bruised//«stiles stilinski»

Part 2

Carefully, he removed the piece of whiskey bottle from his cheek, and attempted to stand up.

He hissed in agony, and realised he was too sore to move, and crashed back down to the tiles. Eventually, he managed to get himself up and sat against the wall, gasping for breath.

I gotta clean all this up. He thought to himself, looking at the state of the kitchen. Slowly he stood up, before doubling over in pain. The after effect of the excruciating kicks to his body was not good, at all. Coughing, blood splattered out of Stiles' mouth and all over his chin, shirt and hands. He paused to catch his breath before beginning to tidy up the mess.

He grabbed a broom and sweeped up the blanket of glass from the floor, then put it all in the bin. One by one, he collected up the empty bottles and threw them into a garbage bag. He shut the cupboards and made sure any spilled liquids- including his own blood- were wiped away. No evidence of the nights previous incident remained, and he sighed in satisfaction. He wandered into the front room and saw his dad's body sprawled across the couch. Grabbing a blanket, he threw it over his dad. Just because his dad didn't really care for him didn't mean he didn't care about his dad.

"Night, dad." He whispered sadly as he left his snoring father in the room.

Wincing in pain as he slowly went upstairs, he collapsed onto his bed the second he entered his room, moaning in pain. Clutching his stomach, Stiles eventually fell asleep, tears wetting his pillow.

***
Stiles' eyes fluttered open at the bright light pouring through his open curtains. He peered down at himself and remembered he never put his pyjamas on. In his head, he mentally replayed the events of last night, from the brutal kicking to the way he cried himself to sleep. He shivered at the thought. After getting up, Stiles went downstairs to see his dad had already left for work, which made him sigh in relief.

He examined himself in the long mirror. Cuts and bruises covered his face, as pain engulfed his body. Pulling up his shirt, he gasped at the horrific damage. Literal boot shape bruises were printed across his ribs, and a few bloody scabs scattered around his torso. The bruises were spotted with blood under his pale skin and were deadly dark purple and blacks. He sighed. I can't go to school looking like this... He thought, looking at the massive red gash on his cheek- which was now dried up- and multiple small cuts from the shards of glass. Not to mention his green/purple bruised jaw and swollen lip. One of his eyes was also kinda blackened, but it only looked like heavy eye bags.

However, he simply got dressed, pulling on black skinny jeans and a white T-shirt, and pulled up the hood of his red jumper, making sure you could barely tell it was him. He left for school in his jeep, though it hurt him pressing his bruised back against the seat.

When arriving at school and stopping his car, Stiles took a deep, uneasy breath in and looked out the window. Everyone looks so happy, he thought to him self, sighing jealously with frustration at the school. Slowly he climbed out of his jeep, wincing and hissing in pain. He carefully limped towards the school, before being approached by a cheerful looking Scott.

*Stiles pov*

"Hey, man." Said Scott, bounding over to me, a smile crawling across his face. I look away at the ground but try to act natural.

"Uh, hey, bro..." I say, coughing slightly, my face still turned away. Scott doesn't suspect anything as we walk into school together, and luckily soon gets distracted by Isaac before actually realising I had even hidden my face. Sighing in relief, I make my way to chemistry, where we (thank God) have a substitute teacher, my hood still up, shielding me from anyone.

Just five minutes in, the teacher- who's name is Miss Dunell- approaches my desk. I look down at my work, where I realise I haven't done anything.

"Hoods down in class. And get a move on!" She snaps. I gulp in fear. Slowly, with a few people watching the affair, I take down my hood, which shocks- no, horrifies - the entire class, who are now gasping at me concerningly, including Scott who looks heartbroken. I feel the air around me get heavy, as if my lungs aren't strong enough to take a breath. Oh God. I realise I'm almost gasping for air and my vision is blurry with both tears and worry.

My friends and the school are the only ones who are aware of my mental illnesses, though I assume this teacher doesn't know.

"Stiles? Stiles?!" Scotts voice echoes worriedly through my head, though I can barely hear him over my vigorous breathing. I'm standing up and staggering towards the door, almost falling over. Scott says something to the teacher then rushes over to me, grabbing me in his arms. I flail around, panting now, and almost slam against a wall out in the hallway.

"Stiles! Stiles, listen to me!" Scott calls loudly into my ear.

"W-what..." I stammer, my breaths shuddering like an earthquake.

"Stiles, it's okay, breathe, Stiles, breath!" Says Scott, his large hands on my shoulders. I'm crying now- sobbing- shaking my head. I find the security of a wall and flop against it, falling to the floor- which hurts my abused frame. I scream in pain through my tears.

"Stiles?! Stiles." Scott says firmly. I look up at him, fear engulfing my eyes.

"Scott... They were all, they were all looking at me. I- I couldn't have them looking at me!" I cry, my voice all over the place, cracking and breaking and being interrupted by sobs.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay." Scott crouches down in front of me, interlocking his eyes with mine. A sense of security is emitted from him. I breathe in. Out. In. Out. Until my breathing is sorted out- still shaking- but calm.

"Th...thank you." I murmer.

"Stiles, what happened to you?" Scott asks.

"It was the anxiety, I swear, it got too-"

"No, not the panic attack, Stiles. This." Scott gestures to the bruises and cuts on my face. I look away, embarrassed.

"It's nothing. I'm fine." I say.

"No, you're not fine." Scott says softly. I roll my eyes, which almost accidentally brings out more tears.

"Scott, it's nothing. Just drop it." I snap angrily, leaving a hint of rejection in his puppy dog eyes.