Lunatics ➳ Derek Hale/Teen Wolf [1]

28. aftermath

Disclaimer: I do NOT own any parts of Teen Wolf or its plot or characters. I do not own Derek Hale. However I do own Skylar McCall and some of the things that come along with her plot (Like Harv & Kelly's, etc.).

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The doctor finishes up the stitches on my thigh, cleaning up the excess blood. He grabs a bandage and starts wrapping up the wound. My arm's already been bandaged. Mom watches intently from the corner, visibly shaking. Scott and I have put her through so much in the past few months.

I'm just glad it's over.

Or at least, the Peter part is. We're nowhere near past our crazy, supernatural lives. Scott and I are stuck like this forever. The one who bit us is dead.

The doctor says I can sit up, but that I need to stay off of my feet for now. He gives me juice and a few chocolate chip cookies before he leaves the room, asking for a word with my mom. She gives the three of us one last look before following him into the hallway. I ease myself off the hospital bed, earning protest from the two boys at my bedside.

"I know you're not all here right now, but the doctor literally just said to stay off your feet," Stiles says, both of them coming after me. I use my new crutches I'll have for the next few days—or however long it takes me to heal—to get to the bathroom.

They pause outside of the door as I study myself in the mirror. I don't even look like me. My hair is dirty, caked with dry flakes of blood and sticking up at odd angles. Any evidence of the loose, bouncy curls I put in for the formal last night are gone. There's a few good-sized bumps on my head from hitting it so much. The beating Kate gave me has left me with a blue and purple eye, as well as a crusted split lip and a swollen bruised cheek.

My dress is ruined. I'm slightly disappointed—this is probably the most expensive article of clothing I have. Then again, I can't see myself ever putting this dress on again. The last twelve hours I've been wearing it have by far been the worst of my life.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks, shifting his weight. I lick my chapped lips, my tongue dry despite the juice I drank. I graze my black eye lightly with my fingertips, shutting the door without answering him.

Am I okay? How am I feeling about this? I honestly have no clue.

I wipe the blood off of my hands and face with a washcloth I find under the sink. Then I sit on the toilet with the lid down, enjoying the few minutes I have away from everyone. They've been smothering me all night.

Half of me wishes Derek was here. The other half wishes to never see him again. I'm not really sure how I should feel about him right now. I want to be mad at him for killing Peter, but at the same time, I'm grateful. If he wouldn't have killed him, I don't know who would've. If Scott killed him, it would have damned me to a life as a werewolf. And if I did, it would've damned him. I'm glad Derek took that decision away from us. One of us would have felt guilty for the rest of our lives, and the other one would be filled with resentment.