bruised//«stiles stilinski»

Part 23

Derek soon gets taken away by some nurses. It's 6pm and almost time to eat. I'm sat in the common room, playing chess by myself. Each go, I spin the board round and play for the opposing team.

"Stiles." I voice suddenly booms from above me. I look up and see Derek; his broad shoulders and lean body towers over me.

"Yeah," I mumble, not really in a questioning voice.

"What're you doing?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at the chessboard and empty seat opposite.

"Playing chess." I murmer, not leaving his gaze.

"Alone?" He questions, frowning.

I nod. "Uh huh. Alone. I don't exactly have any friends here, Derek." I chuckle humorlessly.

"Neither do I." He says, widening his eyes slightly. His hands are causally in the pockets of his light gray sweatpants and a tight black tshirt hugs at his torse, refining his abs. The long sleeves make his arm muscles pop vigourously.

"Why did you come? Here? Why would you want to put yourself in here?" I ask slowly, then gesture for him to sit down, which he does.

"To get you. To see you, Stiles." He says, and pause before I slam a fist down on the table, making the chess pieces wobble; some topple over and roll onto the floor.

"That's bullshit, Derek!" I say, louder than intended. He looks hurt. "Coming into a freaking mental institution is not some gesture of love! It's sick. Mental illness is sick, Derek." I say, narrowing my eyes at him. He looks shocked for a moment, broken.

"You don't belong here, St-"

"Yes, I do! I wish you'd just stop saying that, dammit! You don't know what's best for me. I do. I know! I know that I suffer problems people out there-" I gesture towards the barred up window, "don't have. Okay? So, don't bullshit to me, Derek." My voice cracks over his name. I look at his deep frown.

"I just wanted to help you." Is all he says in a low voice.

I stand up, knocking the remaining standing chess pieces to the floor.

"I don't need your help." I spit before storming out of the room. I half run towards the boys showers. I gotta shower.

When I open the door the room is already filled up with steam and the noise of water running fills my ears. However, when I take a quick glance I see what is obviously a female's head.

I clear my throat slightly. "Uh, 'scuse me, sweetie. This is the boys." I say awkwardly, but the firmness in my voice determines quite a sense of authority as I speak more confidently than I thought I would. The girl spins around, revealing to me the top half of her naked body. I quickly avert my eyes to her face, and am shocked to find its Malia.

"Malia?" Is all I question, quickly grabbing her a towel from the hooks and throwing it to her.

"Thanks." She mumbles, wrapping herself up. "They shut off our hot water at home." She rolls her eyes. "I was here anyway- I started another support group. My counceller made me." She scowls, giving a glare towards the rest of the dank room. It's dark and hot in here; the walls are faded green- they don't look good.

"Oh. This is the boys, by the way." Is all I reply, looking at the floor. She murmers "shit" under her breath, earning a light chuckle from me.

"What's wrong?" She asks, stepping off the shower tiles and towards me.

"Derek's here." Is all I manage shakily.

The look on her face tells me she isn't surprised. "You knew he was coming?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowed.

"No, no. Well, Scott told me their multiple 'plans' to get you out. I told them to leave you. I know, of all people, how sucky it is when people think you can just 'get better', like its a freaking magic trick or something." She scowls, her eyes drooping tiredly at the thought. I give her a more sympathetic look, which she immediately returns before reaching out and gently stroking my arm. "But I do hope you get better soon, Stiles. We all miss you at school." She says softly, flashing a small smile at me with a tiny nod.

"Thank, Malia." I murmer, half smirking at her despite the hurt frown on my face.

"So, what did Derek say, anyway?" She asks, tucking a wet strand of her short hair behind her ears.

"Something about me not belonging here, I don't know... I'm still pissed at him. He just came in here saying I should be out in the world, acting as if everything's okay when it's clearly not, then he goes and says he's in freaking love with me- how am I-" Malia cuts me off, which I'm quite thankful for considering the growing lump in my throat and the fact that my eyes are brimming with tears.

"He said what?" She asks, dumbfounded.

"Oh, yeah. Came in here, said he loved me. I mean, I don't know, Malia. I... Uh, God, I don't even know anymore: whether I feel the same. I think I do but, it's still not that easy. Just because we love each other doesn't always mean we can be together. Like, I'm pretty sure everyone in this freaking nut house has someone they love who loves them. I need to be in here, Mal." I say desperately, my voice cracking.

"Hey, hey." She whispers. "It'll be fine, Stiles, okay? You have to remember that Derek doesn't understand, you know. He doesn't get that you can't just get better in a click of the fingers." She says kindly, her hand stroking my arm. I sigh in frustration.

"I know, it's just..." I leave my sentence mid air because she just nods in understanding.

"Hey, what're you doing for Christmas?" Malia asks. She sees my confused face; "Sorry, just trying to change subject." She says, a hint of clumsiness in her voice. I chuckle lightly.

"I haven't 'done' Christmas since my mom died, Malia. It's not the same. Besides, who would I spend it with anyway? My dad obviously doesn't give a shit- he can't cook anyway, and I'm in here for now." I say, looking at the floor. I feel Malia's sympathetic look burning into me. "Please, don't give me that look. It's okay." I say softly, glancing up to look at her.

"I wasn't giving you a look," she insists, pouting slightly.

I smirk ever so slightly. "You were so giving me a look. The 'I'm sorry your mom and sister are dead and your dad doesn't care about you and you have really shitty Christmases' look." I say with a chuckle. Malia looks uncomfortable at my attempt at a joke, making me roll my eyes. "Sorry," I mutter, a smirk on my face.

We stand in silence for a bit. "Uh, I gotta go, I'll let you have your shower," Malia says, breaking the eery silence, glancing quickly at the showers.

"Yeah... Hey, thanks, Malia." I say just before she leaves. She flashes me a quick smile before she's out of view.

I slowly take off my clothes, trying not to put pressure on any remaining bruises from my dad's brutality.

I flinch as I pull my shirt over my head, revealing the slashes across my chest and cloudy bruises that have faded to a sickening shade of yellow.

When I'm fully stripped down, I step into the shower and pull the handle, sending the hot water cascading over my skinny frame. I let the heat of the liquid consume me, empower me. I shut my eyes as the water falls over my face, flattening my hair onto my forehead. Suddenly I hear a knock on the shower room door.

"S'cuse me! Any patients in the shower, please immediately report to the food hall- dinners ready!" Yells a nurse, who's voice I recognise to be the one that assessed me. I ignore her and continue washing myself. Who has the freaking energy to eat anymore?