SOOOOO, I'm making a new story. It'll probably be short. But a lot can happen in a little chapters. It's a Stiles fan fiction. The main character (and maybe a few other characters I make on the way) are the only one(s) that I own. Other than that, that would go to Teen Wolf. A GREAT show that cured half my depression. Anyway, here's the first chapter. Give me feedback.
Seventy-two days. That's how long I'd been trapped within the unforgiving walls of Eichen House, the facility reserved for those grappling with mental instability.
Only a few weeks earlier, I had bid farewell to my parents, both of whom had tragically passed away. It was my friends who had suggested Eichen House as a place to heal.
"How bad could it be?" I had naively mused, seconds before stepping through its foreboding entrance.
From the very instant I crossed that threshold, a sinking feeling gnawed at me, urging me to flee. But my friends remained steadfast in their conviction. Given my age and the recent loss of my parents, the enrollment process was swift.
The pain of losing my parents was a crushing weight, one that fell upon me like a meteor. They had ventured out for a night on the town while I remained at home. For roughly an hour and a half, I was idly perched on the couch, fixated on the glow of the television screen, when an unexpected knock came at the door. It was a duo of unexpected visitors: Sheriff Stilinski, a trusted friend of my parents, and an unfamiliar deputy.
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"Yes, Sheriff?" I asked, my gaze shifting between the Sheriff and the other cop whose name tag read 'Deputy Parrish.'
"Deputy Parrish," I acknowledged with a slight nod, before returning my attention to Sheriff Stilinski.
"What seems to be the problem? Is it Kevin again?" I inquired about my older brother, who had a troubled history with school, leading him to drop out. His relationship with our parents had always been strained. He had moved out and found himself an apartment along with a modest job. I kept in touch with Kevin, offering a listening ear whenever he needed to vent. But he always declined my offer.
"No, Elanor, it's your parents," Sheriff Stilinski said, his voice filled with sadness.
"W-what about them? Is something wrong?" I asked, my concern far greater than words could express.
"They were both shot in a restaurant near the outskirts of town," Deputy Parrish replied.
My legs gave way, and I collapsed to my knees, unable to support the weight of the devastating news. Memories of happier times flooded my mind. Their last words to me had been, "Goodbye, honey. I love you. Remember to lock the door."
I wished I had said so much more, expressed just how much I loved them, given them that long-overdue hug. Why hadn't I done more?