bruised//«stiles stilinski»

Part 6

Slowly I lift open my eyes. What happened? I glance around the room and see Malia, her back facing me, looking out of the window.

"Malia?" I ask, my voice just a croak.

She spins on her heel and rushes over to me.

"Thank god, you're awake." She says.

"How long was I out?" I ask, slowly sitting up.

"About five minutes, not long." She says, glancing at her phone time.

A moment of silence passes.

"When you said your dad was a drunk... You didn't tell me-"

"Yeah. I know. I don't tell a lot of people." I murmer, interrupting her.

"It's happened before, hasn't it? Him, hurting you." Her voice is soft but careful. I nod slowly.

"Stiles..." She rests a hand on my arm.

"It's not his fault, Malia. I know technically it is but, after people die, anyone, you don't know how to mourn. There's no right way- I mean, yeah, his is probably a wrong way, but..." I trail off and realise I don't even believe my own words.

"How often does he hurt you?" Malia asks, her eyes sad and full of pity.

"Whenever he's drinking, I guess. Which is pretty much everyday." I say, shrugging. "I don't know, I lose track."

"Thats horrible, Stiles... How do you wake up in the mornings? Everyday knowing you're gonna get hurt."

"Sometimes I don't, I suppose. Sometimes I can't move physically in the mornings after, I don't know, being booted in the ribs extra hard or something..." I say, and Malia looks horrified.

"But," I continue, "most the time what hurts me most is what he says. God, he says the most awful things, Malia." I tell her, thinking of some of the worst things he's screamed at me.

"Like what?" She asks, fear in her voice.

"Because of my anxiety: a quivering fuck up or, 'cause of my ADHD: a hyperactive bastard, then there's retard, piece of shit... And, um, he sometimes says that it's my fault my mom killed herself. He said he could understand why someone wouldn't want to live in a world with me." I think back to when those words were being spat in my face and shudder, then look to Malia. She's crying.

"I'm so sorry..." She whispers through light sobs.

I chuckle humorlessly and say, "it's not your fault."

Unexpectedly, she moves over and sits next to me the bed, taking the bloody tissue out of my hand and dabbing at the cut on my head with it. I flinch as she moves the tissue around my wound.

"Sorry." She mumbles, frowning.

"It's okay..." I say, smiling slightly.

"So, tell me about yourself... What school do you go to?" She asks me.

"I'm not very interesting... I go to Beacon Hills high." I say, making her giggle a bit.

"What?" I ask.

"I go there too." She smiles, making her tan face light up. "I'd probably be in your year, but I got kept back after I went 'off the rails' and barely turned up at school for seven straight months." She tells me, shaking her head whilst smiling.

"Off the rails?" I ask, frowning up at her. She bites her lip in thought.

"Yeah. I mean, for a start, I was suicidal. Like, really suicidal. I just didn't care. Like, I never properly attempted but, say I saw a car coming towards me in the road, I wouldn't run out of the way." She repeats. "I drank. Smoked, drugs, I don't know... God, I was a complete mess- I still am, but..." She trails off.

"Hey, it's okay," I soothe, slowly stroking her arm. The corners of her mouth perk up slightly.

"Right after. Right after my moms funeral... I tried it. Just the once." I state, staring at the wall in front of me.

"How?" she asks, like it's normal.

"I took my dad's gun..." I say. Malia's face flinches, and I know I don't need to, but I continue.

"My friend- Scott- found me. He had to wrestle it off me. I remember it so clearly. I was- I was screaming, crying, he had to literally pin me down and then I just cried. And he was crying to. My voice was dry as we were just huddled together in each other's tight embrace, and all I said was "let me die"... I- I just couldn't do it. I couldn't live. Didn't want to." I say, my voice just a croak as I shudder at the memory and feel my eyes prick with tears.

"Stiles... I'm so sorry." Whispers Malia, taking my hand in hers. I chuckle dryly.

"I'm sorry too." I say, my eyes flicking up to meet her brown eyed stare.