you do?"
"Watch movies, go to bars." You stop in horror as you realize you shouldn't have said that. "I mean, not bars bars, but like restaurants, with-"
"I'm not a police officer, I'm not going to get you in trouble," she says, amused. "And all of this is confidential. I'm not allowed to say anything to your parents either."
"Okay," you say dubiously, glaring at a picture of a kitten on the forest green walls of her office, annoyed at your own stupidity. "I don't...I don't drink a lot or anything. Just sometimes."
"When you hang out with Lydia," your therapist says, but not like she thinks Lydia is a bad influence on you like your parents do. "Do you like going to bars with her?"
"Yeah, they're okay," you say, because it is sort of nice to get out of the house and be around other people, even though you never talk to any of them. "She's more into it, though. She meets a lot of guys there."
"And you don't?"
"No," you say scornfully. "They're all old. I don't understan- she just...does dumb stuff sometimes."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Like have one-night stands with strangers in their twenties," you say and your therapist raises her gray eyebrows a bit. "Yeah."
"And you're uncomfortable with this?"
"Well, yeah," you say, trying not to get annoyed at her utter lack of opinion on the matter. You know it's her job not to be judgmental, but you hate how obvious it is that she's just trying to get you to talk. "It's stupid, for one, not to mention illegal. Like, she looks older, so I'm pretty sure half of them think she's in college, but it's like she doesn't even understand how dangerous it is."
"Have you tried talking to her about it?" your therapist asks you mildly.
"Yeah, but she just blows me off," you say with a shrug. "It's not really any of my business either. I dunno, her parents raised her wrong."
"What do you mean?" your therapist asks innocently, taking the opening masterfully.
"They're divorced," you explain shortly, not wanting to give her anything to psychoanalyze and try to turn the conversation around to talk about your relationship with your parents. "And never around. As far as I can tell, they let her do pretty much anything. I think she thinks she's an adult, even though she's sixteen."
"That's not uncommon for teenagers," your therapist says, making a note on her yellow notepad. "Have you tried explaining to her the dangers of this kind of behavior? It might have never even occurred to her that going home with adult men she doesn't know could be dangerous."
"I don't think she'll listen," you say, imagining Lydia rolling her eyes at you. "She's kind of a slut."
Your therapist frowns. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, she does this a lot," you say with a shrug. "She's not going to believe me when I say it's dangerous when nothing bad's ever happened before."
Your therapist nods in understanding and makes another note on her notepad. You steal a quick glance at the clock and are surprised to see that your session is almost halfway done. It usually doesn't go this quick.
"Well, it can't hurt to try, but I'm glad you realize that other than express your concern, you can't control her. She's her own person and the impression I'm getting from the way you talk about her is that she's very strong-willed."
Yeah, that's an understatement.
You spend the rest of your session talking about the upcoming school year and your plans for college. She seems pleased that you've resolved to pay more attention to your grades this year, though less pleased about your anti-social behavior. Still, you manage to convince her that your pills are working and then head back home to avoid your parents' awkward questions about how therapy is going.
You go to pick up Isaac at Scott's house later in the afternoon and notice that Stiles's jeep is in the driveway when you pull up to the house. You park and text Isaac to come out, but he neither answers nor comes out and after a couple minutes you're forced to get out of your car and make your way up the lawn in trepidation. You ring the doorbell and hope Isaac and only Isaac will open the door, but of course you're not that lucky.
"Hey, Allison!" Scott says, pulling the door open with a grin. "You here for Isaac?"
Who else would I be here for? you think bad-temperedly. You're not mad at him-there's nothing to be mad at him for- it's just always so awkward being around him.
"Yeah, he's here, right?" you ask.
"Yeah, we're playing video games, you wanna come in?" Scott asks good-naturedly.
You do not want to come in, but short of yelling at Isaac to come out, it seems like you're going to have to. You step inside and follow Scott into the living room, where Stiles and Isaac are playing Call of Duty and insulting each other's game play.
"This is just pathetic," Stiles is saying from one end of the couch while Isaac sits on the floor at the other. "I could shoot better than you when I was five."
"You play a lot of video games when you were five? No wonder you're such a spaz," Isaac retorts, not looking away from the screen, at you or Stiles, as he speaks.
"Shut up," Stiles snaps. "At least I'm not cheating."
"I'm a werewolf, I'm not cheating!"
"How long have they been like this?" you ask Scott when it becomes apparent that neither Isaac nor Stiles have noticed your presence.
"Uh, since this morning?" Scott says with a wince. "Believe it or not this is an improvement."
The player on the left side of the screen climbs to the top of a roof and starts shooting soldiers down on the street below with a sniper rifle, their heads exploding in unrealistic splatters of blood. Suddenly you're on the roof of the abandoned apartment building in the warehousing district, your sniper rifle trained on Gerard's head. You pull the trigger and his head explodes like in the video game, all blood and brains and bone-
"Hah, see that!" Isaac says triumphantly, punching his fist in the air. "Your move, Stilinski."
"Allison?" Scott says quietly. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," you say automatically, even though all of the sudden you feel sick, your heart racing in your chest. You feel lightheaded and your throat is very dry as you try to swallow. You frown, not sure what just happened. "I..."
"Here, c'mere," Scott says and pulls you out of the living room and into the kitchen by your arm. "Sit down."
You sit at his kitchen table and blink furiously, trying to get the image of Gerard's broken body out of your vision. Your chest hurts and you take slow breaths, trying not to panic.
"Allison?" Scott says, sounding very far away. He sits next to you and looks into your face carefully with worried brown eyes.
You close your eyes. "I'm okay," you say numbly, willing it to be true. "Just a head rush."
He can tell you're lying, of course, but he's nice enough not to contradict you. He doesn't say anything else either, just sits with you until you don't feel like your chest is going to implode anymore.
"I'm fine," you say finally, clearing your throat and sitting up straight, even though you still feel a little shaky.
The sound of an explosion comes from the television and Scott winces, getting up. "I'll go get them to turn it off," he says.
"No, don't," you reply, grabbing his arm to keep him in place without thinking about it. "It's...it's fine," you finish awkwardly, not sure how to let go of his arm, so you just keep holding on.
He blinks at you in confusion and you feel your face flush. What are you doing, this is so weird, why are you just holding onto him like thi-
There's movement at the end of the hall and you drop his arm automatically. "Allison?" Isaac says, coming into the kitchen. "I didn't hear you come in."
"You were a bit preoccupied," you say, raising your eyebrows pointedly. "Did you win at least?"
"Yeah," Isaac grins triumphantly.
"He cheated!" Stiles yells from the living room.
You end up staying there for the rest of the afternoon, even though you planned on picking Isaac up and going out to eat. Isaac seems a lot more comfortable being in Scott's house than the last time you were here, though he is careful not to even brush his arm against you in front of Scott. Conversely, you have to fight the urge to curl into his side, as if that could somehow stem your weird attraction to Scott. Besides that it's actually not as awkward as you thought it'd be, hanging out with Scott and Stiles socially instead of meeting briefly to plot against your parents. You wonder if Lydia would want to come. She doesn't seem to like anyone but you (and especially not Stiles) but you know she's been lonely this summer, probably the first time in her life she's been without a large group of friends. Stiles would probably be a lot more friendly if she was here, instead of giving you and Isaac annoyed looks like he thinks you're trying to steal his best friend.
"Oh, hello," Scott's mother says, coming in halfway through your movie, carrying two large brown grocery bags. "Are you all staying for dinner?"
You look at the clock on the wall and are shocked to realize it's after six. "Uh, no, I'd better get going, my parents'll be waiting for me," you say, getting to your feet.
"Well, you're welcome to in the future," Scott's mom says, shifting the bags slightly. "Scott, can you help me with the groceries?"
"Sure," Scott says and gets up as well, heading for the front door. You follow him into the front hall and slip on your flip flops while he crams on his tennis shoes.
"I'll see you tomorrow," you tell Isaac, who nods at you from the couch instead of getting up and kissing you goodbye like he usually would. You suppose that would be awkward in front of Scott's mother, but you still wish he would.
"We should do this again," Scott says as you make your way to your car parked on the side of the road. You turn around to see him picking up two grocery bags out of the back of his mother's car. "Maybe invite Lydia? I can't promise Stiles won't embarrass himself, but I'll try to reign him in."
"Okay," you say, even though you know you shouldn't. You wonder what he'd do if you backed him into the side of his mother's car and kissed him.
What is wrong with you? you think, dismayed at your traitorous urges. You have a boyfriend!
"I'll see you tomorr-I mean, I'll talk to you later," you stammer, and turn away before you can give yourself away.
Lydia is not particularly enthused about hanging out with Scott and Stiles, but she doesn't fight it when Scott invites you to see Captain America a couple nights later. It is a terrible movie-Lydia spends the entire time muttering under her breath about the historical inaccuracies and you fall asleep halfway through out of sheer boredom- but the boys seem to enjoy it well enough and it's nice to spend time together in a group, like you used to do with your old friends.
Or at least it's nice until Scott gets a call from Derek about the Alpha Pack right as the credits are rolling, waiting for the special after credits scene that Stiles insisted is a must-see. Derek's been attacked and he and Isaac leave right away. You spend the entire drive home hyperaware of your phone, waiting for either of them to call, and it only gets worse when you return to an empty house. Two hours go by as you pace around your room and call Isaac three times, Scott and your parents once. You're just about to give up and get in your car and drive around looking for them when you hear your parents pull into the garage.
While you're glad that they're safe, their surprise at your awakened presence after midnight and their vague excuse about being at a really noisy restaurant as to why they missed your calls makes it clear they were doing something hunter-related. You spend the next half an hour curled under your comforter staring at your phone, chest tight with fear that they might have even killed your friends tonight and you wouldn't even know. When Isaac calls you almost start sobbing in relief and fumble to answer it.
"What's going on?!" you demand, quietly even as you're upset. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, we're fine," Isaac says, sounding exhausted. "Well, Derek got a pole through his chest and Erica, Boyd, and Cora got thrown around a bit, but we didn't actually make any contact with the Alpha Pack. We actually...uh...talked to your parents."
"What?!" you say, sitting up and clutching your phone tightly in the dark.
"They know about the Alpha Pack...and we sort of have a truce with them?" You here Scott say something in the background. Are they driving home? No, that can't be, they'd both come to the theater on Scott's new bike. "Yeah, your parents are pretty intense, but they said they wouldn't come after us anymore as long as Derek didn't bite anyone. I think they realize that the Alpha Pack is the greater evil."
That surprises you, but you can't see past the most glaringly worrisome aspect of this new information. "Did they find out about Scott?"
"No, Scott hid when we heard them coming," Isaac explains, and you feel your chest loosen slightly in relief. "But...we know...we know what they want now."
"What?" you say, dread coming back in full force.
"Derek," Isaac says hollowly. "To kill his pack and join them."
You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "Does that include you and Scott?" you ask sharply.
"I..." Isaac says, sounding taken aback. "I don't...I don't know."
Great. You think you might throw up. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remain calm.
"Allison?" Isaac says hesitantly. "Are you okay?"
No, no, not at all. You thought you were done with this when you killed Gerard. Why aren't you done with this? Why can't he be safe?
"I'm fine," you say shortly, aware that Scott is probably listening to your conversation. "It's late, we should meet and talk about this tomorrow. My shift's done at three, when are you off?"
"Eight," Isaac says. In the background you think you hear Scott say "six."
"Okay, we'll meet at 8:30 at Scott's house, then," you say, suddenly desperate to get off the phone.
"Alright," Isaac says quietly, sounding worried. "See you then."
"Bye," you say and hang up without waiting for him to say it back.
Your breathing is coming out loud in the dark quiet room and you set your phone down quickly to avoid throwing it at the wall. Instead you punch your pillow and thrust your face into it, clutching at the sides as hard as you can.
This isn't fair, you think pathetically, tears running down your cheeks and staining your pillowcase. Why does it have to be this way? You don't want Isaac to die. He can't die, you need him.
You don't get much sleep that night.
The summer ends with with everyone in poor spirits, the future seeming grim as you come to terms with the fact that five alphas have come to Beacon Hills and making them leave is going to be near impossible. If you can manage to do it at all without all dying. You feel shaky and afraid every minute you're apart from Isaac, every time your phone rings. You gain all the weight you lost from running back from stress-eating and spend all your free time now that your job at the pool is over locked in your room hiding under the covers, ignoring your parents' demands that you go to your therapist and get your medication adjusted. Scott turns seventeen a couple days before Labor Day and you go over to his house with Isaac and Lydia to celebrate, but spend most of the time too anxious to enjoy yourself, half-expecting alphas to burst through the windows at any second. Everyone else is on edge as well, and it puts a damper on what should have been a relaxed evening with friends and cake.
So of course it's at this point that Lydia decides to throw a back-to-school party the Saturday night before the first day back.
You don't want to go, not at all, but fighting Lydia is too much work, so you let her dress you up in a red and white sundress, do your make-up and your hair like you're her life-sized barbie, and sit on one of the couches next to Isaac in her spacious living room and drink way too much white wine.
"Why are there so many people here?" you complain, snuggling up into Isaac's shoulder as screams and splashes from outside indicate that people have started jumping in the pool. "I thought everyone thought she was crazy."
"I guess that matters less when you've got a house this nice and free alcohol," Isaac says, and snatches your blue solo cup out of your hands. "Okay, you've seriously had enough."
"I'm not even drunk," you lie, rolling your eyes and sling your legs over his lap. "I don't want to even be here."
"Yeah, well, imagine how I feel right now," Isaac says sarcastically, and you roll his eyes at his melodrama.
Across the room a kid who looks way too young to be here starts throwing up over the arm of an armchair and a couple people make disgusted noises over the loud pop music blaring from the stereo. Scott comes inside from the patio and crouches next to him, rubbing his back and offering him a glass of water.
"I think he's an alien," you tell Isaac contemplatively.
"What?" Isaac says, following your gaze. "Allison."
"He's too niiiice," you moan, pressing your nose into his neck and inhaling the scent of his cheap deodorant. "I don't understand him. He's an alien."
"He's not," Isaac says, actually sounding kind of hurt. His eyes linger on Scott leaving the room, taking the kid to the bathroom, for far too long.
You smile and squirm your way onto his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. "Hey," you say happily, grinning down at him. "Wanna get out of here?"
Out of here, meaning upstairs, which Lydia had specifically cordoned off, in the closest guest bedroom to the stairs. You don't quite make it to the bed, Isaac kicking the door shut behind you, and lean up against it while Isaac drops to his knees and pushes up your skirt.
"Seriously, you have a fetish," you moan as he pulls down your underwear and licks at you hungrily. You widen your stance, legs tottering dangerously on your heels and grip his hair in one hand, holding up your skirt in the other. "Why do you always...mmm, yeah, do that again."
You feel him grin against you and give a hard suck on your clit that almost makes you fall. He picks you up and deposits you on the bed before you can even blink and then he's back between your legs, sliding his tongue inside you.
"Yess," you hiss when his tongue gets just the right pressure and pattern, hips bucking up for more. The music is still going on strong below you and it (and the alcohol) makes you bold. "Yes, c'mon, Isaac, just like that, c'mon-"
You bring your legs up to bend at the knees and spread them to give him more room, whimpering when his hands snake up your body to squeeze your boobs. You've never come just from this, but this time you think you might be able to, just from his clever tongue and fingers, two of them in you now, pressing up just right. "Yeah, c'mon, Isaac, Isaac, Is-"
"Hey, stop that right now!" Lydia yells from the downstairs landing, causing you to jump in shock. "You are making Scott extremely uncomfortable right now!"
Isaac raises his head, eyes wide with horror, but you don't find yourself sharing his mortification. Instead a slow grin comes over your face. Perfect, you think, and shove him back down.
"C'mon," you hiss shamelessly, rutting your hips up. "I'm so close, just..."
Isaac moans, squirming against the bed himself and continues eating you out, clutching your hips tightly. You grasp your boobs as you feel your orgasm approaching and moan louder.
Let him hear, you think headily, and the thought of that, of Scott hearing this, ever moan and whimper, every lewd sound from Isaac's mouth between your legs, makes you throw back your head and come, letting sounds out of your mouth freely, without any attempt to muffle yourself. Let him hear this.
"Oh, shit," Isaac gasps, rolling on his back. You groan, your heart pounding in your chest and breath still coming out fast, but try to sit up and return the favor, only to find it's already been taken care of.
"Mmm, you really like that?" you say, rolling over onto his chest and giving Isaac's limp dick hanging out of his pants a smug look.
Isaac just looks sort of rueful and runs his hand through your hair, pulling you down to curl into his side. He pushes your dress down your shoulders and divest you of your bra so he can plant his face in your boobs with a happy groan. You rolls your eyes and pet his hair absentmindedly, feeling suddenly exhausted. The sound of the music and the people downstairs doesn't keep your eyes from sliding shut and you fall asleep shockingly quickly, only waking up for a few moments later in the night when Isaac pulls you up the bed and gets you under the comforter.
You're significantly less pleased with yourself in the morning.
"Shit," you say to the ceiling, Isaac still plastered all over you.
"Mm, what?" he mumbles, turning his head a bit into your shoulder.
I'm never drinking again, you think miserably, closing your eyes. You don't have a hangover-the sick feeling in your stomach is purely from shame.
The clock next to the bed says 9:38, which means you need to get out of here before your parents freak out and start calling you every two minutes, because you said you'd be home by 10:00 to help with inventory. They have no idea you were at a party last night instead of just a sleepover and you have no intention of them finding out.
"Isaac, c'mon, get up," you say, shoving him off you. "I gotta go."
Isaac groans in protest and reaches aimlessly for you, but you avoid his hands and climb off the bed, mouth dry with thirst. You take a drink out of the bathroom sink and wince at your smeared makeup. You try to wash it off, with limited success without makeup remover, and when you come out Isaac has rolled over on his side, head propped up by his arm, looking at your contemplatively.
"What?" you say, confused at his contented look.
"Nothing," he says, smiling fondly.
You give him a very pointed look and raise your eyebrows, glancing down at the floor.
The smile slides off Isaac's face and he winces, letting his head fall back down onto the pillow.
"Shit," he says and then groans.
"Yeah," you say, cringing, because why, oh, why had you thought having sex in the same house as another werewolf would be a good idea?
Isaac rolls over onto his stomach and moans melodramatically into the maroon and white pillowcase.
"I really have to go," you say, picking your bra up off the floor and pulling your dress straps up over your shoulders. "Where did you put my underwear?"
Isaac doesn't look up, just points at the door where your underwear is lying.
"It'll be okay," you tell him as you pull it on, sounding supremely unconvinced.
"How?" Isaac groans, lifting his head to look at you blearily.
"It's not like he didn't know we're..." you say, shrugging your shoulders uncomfortably.
"Not the same thing."
"Alright," you agree helplessly. "Look, you want me to give you a ride hom-back to the McCalls?"
Isaac sighs and sits up, trying to flatten his hair. "Okay," he says in resignation and rolls out of the bed, trying to fix his clothes.
You take the sheets and throw them down the laundry chute after you've finished making yourself as presentable as possible and then creep down the stairs, aware there are still people sleeping.
You're just stepping onto the landing, only a few yards from the front door- so close!- when the last person you want to see rounds the corner.
"Okay, man, just close your eyes, I'll-" Scott says and then stops in his tracks when he looks up from where he's half carrying Stiles out the door to see you.
"Hi," you say after a pause that goes on far too long. Scott's eyes are very wide and you feel your cheeks burn.
Stiles opens his eyes and squints at you. "Oh, you guys are so gross," he groans and then winces. "Ow, even thinking hurts."
"I'd, uh, better take him home," Scott says uncomfortably, looking everywhere but at the two of you. "Isaac, do you need a ride or...?"
"I'll take him," you say quickly, eager for this encounter to be over with as soon as possible. You take a few steps toward the door and glance back at Isaac, who is beet red and examining his fingernails.
"Right," Scott says, sounding a bit strained, adjusting Stiles's arm over his shoulder. "See you later then."
You and Isaac walk as quickly as you can across the hallway and go out the front door. Lydia's long driveway is still halfway full of cars and it takes some maneuvering to get out onto the road. By the time you finally put your car into drive, Scott and Stiles are exiting Lydia's house as well. Scott gives you an awkward wave which neither you nor Isaac return and you hit the gas to get out of there. Isaac watches them through the rearview mirror until you turn a corner and then slumps back against the passenger seat.
"Shit," he says hollowly and then puts his hand over his face. "What's wrong with us?"
I was drunk and apparently get off on Scott listening to us having sex and you're easily lead, you think ruefully.
"Just pretend nothing happened," you advise him, because it's the only thing you can think of. "I'm sure he will."
When you stop at a light you turn to see him scowling at you.
"What?" you ask him pointedly, annoyed at how he seems to be blaming you for this mess. "I'm not the one who can't get drunk. You were sober last night."
"You seduced me," he complains, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes.
"I said "Wanna get out of here?"" you say coolly, but there's a tightness in your chest at the suspicion that he's trying to pin this all on you. "You're the one who practically ripped off my underwear."
"You were all over me," he protests. "You know how you are when you're drunk; climbing on top of me, all wet-you know I can smell that, right? How am I supposed to not eat your pussy?"
"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?" you say, hurt, cringing at his use of the word "pussy", because gross.
"Uh...a compliment?" Isaac says, frowning at your reaction. "Did it not come out that way?"
"No, it did not," you say shortly and turn back to the road and accelerate through the light. You feel vaguely queasy, because you've never heard him talk like that before, certainly not about you. Is that really what he thinks of you? That you're just some pair of boobs and a hole to fuck?
It's stupid, but you sort of thought he didn't care what you look like. You're kind of flabby in places, after all, and unless Lydia gets a hold of you you never really make an effort to look nice. It's stupid and hypocritical, because even though you've never particularly been a fan of blond hair, even as dark as Isaac's, or blue eyes, you like the way Isaac looks; how tall he is, his shoulders, his pretty cheekbones, the way his muscles feel under your hands.
"I...sorry," Isaac mutters, sounding confused. "I didn't mean anything bad by it?"
You don't say anything and nod shortly, not taking your eyes off the road.
"Allison..." Isaac says, a bit strained, and you clench your teeth at the undercurrent of fear in his voice. It's so hard to be mad at Isaac because of how afraid he gets. It's like he thinks you could leave him at any moment.
"It's fine," you say, even though it's not. But you'll get over it by the next time you see him. There's no point in starting an argument over it. What would you even say? I understand that you meant it in a good way, but it makes me uncomfortable when you talk about me like that. Lame. You just need to be less sensitive.
You pull up to Scott's house, relieved to see that Scott's bike isn't in the driveway. "See you at school tomorrow?" you say mildly, turning to look at him, expressionless.
"Allison," Isaac says, looking at you nervously. "Look, I...you can't just pretend...can you just tell me what's wrong?"
"It's nothing," you say as dismissively as possible.
" Allison," he presses, a determined expression coming over his face that reminds you eerily of Scott.
You look away from him and scowl, hunching your shoulders. "I just don't like stuff like that," you say vaguely.
"Okay," he says hesitantly.
He puts his hand on your shoulder and leans in slowly, nose brushing your cheek. You close your eyes and turn to kiss him, cupping his cheek.
"Sorry," he murmurs after a moment. You shrug noncommittally and offer him a weak smile.
Your phone begins to buzz in your purse and you wince. "I really need to get home," you tell him apologetically.
"Okay," he says, leaning back and unbuckling his seatbelt. "See you tomorrow."
You watch him walk up Scott's lawn for a few seconds and then start up your car again, sighing a bit. You really are terrible at being in a relationship.
Your junior year starts the same as any other year; with all of your classmates inordinately pleased with themselves at being a year older than they were last year. Only it's worse this time because now you're all upperclassmen, like that means something more than you're one year closer to adulthood and death.
Okay, you'd probably be a bit more excited if not for the fact that you're too worried about surviving the next few months. Now that your parents are involved. You don't have to worry about them killing Isaac anymore (though you doubt the truce will hold if they find out he's your boyfriend) but you didn't want them involved in this at all. Against those alphas. Five of them apparently. You remember Peter, think about Derek beating Isaac in front of you, and feel sick every time you imagine the kind of damage that they could cause.
And that's before you find out that two of them have transferred into your class at Beacon Hills High.
You hadn't thought much about the two new twin transfer students other than to roll your eyes at Lydia's sudden interest, but when Isaac sits down next to you in English with a deathly pale face you know something is wrong.
And that's before a bunch of suicidal crows disrupt your new English teacher's attempts to get your class excited about Heart of Darkness.
All in all, it's a pretty terrible first day.
"What the hell is going on?" you hiss to Scott after as you stare around the wreckage of the classroom, crow bodies, blood, and feathers smeared everywhere. Your new English teacher, who is very young, hasn't called anyone for help yet and is starting blankly in front of her, a smear of blood on her cheek.
"I don't...I don't know," Scott says, looking just as bewildered as you feel. He approaches Ms. Blake carefully, crouching down a bit to look into her face. "Ms. Blake? Are you alright?"
She startles, focusing on him and nods. "Yes, I-" she says and goes still as a crow feather falls out of her hair. She swallows and stands up from her seat on her desk. "I'd better go get someone."
They end up calling all of your parents to pick you up and sending all the kids that got cut by the broken glass to the hospital. You're annoyed when both your parents show up with grim faces and almost drag you out of the school. And then they start talking about moving.
"We are not moving!" you say angrily, glaring at the backs of their heads from the backseat. You'd insisted you could drive your own car home, but they hadn't listened, even though you weren't sitting anywhere near the windows. Even if you had been Isaac jumped over you the second the glass broke to protect you.
"Allison," your mother says sharply, turning around to look at you with an unimpressed look. "You know this is part of our work. And after everything that's happened in this town, it'll be good to get a fresh start."
"I'm not going anywhere!" you say loudly, gripping the side of the door, cold fear rushing through you. "I'm not leaving this town, I like it here! I've made friends, I'm, I'm going to do better in school, I-"
"You'll makes other friends," your father says dismissively, not bothering to take his eyes off the road. "We can be in a new town in a month, you'll have plenty of time to say goodbye."
It's something they've been telling you your whole life and it makes your eyes sting with tears.
"Allison, get a hold of yourself!" your mother says when they spill down your cheeks, looking shocked and disgusted at your display of emotion.
"I-I don't want to leave," you say, voice trembling pathetically.
"We'll go somewhere better," your father says, looking back at you through the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed in confusion at your reaction. "Warmer. You can make better friends than Lydia."
You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to scream. You can't leave, you can't. Even the thought of moving to a new town, leaving behind Isaac, Lydia, Scott, makes you feel like you've been punched in the stomach. You can't leave, you can't, you can't, you can-
"Allison, stop that right now," your mother says as your father pulls the car into your driveway. "This is not new to us. This is the way our business works-we need to go where the work is. You know that and honestly, you've never been so emotional about this before."
It's a lie, you cried yourself to sleep many times during grade school and middle school when your parents announced that you were moving once again. You haven't done it recently, because you didn't care. You had nothing at those other towns. But now you have everything and you cannot lose it.
"Oh, so this is about work now?!" you exclaim angrily, ripping off your seatbelt. "Something just happened to come up?!"
"Enough," your father says, turning around in his seat and looking at you in bewilderment, like it had never occurred to him that you might react this way. "This is not something we've never done before. You had to know we'd be moving on eventually."
You hadn't actually. You'd figured the unending supply of werewolf drama would keep your parents in Beacon Hills for another year at least.
"I hate you," you tell them, like a teenage cliché, and leap out of the car and go into the house before they can respond. You take the stairs up two at time and practically throw yourself onto your bed, screaming into your pillow.
"Allison, get down here!" your mother yells from the ground floor and you slam your door in response furiously, causing your entire room to shake slightly.
Fuck you, you think, burying yourself under the covers. Your anger fades into misery as a couple minutes go by and your door stays closed, no footsteps on the landing outside your door. You cry as quietly as you can under the covers, your hot breath seeming to fill in all the spaces and choke you. You can't leave. You won't leave Isaac. You'd rather die. You'll kill yourself. Or maybe you'll run away and live with Scott. His mother would probably let you live there if you didn't have sex with Isaac in the house.
After a couple hours there's a soft knock on your door. "Allison?" your father says softly.
You don't reply, made lethargic and numb by your misery.
He opens the door, pauses, and then walks across the room to sit at the foot of your bed. You feel your mattress sink slightly at his weight, but you don't lift your head from under your covers. You have no interest in the lecture he's about to give you on proper behavior.
"Allison, we need to talk," he says seriously.
You don't reply and squeeze your eyes shut, hoping he'll go away. Your mother would yank the covers off you and drag you out of bed for your disrespect, but your father's always been more lenient with you. Which would be nice if not for the fact you're pretty sure he only acts that way is because you're a girl.
"This town...it just isn't safe," your father says, trying to reason with you, like reason has anything to do with your reaction. "After Kate and...and now this. It isn't the first time there's been an incident at that school. It's very important to your mother and I that you're in a safe environment."
You bite the inside of your mouth to prevent yourself from laughing at that because God, what a liar.
"What about my happiness?" you ask dully, clenching your fists in your fitted sheet in anger. "Or is that not a factor?"
"Of course, it's a factor," your father says, sounding uncomfortable with this line of discussion. Good. "You'll make other friends, Allison. You just need to make an effort. Join some clubs. What about the track team?"
"I don't want other friends," you say through gritted teeth. "I want Lydia...and Stiles and Scott," you add on for good measure, because you have been using friends plural the whole time.
"Who are Stiles and Scott?" your father asks suspiciously, and suddenly you're electrified with rage at how that, that's what he wants to talk about. Your happiness doesn't matter, but, what, your virginity does? Is that all he cares about?
"You know, before we came here, I wanted to die," you tell him, and have to close your eyes against the sudden burn of tears pricking your eyes.
An oppressive silence follows. As the seconds pass you wonder if he's going to yell at you for your foolishness and ingratitude.
"You never told us that," he says finally, voice cracking a bit.
You let out a bitter laugh against the mattress. "How could I? You already think I'm pathetic enough."
"Allison, you need to tell me right now if you've ever tried to hurt yourself," he says, and you feel him getting to his feet and grabbing a hold of your comforter.
"No, God," you say, ripping it away from him and rolling over so your back's to him. "I thought about it," you admit truthfully, but not because it's the truth, but because you want to hurt him. "But it seemed like too much work."
"I need to speak to your mother," your father says after another long pause.
"Good luck with that," you say sarcastically and curl up into a little ball under the sheets.
He leaves the room and you wait hatefully for your mother to storm up the stairs and demand you stop overreacting, stop lying, stop being a pathetic fat blob of a person, because you know that's what she thinks of you. You hear raised voices, your parents arguing with each other on the first floor, but you can't make out the words. It lasts a lot longer than you thought it would-half an hour maybe-and your muscles hurt from tensing in anticipation from waiting for the inevitable firestorm.
Finally, you hear quick footsteps on the stairs.
"Allison," your mother says tersely, your bedroom door opening with a creak.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" you scream, louder than you've ever screamed in your life, the sound torn out of you almost without your permission. Your throat hurts afterward and you dig your hands into the sheets at the sudden violent urge that rushes through you.
It must have shocked your parents as much as it shocked you because they don't bother you the rest of the night.
You get up two hours early the next morning and creep out of the house. You sit in the school parking lot and doze while you wait for school to start and spend lunch discussing the meaning of the strange behavior of the crows, and apparently other animals in Beacon Hills. You don't mention your parents' plans, though Isaac seems to be able to tell you're upset and watches you worriedly. It's technically your first day of junior year, but you miss most of it, zoning out during the explanations of grading and papers.
You go home late, after having sex with Isaac twice in a motel room, wrapping your arms and legs around him and clutching tightly, trying not to think that this might be one of the last times. Your parents are washing the dishes when you come through the door, and they both look up at you in obvious relief when you enter the kitchen.
"You're going to your therapist tomorrow afternoon at 3:30," your father tells you, with no room for argument in his voice, wiping down a plate with a hand towel.
"Fine," you say coolly, grabbing a glass out of its cupboard and filling it with water from the refrigerator water dispenser.
"Don't you ever raise your voice at me like that again," your mother says sharply, like she's biting back a furious tirade at your lack of respect. You're actually sort of impressed by her restraint.
"Fine," you repeat, turning around to look at her and school your expression into an emotionless wall.
She looks back at you with the exact same look.
"I have homework," you say, boredly, as your father takes a wet saucepan off the counter top and begins to dry it off.
"Don't stay up too late," your father says shortly, giving you a firm look.
They never bring up the possibility of moving again.
A/N: Allison's parents are so terrible. I feel like their terribleness is glossed over because Victoria died and Chris is "good now", but it makes me sad to think of what Allison's childhood was like. Please review!