Howl at Midnight// Teen Wolf// Stiles Stilinski

I

PART 1 

☾✧☽✧☾✧☽✧☾✧☽✧☾✧☽✧☾✧☽✧☾✧☽✧☾✧☽✧☾✧☽✧☾✧☽✧☾✧☽

For someone with a lot of money, my current clothing selection was abysmal. Wrinkled button downs, unwashed leggings, tattered chuck taylors. I had always prided myself on how I looked to the outside world, after-all I was a black belt in faking it until I was making it. Yet, over the last few weeks I had forgotten to care, there was something freeing in letting myself go - just a tad bit. Tomorrow I was to go back to pretentious clicks, gossiping associates, and pretending to care about Lacrosse games. The transition back to school and being obedient wasn't usually difficult but since I had weaned myself off of my anxiety medication it was preemptively more draining than usual.

When I was 10 years old, after what I was told was a particularly bad anxiety attack my parents brought me to see these Doctors at Eichen House, our local mental health facility. This one creepy doctor, Dr. Valick had observed me for a few minutes and then prescribed me a lifetime supply of some purplish medication. He had mentioned it was a self-made benzodiazepine for special cases. I couldn't remember much about the anxiety attack or the doctor's visit but that could be said for a majority of my life. The medication that my parents had enforced that I take everyday for the last 6 years always left me forgetful, groggy, and oddly submissive.

At the end of freshman year I had taken it upon myself to stop taking the medicine all together. The first few weeks were filled with upset stomachs and sleeping for more hours than normal and then it slowly had gotten better. Now I was a full two weeks with no self-made benzodiazepine in my system and I felt all the better. The world around me was buzzing with a vibrancy and awareness that had slipped by me before. My covers were softer, the air crisper, and I could finally say no to things I didn't want to do. Not that I had done that yet, but it finally felt within my grasps. Boundary setting, it would be so freeing. I flopped back onto the bed next to a black pleated skirt. One piece of clothing down and two more to go. I sighed, fingering the short material between my fingers. Seeing as this was one of the only clean bottoms I had and there was a chance I'd be cold, I was going to have to wash my clothes at some point, or pay my brother to do it for me. Washing clothes was absolutely the bane of my existence, my brother on the other hand found the tedious and repetitive chore to be relaxing.

I sat up, prepared to continue rummaging through my drawers for a cardigan to at least spare my arms from the pre-fall chill when I heard the loud stomping of hooves up the steps to my room. I inhaled deeply and slowly, counting the seconds before my room door swung open. I only made it to 7 Mississippi's before my the door opened. Revealing not a demon, but my brother. Same difference.

"Want to practice with me?" My brother stood there in all his glory as captain of the lacrosse team. His hair matted on his forehead as he shifted impatiently between his feet. "I want to do some drills before tryouts tomorrow." My forehead wrinkled, sports weren't my thing and he just wanted someone to inflate his ego. It was time to set some of those boundaries I was so excited about.

"Sure." I guess boundaries would have to wait until tomorrow, or maybe the next day. Who was keeping track anyway?

He smiled widely at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes that I wasn't too fond of, "Thanks Clary." I grunted my response and slipped on an old pair of sneakers that I wouldn't mind getting scratched up before following him downstairs and to our backyard. He tossed me an extra lacrosse stick as he positioned himself. The sun was already setting behind the trees, Jackson had been out here all morning and afternoon. Stopping only for a snack.

"You're not tired?" I questioned before positioning myself by the gate where I knew he would throw the ball. I was his mock goalie, and I always did a shit job at it, which is precisely why he asked me. Jackson had a thing about being good at everything; it was the only thing that made him feel like his life was worth something. I on the other hand had no problem being average at everything. It was hard not to be when you lived in the shadow of Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin. A shadow that your parents and peers had no problem reminding you of time and time again.