Slightly depressing one whoops
"Stiles? Stiles, let me in!" I hear a gruff voice yell from outside the bathroom. I simply sit and stare at the door, my arms folded, my eyes glazed with tears. I can't let him in. I can't let anyone in anymore.
"Stiles! Stiles, please. Please don't do anything stupid." Derek's desperate voice was quieter now, softer, worried.
Wait. That's ridiculous, he wouldn't be worried. No one would. If I were to die today, yeah, people'd maybe be sad for a little while, but they'd get over it. I'm pretty sure no one would be too bothered.
My mind rambled on with these thoughts throughout Derek's angry knocking on my door. He's literally gonna break down the damn thing in a minute.
"Go away." I call back, my voice hoarse with tears.
My own noise surprises me, I haven't spoken in so long. I don't talk to my dad anymore. I don't talk at school anymore. Teachers don't bother these days. They know about my anxiety, my depression- they don't worry over things, me, that won't affect their lives. Scott's giving up too. He keeps trying to get me to let him in, he even cries sometimes, until I say a few words and he shuts up. Nothing's the same since my mom died a few of months ago. Nothing.
For instance, I have a fucking panic attack every other day, I spend my life shaking with anxiety, fear of nothing, fear of the unknown. I'm worthless, stupid. I can't function like a normal human being. So, I just stay quiet.
The last person I spoke to was at a support group at Eichan house I went to a couple weeks ago. Before the suicidal thoughts came along. Hell, I thought I might take a crack at getting better. Clearly my mind thought otherwise.
"Stiles! Please!" Cries the voice again, smashing me out of my daze. Derek's fists hammer on the door. I shake my head even though he can't see me, tears streaming down my face. The blade next to me is practically screaming to be used. I give in to the urge and shakily pick up the small piece of silver.
I roll up my sleeve to reveal an already full arm of scars. There's always room for more. When I slide the blade across my pale skin the feeling is indescribable. I shut my eyes in pleasure, taking in the pain, accepting what I deserve.
"Stiles! Stiles, don't be stupid! Just come out and we can talk! Stiles, please!" Derek sounds like he's crying now, his knocks on the door are getting slightly weaker, as if he's tired, close to giving up.
That makes two of us.
I keep going with the blade, ignoring Derek's pleading, drawing big and small cuts onto my arm, creating little beads of blood everywhere. When I stretch out my arm the blood runs down my wrist and into my palm. I hiss in pain.
"Stiles?! What've you done?!" Yells Derek.
"I'm... I'm fine." I whisper back through tears, my voice croaky and weak.
"You are not fine. Now, let me in, or I swear to God I will tear this door down." Derek growls.
I don't have a choice. When I'm dead, i don't want my dad to have to pay for another door. Slowly I shuffle across the bathroom floor, edging ever closer to the door. Shutting my eyes, I reach and turn the handle, opening the door. Derek just looks at me, and when I open my eyes all I see is heartbreak on his face. He glances down to my wrist, covered in blood, and his face creases up in a sad frown.
"Why would you...?" He squeaks dryly, "Stiles, why would you do this to yourself?" He asks, barely audibly, his voice cracking.
"I... It's what I deserve." I gulp, looking at the floor, where red spots of blood have fallen from my arm and formed small puddles on the tiles.
"Stiles, why? I fucking love you." He whisper- yells, stepping closer to me, his arms bent out so I can see his veiny forearms. My head snaps up at his words.
"Y...you what?" I ask, unsure if what I heard was right.
"Yeah. I- I love you..." He says, his eyes wide, as if he only just realised.
"Don't, Derek... You can't possibly-"
But my words are muffled into his lips as he suddenly leans in and kisses me. I don't pull away; instead I lean in, soaking up the cinnamon taste of his lips, a flavour I never knew I liked, but now craved.
"Derek..." I murmer in a low moan into his mouth. He shushes me, wrapping his arms around my neck, tangling his fingers through my brown hair. I let my hands travel up and down his back, my fingers exploring the creases of his shirt, the outline of his muscles. He kisses away my tears, sucking slightly on my cheek as he does so. He moves his lips down along my jaw line and onto my neck, sending my head back and making me emit an unexpected moan. Soon we pull away after I get blood on his shirt.
"Uh, shit. Sorry..." I scratch the back of my neck, then turn around to grab him some toilet roll. He licks his lips, which I am already missing the taste of.
"Don't worry about it." He breathes, not letting his eyes move away from my gaze for one second.
"That was..."
"Yeah." He answers, nodding. He glances back down to my wrist.
"Um, let me clean that up." He frowns at the blood up my arm, and I nod, smirking a little.
"Yeah. Hey, uh, thank you." I smile slightly.
"For what?" He asks.
"Saving me. I was, uh... planning on-"
"No. No you weren't, were you? Stiles! No. What if I hadn't of come round? God damnit. Stiles." He speaks pleadingly, firmly. I look away and hang my head down.
"There was no point, Derek." I say quietly in a low croaky voice.
"Don't... Don't say that." He whispers.
"Look, just be happy I'm here, okay? Like I am." I croak. "I mean, I'm not happy-happy, I probably won't ever be completely happy. But with you... With you, I'm content... I'm okay when I'm with you, Derek. And I am not normally okay." I say, tilting my head up to look at his sad eyes. He simply nods, biting his lip.
"I... I just don't know what I'd do without you, kid." He whispers desperately, his eyes glazed with unshed tears.
"Derek, it's okay, don't cry, be happy. Please. I love you." I whisper, leaning in and kissing him on his soft, warm lips.
