The streets were eerily quiet as Jamie stumbled away from the party, her head pounding with every step. The chill of the night air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. One arm clutched her aching side, and her other hand hovered near her throbbing temple, where the dull, pulsing pain radiated from the bruise where she hit her head.
Her vision swam, and the glow of the streetlights felt too bright, the fluorescent halos blurring together. She wobbled on the uneven pavement, muttering curses under her breath. Each step felt heavier than the last, her legs trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. She felt like she'd been walking for hours.
The sound of an engine idling nearby made her pause, but she dismissed it and kept walking. She didn't care who was out this late—she just wanted to get home, or anywhere that wasn't here.
Then a familiar voice called out, cautious but firm. "Jamie?"
She froze, her blood turning to ice. Slowly, she turned toward the voice. A car had pulled up beside her, and leaning out of the driver's window was none other than Sheriff Stilinski. His sharp eyes swept over her dishevelled appearance, the messy hair, the unsteady gait. Concern flickered across his face.
"Jamie," he said again, this time softer, "what are you doing out here? It's the middle of the night."
Jamie's first instinct was to lie. "I'm fine," she muttered, waving him off. She started walking again, her pace quickening despite the wobble in her steps.
"Jamie," the sheriff called after her, a note of authority creeping into his voice. "Stop."
She halted reluctantly, her back still to him, and squeezed her eyes shut. Her shoulders slumped as she heard the car door open and his boots crunch against the gravel as he approached.
"Turn around," he said gently but firmly.
Jamie bit her lip, hesitating. She finally turned, avoiding his gaze as she looked down at the cracked sidewalk. She flinched when he stepped closer, his expression shifting from concern to alarm as he got a better look at her face.
"Did someone do this to you?" His voice was calm but serious, his tone one she knew meant trouble for whoever was responsible.
"No," Jamie said quickly, shaking her head. The motion made her wince, and she pressed a hand to her temple. His expression hardened as he shone his flashlight to her battered face.
His voice came through gritted teeth.
"I want names, I want an address, I want -."
"Stop," she cut in forcefully, meeting his eyes for the first time. "I just fell, okay?"
"Okay," he huffed, his concern growing the more he looked at her. "And where exactly did you have this fall?"
Jamie said nothing, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. He sighed.
"Get in," he ordered, his tone allowing no argument.
They drove in silence for a while, the Sheriff shooting her concerned glances every so often. Finally, he spoke.
"We found a body in the woods," he said grimly. "A young woman." He paused a moment. "We put a curfew in because a young woman was murdered. Does that mean nothing to you?"
Jamie flinched at the anger in his voice.
"What's going on with you?" he continued, his tone softening. "Your mother is worried sick. Hell, I'm worried."
Jamie didn't respond, her throat tight as tears welled in her eyes.
"You can't keep doing this, Jamie," the Sheriff said. "You're going to get yourself killed."
The rest of the ride was silent, the tension in the car palpable. When they reached her house, the Sheriff turned to her.
"Go ahead," he said, leaning across to open the passenger door for her. His voice was defeated. Like he was fighting a battle he'd already lost. "Don't let me see you out passed curfew again."
Jamie nodded and climbed out of the car, the cold air stinging her swollen cheek as she made her way to the front door. She didn't look back, but she could feel the Sheriff's concerned gaze on her until she disappeared inside.
The next morning, Jamie stood in front of her mirror, her fingers trembling slightly as she applied makeup to cover the bruise on her cheek. It was mostly hidden, but up close, it was still visible—a deep purple mark that screamed of something darker. She hated it. She hated that it was there at all, and she hated that she couldn't hide it entirely. She tried to make herself believe it was fine, that it wasn't a big deal, but something about it made her feel like she was losing control.
By the time she was dressed, she'd managed to make the bruise look more like a faint shadow, but it was still there. She grabbed her backpack and headed downstairs, her head spinning with the weight of the night before. It felt like her world was spiralling, and she couldn't find solid ground.
When she entered the kitchen, Scott was already halfway out the house, fiddling with his phone. He barely looked up at her, too busy with whatever message he was reading. Her own phone buzzed in her pocket.
"Hey, Jackson," she greeted. "You ready to go?"
"Yeah, well, I'm gonna have to bail on the ride today," he muttered, clearly distracted. "Something came up."
Jamie blinked, a little thrown off. "What do you mean? You're supposed to give me a ride."
"I—uh—just can't today, okay?" Jackson said, his tone sharp. "You'll have to figure it out."
Before she could protest, Jackson had hung up, leaving her standing there with no ride. She exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up inside of her. She couldn't believe this. Not today, of all days.
Maybe he was still pissed about her missing the double date. Maybe it was something else.
Just as she was about to grab her keys to walk, the sound of a honking horn outside made her pause. She turned and saw Stiles' jeep parked in the driveway.
"You need a ride?" Scott called out from the passenger seat, his voice carrying from the open window.
"Yeah, thanks," Jamie muttered, grabbing her bag and heading outside, trying not to make a big deal out of her frustration. She climbed into the backseat, and as soon as the door slammed shut, she noticed Stiles' icy demeanour.
He wasn't saying anything, but his posture screamed annoyance. The space between them felt tense, like the air itself was thick with unspoken words. They hadn't spoken much since their confrontation, and every time she tried to make conversation, it fell flat.
"So, what's the deal with you and Jackson?" Scott asked casually, but Jamie didn't respond right away. She didn't want to talk about it.
"Nothing," she said, shrugging. "He's just… being an idiot. I don't care."
"Sure you don't," Stiles muttered under his breath, and Jamie narrowed her eyes at him, but she didn't have the energy to respond.
Scott noticed the bruise on her cheek just as they were pulling up to the school. He raised an eyebrow, concern flashing across his face.
"You should see the other guy," Jamie quipped, trying to brush it off with a joke, but she could see the way Scott's brow furrowed. He wasn't buying it.
The awkward silence in the car was unbearable, and when they finally parked, Jamie quickly grabbed her stuff and pushed open the door, eager to get away from the tension.
As she walked to her first class, she thought about her chemistry paper, the one Stiles was supposed to write for her. It was due today, and she had barely looked at it. She caught up to him in the hallway, and without waiting for him to say anything, she cut to the chase.
"Where's my paper?" she asked, voice a little sharper than she intended.
Stiles didn't even glance at her. "What paper?"
"The chemistry paper? The one you were supposed to write for me?" she snapped, her patience wearing thin. "It's due today."
He looked at her finally, a weird mix of indifference and annoyance on his face. "I didn't do it."
Her stomach dropped. "What the hell, Stiles? We had a deal."
He rolled his eyes. "Maybe you should've spent more time doing homework instead of getting high with your boyfriend." The words were out before he could stop them, and Jamie felt them hit her like a punch in the gut.
"Are you serious right now?" she shot back, her voice trembling. She was furious now. "You promised you'd do it, and now you're just throwing it in my face? God, I can't believe you."
Stiles didn't say anything, and Jamie walked off, shaking with rage. She didn't want to be around him anymore, and she definitely didn't want to talk to him.
She stormed down the hallway, her face flushed with anger and hurt. Stiles' words echoed in her head, each one digging deeper than she wanted to admit. She reached her locker and yanked it open, the metallic clang loud enough to earn a glance from a passing teacher.
Her breathing was uneven as she rifled through her bag, her fingers brushing past textbooks and crumpled notes until they found the slim, inconspicuous bottle tucked in a side pocket. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting up and down the hallway to make sure no one was watching.
Screw it.
Unscrewing the cap, she tilted the bottle to her lips, the burn of the alcohol hitting the back of her throat almost immediately. It wasn't much, just enough to take the edge off, but the familiar warmth that spread through her chest felt like a lifeline. Jamie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the taste lingering as she exhaled shakily.
She rested her forehead against the inside of her locker, staring blankly at the mess of papers and pens scattered on the shelves. Her fingers tightened around the bottle as the weight of everything pressed down on her. It all felt like too much.
A burst of laughter from a group of students down the hall pulled her back to reality. She straightened, shoving the bottle deep into her bag and slamming the locker shut. The sound reverberated through the hallway, but Jamie didn't care.
Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the strap of her bag and forced herself to move. The alcohol dulled the sharp edges of her emotions, but it couldn't erase them. As she made her way to her next class, she braced herself for the rest of the day, wishing for the hundredth time that things could just stop spinning out of control.
In chemistry class, Mr. Harris immediately called her out for not having the assignment. She tried to apologize, but it was no use. He gave her detention, and she walked away, seething.
By the time the bell rang, her mind was still racing, trying to figure out how things had gotten so messed up.
Jamie shuffled into the detention room, feeling the weight of the bruise on her cheek with every step. It wasn't just the physical pain—it was the emotional sting of the night before, the hollow feeling that came from being alone after Tucker left, and the messy aftermath of everything that had happened. She glanced around at the small, dim room, already regretting every second of this detention.
Another student was already sitting at one of the desks, and for a moment, Jamie paused in the doorway, trying to place him. She didn't recognize him immediately, but there was something about the way he carried himself—brooding, a little distant—that seemed vaguely familiar. He had dark blonde hair, sharp features, and a quiet intensity that didn't go unnoticed. His face, too, seemed to carry the marks of something recent—a bruise on his cheek that was just as noticeable as her own.
She sighed, dropping her bag onto the chair next to his and sitting down, pretending to be absorbed in the papers in front of her. Her detention mate didn't even glance her way, though he was aware of her presence—she could feel the tension in the air, thick between them.
After a few moments of silence, he finally spoke, breaking the stillness with his low voice.
"You're here too, huh?" His words were casual, but there was an underlying hint of curiosity in his tone.
Jamie didn't even look up, playing it cool, though her heart rate quickened slightly. "Yeah," she muttered. "Just a little... screw-up."
His gaze lingered on her for a second before he turned his attention to the papers in front of him, not pressing further. But the silence didn't last long.
"How'd you get that?" Isaac finally said, his voice laced with a strange mixture of intrigue and something else—maybe concern, maybe just genuine curiosity. She raised a brow at him, and he nodded towards her face.
Jamie felt her stomach flip. Of course he'd notice. Of course he'd say something. She couldn't escape it. She forced herself to keep her cool, to brush it off.
"It's nothing," she said, shrugging it off. "Just clumsy."
He didn't seem convinced. His eyes flicked to her bruise, studying it for a long beat. "Uh-huh," he muttered, almost to himself. Then, his eyes flickered back to hers, and he leaned back slightly in his chair. "What happened?"
Jamie glanced at him, her gaze cold. She wasn't about to share the details, not with him—especially not with someone she barely knew. She stiffened, crossing her arms. "What happened to you?" she countered, pointing at the bruise on his cheek.
His lips twisted into a faint, humourless smile, and he shrugged. "Same. Got into it with a friend."
Jamie narrowed her eyes. "A friend?" she repeated, sceptical.
He met her gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment. "Yeah, a friend. You know how it is."
She wasn't sure if he was trying to make a joke, but she wasn't in the mood for humour. She wanted to get through this, to get out of detention, and to forget about the mess she'd made of everything. But as she looked at him, who was still eyeing her bruises like he wanted to ask more, something about him rubbed her the wrong way.
"Look," she said, her tone short. "I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's just get through this."
He raised an eyebrow at her words, but he didn't argue. Instead, he sighed and started organising the stack of papers on the desk. There was a brief, awkward silence before he spoke again, his tone laced with amusement.
"I know who you are," he said casually, his eyes flicking to hers. "You're Jamie McCall."
Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of her name. "What?"
He looked unfazed, almost smug. "I remember you from Lydia's party." There was a beat. "You kissed me."
Jamie froze. Her stomach turned with embarrassment and irritation. She had kissed him? When had she kissed him?
The it all came flooding back.
"Oh yeah?" Stiles had said. "Prove it." She remembered approaching a guy she vaguely knew, inhibitions low due to the alcohol
"You wanna make out?" she'd asked.
"Uh, sure," he replied.
She bit her lip. She didn't remember his name. She barely remembered the kiss itself.
"Oh," she said, trying to mask the discomfort. "Yeah, right. I... uh... kissed a lot of people that night."
"Uh huh," he replied, nodding. His smirk didn't waver. "Want me to put you out of your misery?" She let out a breath, smiling a little.
"Please," she replied. He held out his hand.
"Isaac Lahey." She took his hand, and he shook it once before releasing it.
Jamie's mind was racing, all sorts of conflicting emotions rushing to the surface. She didn't really want to be here, didn't want to deal with Isaac or think about that stupid night, but now there he was, reminding her of everything. Isaac Lahey. The name stuck in her mind, though she hadn't even remembered it in the moment. All she could think about back then was Stiles, the anger she felt at him for suggesting she was jealous of Lydia..
She managed to mask the discomfort with a casual shrug, leaning back in her chair as if she were still in control of the situation.
"Isaac, huh?" she said, her voice dismissive, trying to keep him from reading too much into her reaction. "Great. You're famous now."
He chuckled, though it wasn't the kind of laugh that made her feel like he was enjoying her discomfort. No, it was more of a quiet, resigned laugh. "Famous, huh? I wouldn't say that." His eyes flicked to her again, that same unsettling intensity present. "But I'll take what I can get."
Jamie rolled her eyes, not wanting to indulge him. She was already starting to feel the headache creeping in again, the lingering fuzziness in her brain from last night, and it wasn't just from the alcohol. She wanted to get this over with. Detention. Stupid chemistry papers. The stupid bruise. She felt trapped in a cycle that wasn't going to stop anytime soon.
Eventually, they were asked to restock the chemistry closet, and Jamie stood up, already feeling the weight of her exhaustion settle in her bones. She grabbed a few beakers and placed them on the shelf, trying not to think about Isaac or the fact that he was still looking at her with that knowing expression on his face.
When she got to the back of the closet to grab more supplies, she noticed Isaac hesitating by the door. He seemed almost uncomfortable.
"What's wrong?" she asked, glancing back at him, the annoyance in her voice betraying her curiosity.
Isaac didn't look at her right away, but after a moment, he let out a sigh and reluctantly spoke. "I don't like being in small spaces."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "What? Are you... claustrophobic?"
Isaac didn't meet her gaze, instead just nodding once. "Something like that."
She was surprised. Isaac didn't strike her as someone who'd be claustrophobic, but there was something vulnerable in his tone, something he wasn't willing to show anyone else.
"Guess we're both a mess, huh?" Jamie muttered, more to herself than to him.
Isaac didn't respond right away, and when he did, his voice was softer. "Everyone's got their crap." He shot her a knowing look.
She didn't know what to say to that. Her first instinct was to shoot him down, to remind him that she didn't care about anyone else's crap. She was trying to survive hers. But there was something about his calm, collected demeanour that made her pause. Isaac Lahey wasn't asking for her pity. He wasn't trying to make her feel bad. It almost made her hate the fact that he might actually be the one person in the world who didn't pity her.
Jamie walked slowly down the street, the weight of her bruised cheek still a constant reminder of the mess that was yesterday. She barely registered the world around her—too tired, too drained to focus on anything but the constant hum of thoughts in her head. The frustration, the pain, everything. She needed a distraction.
She spotted the gas station up ahead, its flickering neon sign promising a brief escape. Cigarettes. That would do. She didn't have much money, but it was enough for a pack, and that would at least take the edge off.
As she neared the entrance, she saw a man standing outside by his car, leaning against it. He looked like the type who could help her out—someone who wouldn't ask too many questions.
Jamie hesitated for a moment, the familiar anxiety creeping up her spine, but she forced herself to approach him. She had nothing to lose.
"Hey," she said, voice a little rough, but she pushed through. "Could you get me a pack of cigarettes? I don't have ID."
The man turned slowly, his gaze locking with hers for a moment before he looked her over. Her stomach dropped, something about him felt off. He had sharp features, dark eyes, and an air of something intimidating, though she couldn't put her finger on it. And then it hit her—she recognized him.
The man she had seen at the Hale house a few nights ago, standing in the shadows. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a knot in her stomach tighten.
She couldn't believe it.
He wasn't smiling, wasn't giving any sign of warmth. Just standing there, expression unreadable.
Jamie swallowed, trying to steady herself. She held out a few crumpled bills, her hand trembling slightly.
"Please?" she added, though it didn't sound very convincing.
He didn't take the money, didn't even glance at it. Instead, he just turned his back on her without saying a word and walked into the gas station.
Jamie stood frozen, staring at the door he had just disappeared through.
What the hell?
She felt a surge of anger and embarrassment wash over her, a pit growing in her stomach. She hadn't expected him to just ignore her like that. Maybe she shouldn't have asked him. Maybe she should have known better.
She felt the sting of it, and though she was tempted to confront him and ask what his problem was, she didn't. Instead, she took a deep breath, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket and turning on her heel.
She'd just go home. It wasn't worth it.
As she walked, the night seemed colder, emptier. The city noises felt distant, like they were happening in another world. But just as she neared the corner, she heard a voice behind her.
"Hey."
Jamie froze mid-step, her heart leaping in her chest. She spun around, her breath catching when she saw him. The man was standing a few feet behind her now, leaning against the streetlight like it was nothing.
Without a word, he tossed something at her. She caught it by reflex—just a small box of cigarettes.
She stared at it in her hand, confused, still processing the strange encounter.
"Why...?" she started, but the words trailed off as she looked at him again. He wasn't waiting for a response, wasn't even looking at her anymore. He just turned, walking away without a second glance.
Jamie stood there, the pack of cigarettes cold and heavy in her hand, her mind racing. Something about the whole situation felt wrong. The man, the way he'd acted, his indifference—it left her with a strange, unsettled feeling. She had no idea who he was, but she was pretty sure she didn't want to.
Her grip on the pack tightened as she turned to head home, the night air biting at her skin. She didn't know what was worse—the feeling that something was off, or the fact that, for some reason, she felt even more confused than before.
AN: Hope you are enjoying the story so far. Please leave a review to let me know what you thought. Much love x