bruised//«stiles stilinski»

Part 10

"Stiles, seriously, come back to mine." Pleads Scott as we walk toward the lot. We bump into Malia again, waiting for a lift from her dad.

"Scott, I can't," I continue, even though Malia doesn't know what we're on about. "You should've seen him the night after I stayed at yours the other day. Malia'll tell you." I say, pointing to her.

"I'm kinda with Stiles on this one. Sorry, Scott, but if you saw what I saw you wouldn't have even offered." She says, a frown regarding that nights events on her face. "Scott, maybe you could stay at Stiles' instead? You know, just in case something does happen." Suggests Malia, raising her eyebrows at Scott, who nods along.

"I don't know..." I sigh.

"Stiles, I'm coming. Okay? No buts." Demands Scott. I roll my eyes but shrug in agreement.

***

"Scott, I'm telling you, what you're about to see won't be nice." I say as we walk up to my front door. I try to act brave and casual through my shaking body and fast beating heart. Scott senses my anxieties and places a hand on my arm, which subconsciously picks up on pain from a previous beating, turning the veins in Scott's arm black.

He hisses in pain.

"Crap, sorry." I mutter, pulling my arm away.

"Stiles." Scott says, slightly annoyed and in a tone that implies I should already know what he's gonna say.

"What?" I ask, my voice hinting irritation.

"You're in so much pain..." Scott states, looking at my arm again.

"Thank you. I am aware of that." I say through gritted teeth. Scott doesn't move from the door step even after I've walked into the house.

"You wanna wait out here or...?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you sure you want to, you know...?" Doubts Scott, giving an uneasy glance into the house- which, by the way, already reeks of alcohol.

"Scott, I can't hide from my dad. Anyway, cut him some slack for today- it is her birthday, after all." I say, though even my voice doesn't sound convinced.

"Cut him some slack for her birthday? Right, okay. And what about all these other days he beats the shit out of you?" Asks Scott, annoyed. I sigh and roll my eyes- I really don't have the patience for this.

"Scott, just come on or go home. I don't care if I get hurt." I state, my voice slightly raised but wobbling, and I storm into the house, Scott now following like a little puppy behind me.

"Hi, Dad." I whisper, and see my father sat at the kitchen table with a photograph in his hand. I already know what it is. Their wedding photo.

My dad looks up, an ugly snarl glued to his face.

"You know, I was actually feeling quite sentimental." Says my dad, glancing at the photograph, turning the frame in his hands. "Until I saw you." He adds, his eyes narrowed at me.

I don't say anything and just stare at the photograph. My mother looks stunning- her white veil hangs loosely over her brown hair which cascades in heavy curls past her shoulders. She's smiling- so is my dad- and looks so happy, hugging my father like its the last time she'll ever see him. They look happy. My mother's slight pregnant bump indicates my presence in the photo, and my dad has a protective hand across her stomach- across me.

"What? Not gonna even answer me?" Challenges my dad, a smirk growing on his face. I can tell he's been crying today.

"S-sorry." I whisper, attempting to gulp down the lump in my throat. Scott stands closely behind me; I can hear his shaky breaths.

"Believe me, you should be sorry for much more than that." Snaps my dad, suddenly standing up and throwing the photo frame at me. I try and cover my face, but large pieces of glass manage to penetrate my skin, causing blood to drip down my cheeks.

"You fucking killed your mother!" Roars my dad, pointing a finger at me. I shake my head, tears filling my eyes.

"No, no I didn't." I croak, "Minnie's death killed her- not me. All these months, you blame me, Dad. Me. But it wasn't me." I say, my voice near to just a whisper.

My dad stops for a moment, then ignores me, giving off a slightly chuckle before venturing into the cupboard for more drink.

Scott and I retreat from the kitchen and quickly pace upstairs until we're in my bedroom, Scott helping me clean the glass and wounds from my face.

"That went well." I say. Scott glares at me and I lift my arms up defensively.

"What? It did. Trust me, I got off lightly tonight." I say, pointing towards a small cut on my cheek. Scott sighs.

"Stiles, it's not funny." Says Scott.

"I am quite aware of that, thank you." I say sarcastically. Scott groans.

"Do you really have to be sarcastic all the time?" Complains Scott as he wipes at the bead of blood dripping down my face.

"If I'm not sarcastic I'm serious, Scott, okay? And with a shitty life like mine, being serious leads to emotions, which I would rather have buried beneath layers of annoying sarcastic comments than be out in the open!" I say, raising my voice. Scott's face crumples slightly in sadness.

"Stiles," he speaks softer than I imagined he would, "you don't have to hide your emotions." He tells me, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on my shoulder- which, if I remember correctly, has a massive purple bruise visibly consuming it, thus making me slightly flinch at his touch.

"Sorry." He mumbles quickly, taking his hand away.

"Scott, if I don't hide my emotions, I'm pretty sure I'll cry." I say, shrugging.

"So?! We all cry, Stiles." Scott says, as if it's that simple.

"If I start crying, I'm... I'm kinda scared I'll never stop." I whisper, my voice croaky, a lump growing in my throat.

A/N sorry kinda boring filler chapter:/ oh well please keep voting and comment!!!