TW: Underage drinking and drug abuse

The next day, Jamie's mind was foggy as she stumbled into school, her stomach churning from the aftermath of the drugs. She barely made it through her classes, avoiding everyone, especially Jackson. It was easy given that everyone was talking about the attack that had happened on school premises: some guy have been torn to shreds on the school bus. Jamie paid it no attention, her own problems on her mind.

She was pulling her books out of her locker when Stiles appeared at her side, his face set in a rare expression of seriousness.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice low and sharp.

Jamie sighed, rolling her eyes. "Not now, Stiles."

"Yes, now," he snapped, stepping in front of her. "What the hell were you doing last night?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jamie asked, massaging her temples.

"Last night. I saw you with that guy from the party."

Jamie froze, her stomach sinking. "So what?" she shot back, slamming her locker shut. "You stalking me too?"

"Don't even try that," Stiles said, his eyes blazing. "I wasn't stalking you. I just happened to see you when I was driving home. And, oh yeah, you weren't exactly subtle."

Jamie glared at him, clutching her books tighter. "Mind your own damn business," she shot.

"This is my business!" Stiles exclaimed, his voice rising enough to draw a few curious glances from passing students. He lowered it again, stepping closer. "You're Scott's sister. As his best-friend, it's kinda my job to look out for you."

"Stop," Jamie interrupted, her voice cutting through his words. "I didn't ask you to watch out for me, and I sure as hell didn't ask for your opinion."

Stiles clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You're seriously going to stand there and act like this is fine? Like putting yourself in danger with that loser is no big deal?"

Jamie's heart skipped a beat at the intensity in his voice, but she refused to back down. "I'm not a kid, Stiles. I can handle myself."

"Clearly, you can't!" he shot back, his mind racing back to the party. He recalled the absent stare in her eyes as she plunged into the pool. "You think some college drug dealer is your friend? Newsflash, Jamie - he's using you, and you're letting him."

The words hit harder than Jamie wanted to admit. Her face flushed, and she turned away, gripping the edge of her books so tightly her knuckles turned white. "You don't know anything about me," she muttered. "You're just Scott's annoying best friend who doesn't know when to back off."

Stiles let out a sharp laugh, though there was no humour in it. "Yeah, maybe I don't know everything about you. But I know enough to see where this is going. And I know Scott and your mum would lose their mind if they knew what you were up to."

Jamie whipped around, her eyes narrowing. "Don't you dare tell them."

"Why shouldn't I?" Stiles challenged, his voice dangerously quiet.

Jamie's chest tightened, a mix of anger and fear bubbling up inside her. She wanted to lash out, to scream at him to leave her alone, but the words wouldn't come.

"What about you, huh?" she shot back, deflection the only path she could see out of this conversation. "What were you doing out in the preserve last night?" She watched as Stiles swallowed thickly. His unusual confidence seemed to falter.

"I was uh—" he trailed off, fingers scratching behind his ear. She smirked at him, eyes narrow.

"That's what I thought." He seemed to back off a little, but there was still a determined look in his eye.

She shoved past him, her shoulder bumping his as she stormed down the hallway.

"You're better than this," he called after her, his voice softer now.

Jamie didn't look back.

Better? She didn't feel better. She didn't feel anything. And wasn't that the point?

The school hallway was its usual lunchtime chaos, but Jamie felt like she was walking through a fog. She avoided eye contact as she navigated to her locker, the noise around her muffled by her own swirling thoughts. Her headache was relentless, and the exhaustion from another restless night clung to her like a heavy coat. Her confrontation with Stiles plagued her mind more than she cared to admit.

Turning the corner, she spotted Jackson leaning against the lockers near hers. He was scrolling on his phone, his expression masked. Standing beside him, Lydia's carefully crafted perfection gleamed as she talked animatedly.

Jamie hesitated but forced herself forward. As soon as Lydia saw her, her eyes lit up with faux warmth.

"Jamie!" Lydia called out, waving like they were the best of friends.

Jamie bit back a groan, pasting on the thinnest smile she could manage. "Hey."

Lydia tilted her head, her tone sweet. "You look...tired. Long weekend? Oh, wait - you were at Danny's party on Saturday. I'm surprised you even remember it."

Jamie's jaw tightened, her eyes flicking to Jackson, who stood silently with his arms crossed. Lydia's pointed words were as sharp as ever, but Jamie refused to let her see the hit land.

"Guess I just had more fun than you," Jamie shot back, slamming her locker open.

Lydia's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she laughed. "Oh, of course. Well, it's good Jackson was there to... keep an eye on you. Someone had to."

"Lydia," Jackson interrupted, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.

Lydia glanced at him, clearly annoyed by the interruption, but she quickly recovered. "Fine, fine, I'll leave you two to... whatever this is." She gave Jamie a quick, pointed once-over before walking off, her heels clicking sharply against the tiles.

Jamie exhaled through her nose, grabbing a book from her locker and shoving it into her bag. "What?" she asked without looking at Jackson.

"We need to talk," Jackson said, his tone low but insistent.

She slung her bag over her shoulder, giving him a sideways glance. "About what?"

Jackson frowned, stepping closer. "Not the kiss. I don't care about that."

Jamie froze for half a second before recovering, her cheeks burning. "Good, because it wasn't a big deal."

"Yeah, whatever," Jackson said dismissively. Jamie wasn't sure if she was relieved or upset by how little he seemed to care about it suddenly. Wasn't he the one who'd be calling her all weekend?

"I'm talking about the pills," he said finally. His demeanour was agitated, like one wrong move and he might explode. "Where did you get them?"

Her stomach sank. "Why do you care?"

"Because I do," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "Seriously, where did you get them? Those weren't some over-the-counter garbage. You don't just find that kind of stuff lying around."

Jamie hesitated, the urge to deflect bubbling up. But Jackson's piercing gaze held her in place. "Why do you even care? You're not my babysitter."

"No, but I'm not an idiot either," Jackson said sharply. "And it's not just you. I think Scott's on something, too."

Jamie blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. She was so confused. "Scott? What are you talking about?"

Jackson leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Don't play dumb. He's been acting... different. Faster. Stronger. It's not natural." And then the penny dropped. It was always about fucking lacrosse.

"He's clearly on steroids or something," Jackson continued. "And if he got them from whoever you're dealing with—"

"I'm not dealing anything!" Jamie snapped, her voice rising before she quickly lowered it.

Jackson raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Then where are you getting it from?"

"It doesn't matter," she replied, shaking her head, trying to take the conversation down a notch. "Scott's fine. He's not on anything."

"Yeah? Then how do you explain him suddenly turning into the star of the lacrosse team?" Jackson pressed. Jamie stared at him incredulously, almost disbelieving the words coming out of his mouth.

"Oh my god, you're jealous," she replied, her disbelief forming into a smirk. He shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze and relished in how the power dynamic of the conversation seemed to have shifted.

Jackson's jaw tightened, his discomfort clear. "This isn't about jealousy," he said sharply, but the slight flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Jamie leaned against the lockers, crossing her arms with an amused tilt to her head. "Sure it's not," she countered sarcastically. "It's killing you, isn't it? Scott shows up out of nowhere and suddenly he's faster, stronger, and better than you at the one thing you've always had on everyone else."

"Drop it, Jamie," Jackson warned, his voice low and threatening.

But Jamie wasn't done. She felt the tension in her chest loosening for the first time in days as she pushed back. "What's wrong, Jackson? Afraid you're not the golden boy anymore?"

Jackson stepped closer, his gaze hard. His hand was above her, resting against the lockers, and for the first time, she felt almost afraid of him. "You think this is funny? You have no idea what's really going on, do you?"

Her smirk faltered, but she refused to back down. "What are you even talking about?"

Jackson hesitated, his expression flickering between frustration and hesitation. He finally sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stepped away from her. "Look, forget it," he replied. "I gotta go."

He strode away, leaving Jamie utterly bewildered at the conversation they'd just had.

The curfew had transformed Beacon Hills into a town of silence and shadows. By 9:30 PM, the streets were empty, save for the occasional patrol car or a stray animal darting into the darkness. Jamie hated it. The enforced stillness made her feel more trapped than ever, her own thoughts becoming louder and heavier in the absence of any distraction.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, breaking her reverie. She sighed and glanced at the screen. Jackson. She found it bizarre he would be calling her after the conversation they'd had that day.

"What do you want?" she asked, already bracing herself for whatever information he needed about Scott's potential drug taking now.

"Double date. Bowling. Tomorrow night," Jackson said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jamie blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Me, Lydia, you, and... I don't know, whoever you bring. You're coming," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jamie let out a sharp laugh. "Hard pass."

"Don't be difficult," Jackson snapped.

"I'm not being difficult," she shot back. "I'm just not interested in third wheeling you and Lydia while you two pretend to like each other."

There was a pause, then Jackson muttered, "It wasn't my idea, okay? Lydia's trying to do this whole 'group bonding' thing. I'm just the guy who's supposed to make it happen."

Jamie snorted. "And dragging me into it is supposed to help?"

"Obviously." His tone was dripping with sarcasm now. "Scott and Allison are coming."

If she'd had a drink in her mouth, she'd have spat it out.

"Okay, even harder pass," she replied. No way was she getting herself into this mess. Jackson sighed in annoyance.

"You're supposed to back me up on this crap." Jamie rolled her eyes. After the crap he'd given her about dealing drugs to Scott earlier, there was no way he could ask for favours.

"Sorry, can't," she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. "I've got work. And even if I didn't, I'd rather gouge my eyes out than sit through some awkward double date with Lydia."

Jackson groaned. "Fine. Thanks for the help."

Jamie rolled her eyes and ended the call before he could keep arguing. She tossed her phone onto the couch and leaned back, letting out an exasperated sigh. The audacity of Jackson to call her, of all people, for support in his rocky relationship with Lydia was almost laughable. What did he expect her to do - play mediator?

She stared at the ceiling, replaying the conversation in her head. Scott and Allison are coming. The thought of being roped into a double date with her brother and his overly sweet girlfriend made her cringe. And then there was Lydia - Miss Perfect. Jamie could already hear her passive-aggressive comments and pointed smiles.

It was better this way. Work was a convenient excuse, and even if she had the night free, she wasn't going to put herself through that kind of torture.

Jamie grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen and collapsed onto the couch. She rubbed her temples, the weight of the week pressing down on her.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Tucker.

You need anything?

Jamie hesitated, staring at the screen. She was tired - bone-deep tired - and the thought of having something to take the edge off was tempting. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard before she locked the phone and shoved it into her pocket, pulling a blanket over herself and trying to push all thoughts of Jackson, Lydia, Scott, and everything else out of her mind.

Sleep didn't come easily, but when it did, her dreams were restless, filled with distorted faces, shadowy figures, and Jackson's voice, sharp and demanding.

The next evening at work, the monotony was unbearable. Jamie leaned against the counter, staring at the clock, willing it to move faster. The steady hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed in her ears, amplifying her growing frustration. The minutes dragged, each tick of the second hand louder than the last.

Boyd had been hovering all night, casting glances at the register every time she passed by, which only added to Jamie's simmering frustration. At least the curfew meant she wouldn't be stuck here late. She checked her phone between customers, scrolling aimlessly, trying to pass the time.

A text from Jackson popped up.

Double date's a disaster. Thanks for nothing.

Jamie smirked, imagining the awkward scene unfolding wherever they were. She could practically hear Lydia's clipped tone and Jackson's dry sarcasm.

Not my problem.

She texted back, tucking her phone into her pocket.

A few customers rolled by, and she served then with as much enthusiasm she could muster, which wasn't much. She sipped on a coke, watching as Boyd disappeared into the staff room behind her.

Jamie sighed and popped the cash register open. Her fingers slipped into the drawer, quickly pulling out a few bills. She'd be careful, only taking a small amount this time. Nothing noticeable. Or so she thought.

"You've got to stop," a voice said sharply.

Jamie froze, her heart lurching in her chest. She spun around to see Boyd standing near the shelves, his arms crossed and his expression serious.

"Excuse me?" she said, trying to sound unfazed.

"You heard me," Boyd replied, his tone even. "The boss thinks it's me taking the money. If you keep doing this, I'm going to get fired."

Jamie's jaw tightened, her frustration bubbling up. "Why would he think it's you? You're not even on register most of the time."

Boyd shrugged, his eyes locked on hers. "Doesn't matter. You need to stop, Jamie. You're messing with more than just yourself."

Her fists clenched. "I don't need a lecture, okay? You don't know what I'm dealing with."

"I don't care," Boyd snapped, his voice harder now. "Figure it out."

Jamie's vision blurred as she tried to steady her breathing. The room felt smaller, the fluorescent lights buzzing louder, as if the entire space was closing in on her. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, the weight of the stress and everything else pressing down on her. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words tangled in her throat.

Boyd's gaze was unwavering, his arms still crossed, waiting for her to say something, anything. The room was still for a long moment, and then Jamie felt the boiling frustration that had been simmering for days erupt.

"You think I want to do this?" she spat, slamming her hand down on the counter. The clang of metal against the hard surface echoed through the empty space. "You think I'm happy here, working this stupid job and pretending like everything's fine? You have no idea what it's like." Her voice was louder than she intended, and she could feel the heat rising in her face.

Boyd's expression didn't change, but Jamie could see the faint shift in his posture. He wasn't backing down, and it made her angrier. "Look, I'm not your therapist. I'm just telling you that what you're doing is going to mess things up for everyone."

"I don't need anyone else telling me how to live my damn life," Jamie growled, cutting him off. Her breath came quicker now, and she was trembling with the weight of everything.

Boyd's gaze softened, but the patience in his eyes made her even more furious.

"I think maybe you need some help," he said, bluntly.

"I don't need help," she hissed, her voice rising with each word. "I need things to stop being so hard. I need to stop feeling like I'm drowning every damn day. I need to stop pretending like everything's okay when it's not."

Boyd stepped closer, his expression still neutral. Customers had begun to gather around, watching in shock at her outburst. "Why don't you go home, I'll close tonight."

Her hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep herself in check. The anger, the frustration—it was all bubbling over, and she couldn't hold it in anymore. She let out a sharp, frustrated breath and looked Boyd in the eye.

"You know what? Fine," she spat, her tone harsh and bitter. "I'm going." She spun around, grabbing her bag off the counter, her chest heaving with barely-contained rage. Before Boyd could say anything else, she threw her apron onto the counter and stormed toward the exit.

She didn't care anymore. About the job. About Boyd. About the stolen money. She didn't care about anything except getting away from this suffocating place.

Jamie sat in the passenger seat of Tucker's car, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as the bass-heavy music from his stereo rattled the windows. She stared out at the blur of streetlights passing by, her stomach twisting with frustration. Tucker had shown up almost immediately after her text, but she'd barely spoken a word to him since getting into the car.

"Where to?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes darting toward her with curiosity.

"Wherever. I don't care," Jamie muttered, slumping further into the seat.

Tucker raised an eyebrow but didn't press. He took a turn down a familiar street, heading toward a part of town Jamie knew well enough: college houses, endless parties, no questions asked.

"You sure you're okay?" Tucker asked after a moment, his voice laced with just enough concern to grate on her nerves.

"I'm fine," Jamie snapped, not even looking at him. "Just drive."

Tucker let out a low whistle. "Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off."

They pulled up outside a house pulsating with music, the sound spilling out onto the quiet street. Jamie was out of the car before Tucker could even turn off the engine. She didn't wait for him, weaving her way up the front steps and into the chaos. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the smell of cheap booze. Red Solo cups littered every surface, and bodies pressed together in the dimly lit rooms.

Jamie made a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing a cup and filling it with whatever liquor was closest. She threw it back quickly, the burn sharp but welcome. Tucker appeared beside her, leaning casually against the counter with a smirk on his face.

"Looks like you've got a head start," he said, nodding toward her empty cup.

"Don't start," Jamie muttered, pouring another.

Tucker studied her for a moment, his smirk fading. "You're wound up tighter than usual. Want something to help with that?"

Jamie hesitated, her hand gripping the edge of the counter. She hated that he could see right through her, but at the same time, she was desperate for relief. She nodded, avoiding his gaze.

Tucker grinned, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small bag. "This'll do the trick," he said, holding it out to her.

She took it without a word, her hands trembling slightly as she opened the bag and popped one of the pills into her mouth. She chased it with another gulp of her drink, the bitter taste lingering on her tongue.

"Feeling better already?" Tucker asked, his tone teasing but his eyes sharp.

Jamie glared at him. "I said don't start."

Tucker shrugged, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Just trying to help, princess."

She ignored him, focusing on the warmth spreading through her body. It was almost immediate, the edges of her stress beginning to blur, the weight on her chest lifting just enough to breathe. She poured another drink, sipping it this time as she moved through the house. The noise, the crowd, the music—it was all a blur now, something distant and unimportant.

The music thumped through the walls, the bass vibrating the floor as Jamie leaned back against the counter in the dimly lit kitchen. Her vision was slightly blurred from the pills, the sharp edges of reality softened into a haze. Tucker stood close, his scent a mix of cologne and smoke, the cocky smirk on his face both infuriating and magnetic.

"You know," Tucker drawled, his voice low, "You're a lot more fun when you're not acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders."

Jamie rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the small smile tugging at her lips. "And you're a lot less annoying when you keep your mouth shut."

Tucker chuckled, stepping closer. His hand brushed against hers on the counter, lingering just long enough to send a jolt through her. "Feisty tonight, huh?"

"Don't push your luck," she shot back, her tone playful but edged with warning.

But Tucker didn't move away. Instead, he leaned in, his hand resting on the counter beside hers, caging her in. Jamie's pulse quickened, her breath hitching as his eyes locked onto hers. There was something electric in the air between them, a tension neither seemed willing to break.

"You're not as tough as you pretend to be," Tucker murmured, his voice soft but challenging.

Jamie's heart pounded, her head swimming with alcohol and adrenaline. "And you're not as charming as you think you are," she countered, though her voice faltered slightly.

Tucker's smirk widened, and before she could say anything else, his lips were on hers. It was rough, impatient, a collision rather than a kiss. Jamie didn't pull away. Instead, she matched his intensity, her hands gripping the front of his jacket as she kissed him back. The world around them blurred further, the pounding music and the muffled voices fading into nothing.

For a moment, there was nothing but the heat between them, the dizzying rush of sensation drowning out everything else. Tucker's hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and Jamie let herself sink into it, desperate for the distraction, the escape.

But it wasn't enough. The pressure was still there, lingering just beneath the surface. She pulled away and downed the rest of her drink.

"Got more?" she asked, her voice low.

Tucker frowned slightly but pulled the bag out again. "Careful, Jamie. You don't want to overdo it."

"Just give it to me," she snapped, snatching the bag from his hand. She felt his eyes on her as she took another pill, but she didn't care. She was past caring.

The room spun slightly as the second pill kicked in, the lights and sounds blending together in a dizzying haze. Jamie stumbled back toward the kitchen, pouring herself another drink and slumping against the counter. Tucker was beside her again, his expression unreadable.

"You're gonna burn out at this rate," he said quietly.

Jamie scoffed, downing her drink in one gulp. "Thanks for the pep talk, Mom."

Tucker shook his head, his expression hardening. "You know what, Jamie? You're acting like a damn kid."

Jamie froze, the words slicing through her haze like a knife. She turned to him, her glare sharp. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Now she was enraged. He was the one who gave her the damn pills in the first place. How dare he judge her, when he was the one who started all this.

"Fuck this," he said, his jaw tightening. "I'm done."

Her vision blurred, her emotions taking over uncontrollably. "Fine. I don't need you anyway." Tucker laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair.

"You don't need me, huh?" he retorted. Her words seemed to have hurt him more than she anticipated. "Pay up then."

Jamie blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"You heard me," Tucker said, his tone sharp. "You've been taking my stuff for weeks now. It's not free, Jamie. Time to settle up."

Jamie stared back at him. She couldn't pay. And he knew she couldn't. Tucker scoffed at her silence, taking a step towards her.

"Well maybe we can find another way for you to pay your debts."

Jamie's blood turned to ice as Tucker's words hung in the air, their meaning unmistakable. She squared her shoulders, trying to mask the fear creeping up her spine with defiance. "Excuse me?" Her voice was low, almost dangerous, but the slight tremor betrayed her nerves.

Tucker smirked, leaning against the counter as though he owned the room. "Relax," he drawled, his tone mocking. "I'm not talking about anything crazy. Just saying... maybe you've got other ways to make it worth my while."

Her hands balled into fists at her sides, her pulse hammering in her ears. "You're disgusting," she spat, her glare cutting through the haze of alcohol and pills.

Tucker's smirk faltered for a second before returning with a sharper edge. "Watch it, Jamie. You're in no position to start throwing around insults. You want me to cut you off? Leave you out in the cold?"

Jamie's head swam, the effects of the drugs and alcohol making it harder to think clearly. Her eyes burned, her expression pleading. Tucker shook his head, almost like he was the one disgusted at her.

"I'm done," he muttered, turning around and striding away.

Jamie's vision blurred with a mix of fury and panic. She couldn't let him walk away. Her chest heaved as she stumbled after him, pushing through the throng of people in the crowded living room.

"Hey!" she called, her voice cracking. He didn't turn, didn't even slow down.

"Tucker, wait!" Jamie reached out, grabbing his arm just as he was about to step out the front door.

He spun around, his expression dark and sharp. "Let go, Jamie."

"No!" she shouted, her desperation flaring. Her grip tightened as she pulled on his arm. "You don't just get to walk away! You started this- you gave me the pills in the first place!"

Tucker's face twisted with irritation. "And you didn't seem to have a problem taking them, did you? Let. Go."

Jamie's grip faltered for a second, but her anger surged again. "You can't just leave –."

Before she could finish, Tucker yanked his arm free, shoving her back with enough force to break her grip. Jamie's footing slipped on the slick hardwood floor, and she went down hard, her head cracking against the edge of the doorway.

Pain exploded in her temple, white-hot and blinding. She crumpled to the floor, her hand flying to her face as her vision swam.

"Jesus," Tucker muttered, his tone more annoyed than concerned. "This is exactly what I mean. You're out of control."

Jamie tried to push herself up, but the world tilted alarmingly, and she slumped back against the wall. Tucker's jaw tightened, his expression unreadable for a moment before he turned toward the door.

"I'm not doing this anymore, Jamie. You're on your own."

And just like that, he was gone, the door slamming behind him.

Jamie sat there, dazed and humiliated, as tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Around her, the party raged on, oblivious to the mess she'd become.

AN: Poor Jamie is not having a good time :(

Hope you are enjoying the story so far - let me know what you think!