▪︎𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦,
𝗜'𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂.
in which an ordinary girl soon finds out that she's not as ordinary as she once thought, all while trying to hide her f...
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♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪♡ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 thirty-nine
awkward confessions
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
THE ROOM WAS DEADLY SILENT. So much so, that one could hear a single pin drop or more accurately, the skin cells tear apart underneath the teenager's nails.
As she stood behind Stiles Stilinski, who had glanced in her direction for a split second - worry and uncertainty caressing his gaze - he noticed how her nails had given her a half-crescent moon stamp into her palms.
He turned back to James who let his hands drop to his sides and a remorseful look coating his face. He was almost expecting Peter Hale to jump out from a dark corner with a half-assed 'April Fools!' coming from his mouth.
However, that was not the case. Marilyn furrowed her eyebrows at Stiles and flickered her eyes between him and Dallas. "I didn't realise you had company." She mumbled, not receiving an answer from either of the Garcias.
Stiles leant forward and grasped her hand. "Uh, Stiles Stilinski." He mumbled awkwardly. He had often described his girlfriend's father as intimidating, but upon meeting her mother, it somehow made James look like a cuddly toy. "I'm Dallie's boyfriend."
"Stilinski, huh?" Marilyn narrowed her eyes, a knowing look on her face as she shook his hand. "Who would've thought."
Dallas took a deep breath and slid past Stiles, rushing upstairs into her room and avoiding the look of her parents.
Stiles barely had time to process it before she had disappeared from sight. Dallas pushed her way through her bedroom door, slamming it behind her back and leaning against the chipped wood as her chest rose and fell with her bitter mood. Everything she originally thought was true.
Her mother wasn't dead. The sight of her lounging in her living room made that clear enough. Running her hands through her hair and feeling the adrenaline course through her veins, the siren felt her world crumble around her.
Her mother abandoned them. Faked her death and spent the last year probably couch surfing around Europe while the family that needed her mourned her.
As she felt the icky feeling of sadness wash over her, the brunette found herself jumping to one of the easiest coping mechanisms she had. Anger.
Truth be told, it was much easier to deal with than sadness. It was easier to break shit and scream at the top of her lungs rather than come to terms with something she had knew all along. Something she'd gotten far too comfortable with knowing.
The worst part about being second choice was that it was so close to being first. So close to being a priority to somebody that you could possibly even taste it. However, at the end of all, there would always be something or someone more important.
