Something that no one tells you about death is that it lingers, leaving behind a vast cavern filled with unidentifiable emotion. It strikes each individual in a different way and at a different time - but it strikes hard and it causes more of an internal chaos than is ever imaginable.
A little over a week has passed since that night. The night we lost them. The night i was unable to save her. Scott was able to manage only a strained smile in the hallway, barely. The once beaming face of a leader now shadowed and full of absolute sorrow. Kira, i think, felt more withdrawn from her mother than ever, bags visible under her eyes. Lydia experienced moments of ill failed attempts at normal behaviour before tears clouded her vision again; the strong beauty queen finally broken, seemingly beyond repair. Isaac was the equivalent to an egg shell, with cracks threatening to gape at any moment. Stiles was avoiding everyone, guilt clearly poisoning his mind, and i knew that was how he felt. I knew exactly how all of them felt, because if they felt it, i felt it too. That's how Deaton said all of this would work now. If i didn't have control over my emotions i would feel that of others, particularly those i care about - and i had come to care a great deal about this group of troubled teens.
Personally, as well as feeling everything that my friends did, i felt utterly crushed. Sleep avoided me like i was the bubonic plague as every time my eyes closed i saw her. The girl i couldn't save. I saw myself rushing towards her, placing my hands on her wound and willing it to close. Willing her eyes to open, her lips to gulp at the cool air around us, and every time i saw myself fail. So far, in 8 days there had been 4 panic attacks, progressively worsening. If Deaton was right about the emotion thing then i am 120% screwed. Nothing could calm the tidal wave inside me. Not painting, not my brother's attempts to help and not Ms Morrell, who wouldn't stop pestering me about getting help. I felt empty, and maybe that was Stiles, or maybe it was me, but i felt it. I felt guilt because i couldn't save her and i felt it because i felt as though i didn't have a right to mourn. It wasn't as though i even knew her that long, i didn't, but i couldn't deny the monstrous ache gnawing at my insides.
"Freya?" Someone asked, breaking my thought process. I shook my head slightly to rearrange myself and answered with a sigh
"Sorry, uh what was the question?" I blinked, looking around properly for the first time. The classroom was not empty of students. In front of me, Scott leaned on the desk with a shadowy expression.
"I know the answer but still... are you okay?" I nodded with a forced, tight smile, he seemed nervous, worry radiating from him. "Have... Have you spoken to Stiles?" He finally asked after a moments silence. I frowned
"A little, he keeps saying he wants some time," I said sadly, "i tried again yesterday but ... he just walked off" He nodded stiffly and i could feel the disappointment ooze from him.
"Right, yeah... uh i just though you... i thought he might have said something to you after..." I shook my head again, trying to hide the fact that, i too had hoped he may have spoken to me. Finally, i rose from my seat and gathered my books
"I was thinking of going to his house after school," I said quietly, not meeting his eyes. Then, deciding, i looked up. "Yeah, i'm going after school." I said with more confidence
"Text me?" He said hopefully, standing straighter and leading the way out of the classroom
"Yeah, of course," I replied, earning a small smile and the comforting feeling of gratitude wash over him and, in turn, me. With another tight smile shared we parted ways to head to our next classes.
---------
I walked slowly from the Sheriff's station to his house. Let me explain, my protective brother, some would say overly, decided that with my track record and reaction to our parents deaths, i would be picked up from school every day and stay at the Sheriff's station until his shift finished or he got sick of my complaining. It was a flawed plan really, given that i couldn't sleep there when he had night shifts, not that i could sleep anywhere.
I walked up the steps to the front door and paused when my fist rested on the smooth wood. I closed my eyes, took a huge breath, which still seemed inadequate, and rapped my knuckles three times on the paneling.
After a few long minutes, the door opened. Behind the door was a very tired, gaunt looking boy and, upon seeing him, I immediately felt more guilt, sadness, a little confusion and utter helplessness.
"Hey," I tried, but it came out more like a strangled sob. I couldn't help it as pathetic as it was. With everything he was feeling, and everything i already felt, my brain was no longer in control over my body.
"Hey." He replied, a new feeling of worry slipping into my brain as he took in my appearance. I mean, i was aware i looked like utter crap due to lack of sleep. I gave him a tight smile, at least he was talking. "You want to come in? or..." I nodded my head quickly and stepped over the doorway when he moved back a little. Slowly, i followed Stiles slowly up the stairs after shutting the door with a loud click that seemed out of place in the sombre mood that had taken the house hostage.
Upon reaching his bedroom i sat gingerly on the edge of his mattress, staying silent as he sat next to me, our thighs brushing. For a few minutes, neither of us said a thing. His eyes were trained to his fiddling hands, occasionally glancing up at me and returning his gaze when he found me staring at his sad, tired features. He looked awful. I mean, no, he didn't, he looked gorgeous in some awful part of my brain that was now very aware of how i felt about him. He looked utterly defeated.
"Stiles," I began, pausing to think of what i actually came to say. "Have you been sleeping? You didn't because of...him... and now you look like you haven't at all and i'm worried." I seemed to spurt out in one breath. I gulped in air. "I just... I can't watch you like this, i know what you're feeling right now and i guess i just want to say that it's not your fault." His disbelief clouded eyes found mine. "It's not!"
"Freya..." He said in a sad voice, "It is, i'm the reason she's dead."
"No. The only person who can be blamed is an evil spirit and that sounds absolutely ridiculous but it's true! I don't care who's body he possessed but it's his fault, not yours." I reasoned, surprising myself with my confidence when i slipped my fingers through his and squeezed his hand. As i did this, our eyes once again locked. "Stiles, you are the sweetest, most wonderful person, and it is not your fault."
"Thanks," He whispered, placing his other hand over our intertwined ones. I couldn't help the small smile that rose to my face, if only because i could feel his body relax a little, but he still looked exhausted. "And no," He said, answering my thoughts, "I haven't really been able to sleep."
"Okay," I sighed, knowing he probably wouldn't go to sleep now if i suggested it. "How about a cup of tea?" I jumped to my feet and, as our hands were still laced together, pulled him up with me. A sad chuckle escaped his lips so i knew i had received an 'okay'. I shot the brown-eyed boy a small smile before tugging him out of the room and down the carpeted stairs to the kitchen.
I turned the kettle on and leaned against the bench as Stiles brought two mugs down from a cupboard and placed a tea bag in each. As if we had done it a thousand times, we seemed to move around the small kitchen, never getting in each others way, like a dance as i spun to fill the cups with hot water.
As we settled onto the couch i sipped the hot liquid. Stiles did the same before setting his cup on the table in front of us.
"Do you want to watch something?" Stiles suggested, clearly trying to seem slightly normal even though i could still feel the sadness in him. I nodded and took another sip of tea before also placing mine on the table. A few minutes later old Simpsons reruns were playing on the TV. Minutes after that Stiles's head rested on my shoulder and he was fast asleep. After half an hour of watching Homer do stupid things and Bart laugh manically, i was too.
A/N
A bit of a shorter one mainly because i really needed to get one out. Will try to post soonish but i really can't promise much as i'm in my senior year and have 3 papers due!
xx
YOU ARE READING
Canvas (Stilinski - 1)
Fanfiction"Stop moving you idiot" I exclaimed loudly "i'm trying to get the tone right and you're screwing up the shadows!" ----- Freya didn't care about boys. She didn't care about her hair or her clothes. She cared about art; the way that a brush layere...
