𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔢𝔩.
❛ I SEE BOTH SIDES
LIKE CHANEL ❜
All Isabelle Nightly wanted was to reconnect with her brother and save enough money to buy a new car. Was that too much to ask for?
Her next-door neighbour's infatuation...
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* * *
( 𝖈𝖔𝖉𝖊 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖗 )
Stiles was on the lacrosse field with Peter Hale, crying over the bodies of Isabelle Nightly and Lydia Martin. "No-I'm not just letting you leave her here," Stiles screamed at Peter, tears running down his cheeks.
"You don't have a choice, Stiles. You're coming with me,"
"Just kill me. Look, I don't care anymore," Stiles cried, mainly to himself over Elle practically being dead but Peter heard him and gave him an offer he couldn't afford to not take up.
"Call your friend. Tell Jackson where they are. That's all you get," Peter informed the heart broken boy, leaving him with no choice but to agree.
He pulled out his phone with shaky hands and dialled the Whittemore boy's number. When Jackson picked up, Stiles informed him that Lydia and Elle needed help on the lacrosse field and before he could say any more, Peter took his phone and dragged him along with him to Stiles' jeep.
Jackson arrived at the field quite quickly and spotted the blood and two bodies in the middle. He sprinted over and fell to the floor next to the two most important females in his life, whether they were on good terms or not.
"Come on, Lydia. Stay with me. Come on Elle, you're a fighter," he cried, lifting them up in his arms, trying not to open the wounds any more than necessary and had to drag them up to the school with one arm each, "Help me! Somebody help! Help me! Get help, please!" Jackson shouted to people crowding outside the gym.
An ambulance came a few minutes later.
* * *
Isabelle Nightly lay unconscious with tubes shoved under her skin and clips pinching uncomfortably all hooked up the noisy machines that monitored how well she was surviving an animal attack. She was dressed in a hospital gown with her blonde hair flowing on the flat pillow that rested her head. A bandage was wrapped around her shoulder and neck, holding the skin together from where an animal had ripped a chunk out of her with it's teeth. It was healing, but not as quick as what everyone in the supernatural would expect.
Through the other side of the wall where her head was, lay Lydia Martin. She was also unconscious with tubes shoved under her skin and clips pinching uncomfortably all hooked up to the noisy machines that monitored how well she was surviving the same animal attack. She was also dressed in a hospital gown with her strawberry blonde hair flowing on another flat pillow that rested her head.
