TW: Underage drinking and recreational drug use.

"You look like shit." Jamie's voice was gritty from the night before as she uttered the words of disdain to her brother on the front doorstep. His hair looked particularly dishevelled and his skin sweaty. Scott frowned as he stared back at her, his hands unconsciously moving to rearrange his hair.

"You look like shit," he retorted, stepping aside and allowing her to cross the threshold into the house. Her hair was damp, tendrils of dark locks clumped together as it fell down her back. She wore an unfamiliar oversized t-shirt, their father's jacket draped over her arm. A pair of shoes hung from two fingers, the socks on her feet muddied and sodden.

"Yeah, after you left we all went skinny dipping," she lied, pulling off her dirty socks as she headed to the stairs.

"Stiles said you fell in the pool," Scott replied, raising a brow at her. She whirled around, fury eclipsing her previous nonchalant expression.

"Stiles pushed me in the pool," she corrected forcefully, though Scott doubted she was telling the truth.

"I did not!" Stiles' voice came from the kitchen, and Jamie rolled her eyes, having not realised her brother's best friend was in the house. It seemed she couldn't get away from him.

"You're lucky I'm not gonna tell your dad about my attempted murder," she sneered. Stiles' face turned to a mixture of appalled and defensive.

"You're lucky I'm not gonna tell my dad about…" Stiles stopped himself. Jamie's expression had turned almost frightened, her eyes pleading.

"Tell your dad about what?" Scott asked. Stiles' mind shifted back to the night before, the bag of pills, Jamie's dilated, unfocussed pupils. He shook his head.

"Nothing" he replied quietly. The three exchanged some awkward glances.

"I'm taking a shower," Jamie announced, breaking the silence. She turned on the stairs, leaving the pair of teens beneath her.

Once she reached the bathroom, she stripped off her damp clothes, along with the t-shirt that was far too big for her. She turned on the shower and stepped into the warm water, letting it run over her face and body.

She remembered the water from the night before, the coldness of it stinging her skin as she dipped below the surface, her body heavy as it sunk to the bottom of the pool. She could see the water's surface above her shimmering with dim flickers of light, jumbled faces peering over the edge, distorted by the fractured liquid. She remembered the emptiness she had felt, whatever she'd taken that night dulling her senses and making her feel nothing at all. It was the best thing she'd ever experienced.

She remembered laying at the bottom of the pool, her serenity stopping her feet from kicking off the tiles to swim to the surface. She'd felt like staying down there. She'd wanted everything else to fade away into nothingness.

Her serenity had been shattered momentarily as the water's surface was shattered by a diver. Strong arms had wrapped around her, pulling her towards the surface, pulling her away from her peace. She had made no effort to aid them, her limbs feeling like lead ready to be pulled back down into the abyss.

Reality had hit her hard as she had emerged from the surface, spluttering and coughing up the water she unknowingly allowed into the lungs. She had been dumped on the tiles that surrounded the pool, a small group of partygoers gathered around her to gawk at the spectacle.

"What the hell, Jamie," she'd heard Jackson's voice say as he pushed himself out of the pool behind her. His voice had been angry. Annoyed. The group had quickly dispersed once it was apparent the excitement was over. There'd be no heroic resuscitation attempts. No 911 call. "Someone get a towel for god's sake!" Jackson had barked. His warm, strong arms had left her body by that stage, and the cold had started to set in. She vaguely remembered an annoyed Lydia in the background somewhere, heading inside in search for a towel as she muttered something about how Jamie always had to be the centre of attention.

She finished her shower quickly, drying off her hair with a towel and shoving her sodden clothes into a corner. The lack of enraged shouting from her mother indicated she must still be at work, her shift running over as usual. Jamies was in the clear.

She smiled a little to herself thinking of the way Jackson had pulled her from the pool. And she hated herself for it. She pulled out her phone, hesitating for a minute before she typed the message.

Last night was fun.

She sent it, hating herself even more for how eagerly she awaited the reply. It came quickly:

Lydia's pissed.

Saturday meant work. Ordinarily, Jamie McCall would have cancelled her shift last minute, claiming to be too unwell. A sudden attack of the flu was her usual go-to, but she'd used that the week before. Not to mention she'd swapped shifts to be able to attend the party. She hated her job almost as much as her boss hated her. On the plus side, she did need the money, especially given the new chemistry paper she needed Stiles to do for her. Mr Harris was a real pain in her ass.

She stood behind the register at the ice rink, mindlessly taking cash in exchange for skates every time a new family or group of teenagers walked through the door.

It was a strangely quiet evening, which seemed to make the hours drag even further. Jamie sipped on plastic cup of watered-down cola, chin resting on her fist. She glanced around, eyeing a group of young teens exiting the foyer. No one else seemed to be around.

She slowly pulled the cash register open as quietly as she could, her eyes darting across the room to make sure no one was watching. She deftly pulled fifty dollars from drawer and slipped it into her pocket. No one would miss it, she thought to herself.

Jamie didn't make a habit of stealing from the register. Well, she didn't do it every shift. But her meagre hourly wage wasn't enough to cover for her expensive extracurricular activities, so it was occasionally a necessity.

"You mind closing tonight?" a voice said from beside her. She looked around, spotting her colleague she hadn't realised was there.

"Why?" she asked, annoyed she would have to stay later than she'd intended.

"Cause we're supposed to share responsibilities, and you never close," Boyd replied. His look was flat. "And you owe me for not ratting you out." His voice was even. Jamie shot him a questioning look, and Boyd's eyes slid over to the cash register. She sighed.

"Fine," she replied, holding out her hand. Boyd smiled, seemingly satisfied his subtle blackmail had succeeded. He passed her the keys.

"Don't forget the milk-"

"Milkshake machine, I know," she cut him off. Boyd nodded and turned away, heading back to the staff room the grab his things before heading home.

Jamie finished the shift, half-heartedly cleaning the milkshake machine as instructed, locking up and dumping the keys in the lockbox for whoever was on shift the next day.

It was late as she walked through the parking lot in direction of home, her path illuminated by the moon. She leaned against the parking lot fence. It had been a long day and she was in desperate need of a nicotine hit. She grabbed her packet of cigarettes from her pocket and pulled one out, placing it between her lips as she retrieved her lighter. She flicked it a few times, the spark failing to ignite. Frustrated, she threw it to the ground, her evening taking a sour turn.

"Need a light?" A voice said. Jamie looked up to see a man striding across the parking lot. He wore a dark jacket, sandy hair catching the flood lights above him. He reached her in what felt like seconds, his hands pulling a lighter from his pockets.

"Thanks," Jamie mumbled, still a bit dazed at his sudden arrival. He put his own cigarette between his lips and leaned against the fence next to her.

"Hey, have I seen you before?" he asked. Jamie glanced up at him, inhaling the smoke into her lungs and feeling herself relax. She shrugged, uncaring that this random guy had seemed to take an interest in her. " Last night," he said after a moment. "You're that crazy chick who fell in the pool."

Jamie felt herself shrink as she stared ahead, taking another drag.

"Yeah, that's me," she sighed. He chuckled, not having sensed her disinterest.

"Well, let me know if you wanna buy any merch again," he replied. Jamie's mind seemed to snap into recollection, and she turned to face him, feeling slightly more interested in the conversation. She remembered the euphoric feeling from the previous night, and she felt she'd do almost anything to experience it again. The man seemed to sense he'd piqued her interest. "I mean I don't like selling to highschoolers usually," he trailed off. Jamie didn't seem to think that was true; he was clearly just trying to come off as a good guy. "But you look like you know how to party." She scoffed, trying to appreciate the complement, if that's what you would call it.

"I'm interested," she replied casually, meeting his eyes for the first time. He was more handsome than she remembered. And older.

He smirked, shaking his head as he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. "You know the drill," he said. She pulled the ten dollars she'd just swiped from the cash register from her pocket and handed it to him. "I'll give you a free hit if you tell me your name." He removed his cigarette from his mouth and pulled two small plastic bags from a large bag, a small white pill in each.

"Jamie," she replied, her eyes watching as he passed the bags between his fingers. He handed them to her with a smile.

"Tucker," he replied, holding them out to her. She took them and placed them into the pocket of her denim jacket. "Are you going to get me in trouble, Jamie?" Tucker asked, raising a brow at her. She smirked back at him, rolling her eyes at his remark.

"See you around," she murmured, turning on her heel and disappearing into the night.

It was nearing midnight when Jamie McCall arrived home. The house was quiet, and she figured her mother and brother must've been asleep already.

She lay on her bed, examining the small bags of pills. She knew it was probably foolish of her, but the desire to feel what she felt the previous evening was overwhelming. She wanted that experience. She wanted to be taken away again, away from the reality she was living in. She wanted to forget. But it was more than a want; it was a need. And the need was consuming her.

She took the pill, swallowing it dry as she lay back in bed, waiting for the effects to kick in.

Something inside her started to build – a feeling of nothingness. But as soon as the feeling started, it began to fade again, the bliss she craved slipping away until there was nothing left.

Jamie sat up, frustration gripping her and she wondered if she'd been sold a bad product. Perhaps it had a stronger effect before because she was already drunk. She knew alcohol could have that effect with some drugs. She pondered her options briefly, quickly dismissing her qualms as she took the second pill into her mouth and swallowed it down.

The euphoria hit first. The feeling was overwhelming, like a warmth rising from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

Then, nothing. She felt nothing. She backed into the oblivion she had been craving since she'd felt it for the first time the night before. The feeling enveloped her, every cell in her body sinking into it. For the first time in months she felt almost at peace.

As Jamie let herself sink into the void, she was unaware of the subtle sounds around her – creaks of the wooden floor, the faint rustle of fabric. She didn't notice the shadow that passed by her door, hesitated, and then returned.

A soft knock broke through her haze.

"Jamie?" Scott's voice was quiet, almost tentative. He knocked again. "You awake?"

Her heart raced. She hadn't expected him to be up. She didn't particularly care if he knew what she was doing, but she knew he wouldn't keep it to himself, and she didn't want her mother to find out.

Forcing herself to sit up, she glanced at the door, her vision slightly blurred. "Yeah, what?" she called, trying to keep her voice steady.

The door opened, and Scott peeked in, his face half hidden by the dim light spilling from the hallway. His eyes narrowed lightly as he seemed the scan her room. "You okay? I thought I heard something."

Jamie swallowed hard, forcing a glare as she narrowed her eyes back at him, annoyance at him interrupting her high fuelling the expression. "I'm fine," she shot back. "Will you fuck off now please."

She watched as his jaw clenched at her words. He hesitated in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face.

Scott knew something was off with her. Something was going on, and it wasn't just his new supernatural instincts that were telling him to press her further. He'd rehearsed the words in his head over and over. You can talk to me, you know. Whatever it is, we can deal with it together.

But he didn't say them out loud. He couldn't. However close they once were, the bond was long damaged. And with everything that was going on in his life now, he didn't have the space for her problems as well as his own. He didn't have the capacity to mend whatever had been broken.

Scott lingered for a moment longer, torn between pushing forward and retreating. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then closed it again, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"Fine," he muttered, stepping back into the hallway. "Goodnight, Jamie."

He pulled the door closed behind him, and Jamie exhaled sharply, the tension in her chest releasing slightly. She let herself fall back onto the bed, the haze in her mind quickly swallowing the brief flicker of anxiety his interruption had caused. She stared up at the ceiling, her thoughts fractured and chaotic. Part of her wanted to feel guilty for the way she'd spoken to Scott, for the way she'd been shutting him out for months. But another part—louder, more insistent—pushed that guilt away.

Maybe Scott wasn't innocent either. Maybe he had his own secrets, and maybe he wasn't as picture perfect as she used to think he was. Either way, Jamie had learned not to ask questions, and she wished he'd extend her the same courtesy.

She closed her eyes, letting the remnants of her high pull her deeper into oblivion.

The first day back at school after Lydia Martin's party downed grey and cold, matching Jamie's mood. As she sauntered through the doors, she felt as though every eye was on her, every whisper louder than usual, corridors seeming narrower than usual, the walls closing in to suffocate her.

She could imagine the rumours spreading like wildfire: the girl who got drunk and fell into the pool. Jamie didn't care. It wouldn't be the first time people spoke about her behind her back, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

She spotted Lydia by the lockers, radiating her usual air of perfection. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell in soft waves, and her lips curved in a smile that didn't reach her eyes Jamie braced herself as Lydia turned toward her, feigning enthusiasm.

"Jamie!" Lydia's voice was bright and sugary, but her tone carried an edge. "I didn't get a chance to say it, but you really livened up the party on Friday. Falling into the pool? Classic."

Jamie gave a forced smile, her cheeks heating. "Glad I could entertain."

"Oh, definitely," Lydia replied with a sharp laugh. "Though next time, maybe you don't need to be quite so dramatic."

Before Jamie could respond, Jackson appeared, his jaw set and his expression faintly annoyed. His tall frame and confident swagger only added to his imposing presence, but Jamie still felt herself relax a little.

"And I wasn't exactly planning to go swimming that night," he said, his tone clipped as he leaned against the lockers. "You're lucky I was there to save you."

"My hero," Jamie retorted sarcastically, shooting him a fake smile. He gaze darkened, clearly irritated.

"You could have drowned."

Lydia scoffed, her expression cutting through the tension.

"Now that's being dramatic," she said, stepping forward slightly so she was almost standing between them.

Jackson stared at Jamie for a moment, then shook his head. "Whatever. There's a lacrosse game coming up. Scott's playing."

Jamie let out a scoff, slamming her locker shut with more force than necessary. "And why would I care about that?"

Jackson arched an eyebrow. "Because he's your brother?"

Jamie snorted. "Barely."

She didn't wait for his reaction, walking off before he could continue the conversation.

The day dragged on, each class more tedious than the last. Jamie felt suffocated by the weight of her own exhaustion, her thoughts running in circles.

By the time she reached chemistry, she was desperate. She spotted Stiles Stilinski sitting at his desk, scribbling in his notebook. His perpetually frazzled demeanour gave the impression of someone who was always in over his head—but Jamie knew he could be counted on for certain things.

Sliding into the seat beside him, Jamie leaned in. "Hey, Stiles."

"Uh, hey," he said, looking up with a mix of confusion and suspicion.

"I need a favour," Jamie began, her voice low. "Can you write my chemistry paper for me?"

Stiles blinked at her, clearly taken aback. "What? No, I'm not doing it again."

Jamie pulled out the crumpled cash from her pocket and placed it on his desk. "I'll pay you double."

Stiles stared at the money, his brow furrowing. "Look, I don't know if I'm gonna have time..."

"Please, Stiles," Jamie pressed. "I'm drowning here."

After a moment's hesitation, Stiles sighed and stuffed the cash into his pocket. "Fine. But this is the last time." Jamie sighed.

"Deal," she said, relief washing over her.

The relief didn't last. Over the next few nights, Jamie's sleep became increasingly elusive. Each time she closed her eyes, the same vivid nightmares returned. Shadows loomed in every corner of her mind, chasing her through distorted hallways and empty streets. She'd wake up gasping, her heart pounding, unable to shake the lingering fear. She wasn't sure why they'd returned, but they didn't seem to be going any time soon.

By the end of the week, her exhaustion was written all over her face. Her once-bright eyes were now dull and ringed with dark circles, her steps sluggish as she trudged through the halls of Beacon Hills High.

"You look like hell," Jackson said bluntly when he saw her at lunch. He sat across from her, his tray clattering onto the table, Danny at his side.

"Thanks for the confidence boost," Jamie muttered, poking at the food on her plate. Jackson snorted, pulling her tray towards him and finishing off her lunch.

"Are you okay?" Danny asked, his tone softer than his friend's.

"I'm fine," Jamie replied, not meeting his eyes.

"You don't look fine."

"I said I'm fine," Jamie snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She stood abruptly, grabbing her bag and walking away without another word.

She ditched the rest of school, finding herself out in the preserve. The familiar crunch of leaves beneath her boots was oddly comforting as she made her way to the Hale house.

The ruins loomed before her, a charred skeleton of what was once a home. Jamie pushed through the doorway, the smell of damp wood and ash filling her senses. She headed straight to the corner where she'd hidden another bottle of vodka weeks ago, her hands trembling as she searched.

When she found it, her stomach twisted with frustration. The bottle was smashed, its contents long gone.

"Damn it," Jamie muttered, grabbing the broken remains and hurling them against the wall. The glass shattered further, the sound echoing in the empty space.

"You shouldn't be here," a deep voice said behind her.

Jamie spun around, her heart hammering in her chest. A tall figure stood in the shadows, his features obscured.

"Who are you?" Jamie demanded, taking a cautious step back.

The man didn't answer, his piercing eyes locked on her.

"I don't know who you think you are, but you don't scare me," Jamie said, her voice trembling slightly.

The man stepped closer, the light catching his chiselled features. His expression was unreadable, almost predatory.

Jamie's breath hitched, and she turned and ran, her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn't stop until she was far from the house, the image of the stranger burned into her mind.

By the time she reached home, her nerves were frayed, and her exhaustion had morphed into something sharper, angrier. She slipped into her mother's room, thankfully she was nowhere in sight.

She opened the cabinet where she knew her mom had what she needed. It was a bottle she'd been given from work over the holidays, still wrapped in festive paper. Jamie grabbed it without a second thought, retreating to her room before anyone could stop her.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Jamie twisted off the cap and took a long drink. The bitter liquid burned her throat, but she didn't care. With each sip, the tension in her chest eased, the weight on her shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

By the time she drained the bottle, her limbs felt heavy, her thoughts mercifully numb. For the first time in days, she felt something close to peace.

But deep down, Jamie knew it wouldn't last.