bruised//«stiles stilinski»

Part 5

I leave Eichen with the rest of the group, and everyone gets into their cars, which are all parked on the sidewalk. Except Malia.

"Hey, are you walking? Like, it's pretty dark, you know." I say, tapping her shoulder as she pulls up her hood to turn and walk away. She turns back around and looks at me.

"Uh, I don't have a car. Or a license." She says, flinching at the idea of it.

"Oh. You wanna lift?" I ask, glancing to the jeep, which she looks repulsed at but smirks.

"Sure... Thanks." She smiles, letting me open the passenger door for her before climbing in. I walk round to the other side and get in too.

We drive in silence until she perks up.

"Hey, so... Why are you? You know, uh..."she trails off.

"Depressed?"I ask.

"Yeah. Why are you depressed?" She asks back.

"Well, my dads a drunk. That's not too great. I have ADHD- kinda a downer too, and uh..." I pause, deciding on weather to tell her or not.

"What is it?" She asks, resting a hand on my arm, which makes me jump. "Sorry."

"Uh, it's cool, and... My mom, she had depression. Last year...killed herself. I, uh, I found her..." I say, clearing my throat and keeping my eyes on the road. I feel Malia's horrified expression burning into the side of my head.

"I'm so sorry..." She whispers.

"Don't be. It's not exactly your fault." I say, chuckling dryly. "Anyway, why are you depressed?" I ask, somewhat cheerfully.

"I-uh. I don't know, really. I mean, my mom and my sister died when I was seven, so I guess it was hard growing up without a mom..." She says. I nod in agreement, though I don't know if she saw or not.

"But I guess this- this weight-" she references my earlier statement, and I smile slightly, "this weight kinda got heavy, you know? I mean, I found out I'm adopted recently, that sorta sucks. You think someone's your dad, and then they're not, really." She says, and her sadness consumes the car. "I'm also lonely. I don't have many friends. Well, any, for that matter. I isolate myself from everyone, I suppose that made me sad." She says.

"I'm sorry. About your mom and sister." I say, gulping.

"It's okay." She says softly. We arrive at the address she gave me and Malia begins to rummage through her purse.

"Shit." She says in a whisper yell.

"Everything okay?" I ask, looking at her bag.

"I forgot my keys." She says.

"Oh... Can't your dad let you in?" I ask.

"He's at work and won't be back for another..." She checks the time on her phone, "two hours." She groans. She opens the car door.

"W-w-w-wait!" I say, smiling. "Where're you going?" I ask.

"Home. Where else? I'll just sit inthe porch, it's cool." She chuckles. "Thanks for the lift, by the way." She says.

As she shuts the door, I lean forwards.

"Malia." I call, and she pops her head back in the car. "You wanna stay at mine, watch a movie? Just until your dad can pick you up." I offer, patting the seat of the car she was just sat on. She smirks.

"Uh, sure. Yeah, okay. Thanks..." She smiles, climbing back in the car.

***
We arrive at my house and I lead Malia up to the front door as I get my keys out. Stepping inside, the first thing that's hits me is the strong stinge of alcohol burning my nose. Malia looks at me with doubt, but I rest a hand on her forearm and hold a finger to my lips as I leave her in the hall and enter the kitchen.

My dads there, again, drinking- again.

"Where the hell have you been?!" He yells, and I hear Malia gasp from the hall. I don't have an answer.

"Where the hell have you been?!" He repeats, his face going red with anger.

"Midnight last night I walk past your room to get some water and you're not there! Then you don't come straight home from school! What the hell is wrong with you?" He roars, pointing his whiskey bottle at me. I take a step back, and see Malia stood in the hall to my left.

"I was at Scott's." I say, looking in my dad's eyes.

"What the fuck were you doing at Scott's?!" Yells my dad.

"He came round whilst I was passed out on the floor after you freaking beat me and fell asleep! He made me come back home with him and promised not to tell anyone what happened. Wander what people'd think if they found out the Sherrif abuses his own son?" I shout back, with more power than I anticipated. I hear Malia breathing shakily. My dad looks taken aback for just a moment, but the frown on his face reappears again soon.

"You will not see him again." Says my sternly, his voice a low growl. I chuckle.

"I'll see whoever the hell I want to see. If you're not gonna act like a proper dad, then why the hell should I act like a proper son and do what you say?" I ask. Bad move. My dad hurls the empty bottle in his hand straight at my head, and this time doesn't miss.

"Get to your room!" He roars, though all I can see is black spots. "Now!"

I stagger out of the room and feel Malia's hands on my arms as she guides me up the stairs. I can't see. Blood is streaming down my face, in my eyes and some in my mouth. I can feel glass wedged under my skin on my face. Malia's panicking.

"Oh my God; here, sit down..." She rushes, sitting me onto my bed.

I point to a first aid box on a shelf in my room. If it isn't already obvious, I've been in similar situations before. She wipes my wounds with the aeseptic wipe from the box as I flinch and hiss at the stinging pain.

"Hey, come on, you're okay. Breath, Stiles. Come on, stay awake." Malia's stern voice is loud in my ears but after the velocity of the throw I don't know if I will stay awake much longer.
***