Honestly, she should've just stayed home. If she had, maybe she wouldn't have gotten chased through the woods by a monster. Or stumbled into a world not her own. Or turned into someone other than herself with a familiar bite on her hip.
No, really...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
Let me take your handAnd as we walk in the dimming lightOh, darling understandThat everything, everything endsThat everything, everything endsMeet me on your best behaviorMeet me at your worstFor there will be no stone unturnedOr bubble left to burst
☽◯☾
God, what a nightmare.
Her friends would find it hilarious, but what a scary dream.
She had always hated dreams where she's getting chased, even more so the ones where she's put in a position that she has to play a part. When she was younger, she used to dream that her parents put her on the stage in a circus, and everyone was watching and waiting for her to do something.
Like she was supposed to know how to ride the goddamned unicycle on the tightrope.
Then everyone booed her and she'd wake up crying in embarrassment and anxiety.
It wasn't just the circus. Sometimes she'd have to sing in a fancy opera house, or be in a dance competition, sometimes even give a presentation or take an exam of some obscure thing she never heard of, all the while knowing the high stakes. Either way, it was always nerve-wrecking having a part to play that she just didn't know how to.
The fear of failing, of having to be someone other than herself.
She woke up slowly, breathing in sharply and tightening her hold on the pillow, pushing her face into it and trying to prolong her sleep.
That was, until something shifted by her side.
The girl tensed, eyes opening slowly and taking in the back from the person facing away from her, messy and floppy brown hair on their head. She looked down at the pillow she was holding, heart hammering violently as she recognized it as the one Scott had shoved between them so she wouldn't cuddle him to death; her eyes roved to the pale and thin arm, feeling the tears spring from her eyes again.
Why wasn't she home?
Rubbing her face on the pillow, Stiles forced herself to dry her tears, muffling her sniffles and trying to calm down before she woke Scott up.
She looked around, searching for his clock and making a face at the time.
It was still six something, but perhaps it was a good idea to already be awake. It'd give her time to... Shit, get ready? Come to terms that she wasn't yet returning home?
Either way, Stiles was careful rolling out of his bed, making a face when it pulled on the scratches on her back and made the bite itch, eyeing Scott turn on his back and snore softly, almost making her snort at his face.
