lost soul [teen wolf]

[chapter seventeen] after death

'✧∘* ೃ ⋆｡˚.

Aires pov...

Death. It's not something most people daydream about, then again I'm not most people. My headphones were blasting Mitski as I tried to drown out the screaming inside my head. Keep distracted, that's what my therapist said. I guess it was a good method, but it didn't always work. So what does work? What is the answer? I guess that will forever remain a great mystery.

Two weeks have passed, it has been fourteen days since my death, since I was forced to give up my 'normal life'.

Lydia was in the hospital. I had visited her most days and brought her endless supplies of coffee and clothes. She was healing pretty good. Allison and Scott were being forced to stay apart, though it wasn't like last time, Scott would now be killed if he was caught with her. Stiles was doing as well as Stiles usually does. Nobody had really heard from Jackson, he hadn't shown up once to visit Lydia, further proving what an idiot he was. And then there was me.

After I ran out of the hospital I got into a shit tone of trouble, as expected. Melissa kept me back in there for two days so she could 'monitor me', really though it was just a punishment. After I tried to escape for the second time,  she finally  got the message. So instead of keeping me locked in the worst place possible, she discharged me on certain conditions. One, I would have to come in for check ups, according to the doctors I had a severe concussion, a bruised spine and two cracked ribs. Two, I was not allowed to do any physical activity and have to remain home from school. Three, I would have to see a therapist, which arguably was the worst of the three.

Opening up, speaking about feelings was something I had never been subjected to. For my whole life, I had contained my every thought, trained myself to push away everything and bury my pain in sassiness and snarkiness. So seeing a therapist was another form of personal hell for me.

I still don't understand anything, being a heretic was a hell of a lot more confusing than I ever knew. My mom did very little research on it but it had proven to be useful so far. I had a daylight ring, I knew about the blood stuff and I had super heightened senses, and emotions so that sucked. I was already fucked up in the head before all of it so it was only worse. 

My medication wasn't working so I was a walking heretic with unmedicated bipolar. Melissa was also forcing me to see a psychiatrist, they said they wanted to do an assessment for possible schizophrenia and dissociative disorder. However they did officially diagnose me with DID. Apart from all that my life was great, being locked in my room and ignoring the world was awesome. 

Being a heretic sucked, I had nobody to help me deal with it, and on top of that I was falling into another really bad depression episode. It had been days since I had spoken to anyone. I lost my phone at the dance and never cared enough to get another one. 

Every time Stiles, Allison or Scott tried to see me I would start freaking out. I would slam the door and start smashing around objects in my room, pleading for them to leave. Even Derek stopped trying to see me after I yelled a string of profanities at him.

I was a mess.

It was Sunday night, the temperature outside was minus degrees, and even as a vampire I still felt the need to wrap up warm. Slowly, I pushed myself off my bed and waked to my closet. Quickly, I swung the door open and pulled a few warm jumpers off the hangers. Despite wanting to be alone, I thought it would be best to go visit Lydia. 

Normally I would go when she was asleep or just drop whatever off at the front desk. In my eyes I was just as bad as Jackson for not speaking to the poor girl. Pushing the protesting thoughts aside, I swung the bag over my shoulder and  started mentally preparing myself to finally try and speak for the first time in weeks.