Hurricane- Stiles Stillinski Bk2

-Prologue-

Did you ever play that game when you were younger?

He loves me, He loves me not.

You'd steal a flower from the garden and congregate under the monkey bars with a handful of your most trustworthy friends. You'd pick a poor, unsuspecting boy and destroy the flower in an attempt to figure out if this so called boy is in love with you. Depending on the outcome this boy who hasn't said much more than two words to you, would become the object of your affection.

It was a stupid and childish but it seemed as if the fate of your self esteem was riding on that last petal.

But here's the secret.

You can cheat.

The trick is to pick a flower with the odd number of petals, so that when you pick the last one, the rest of your friends scream and laugh because 'he loves me'.

Everyone swore that it was meant to be. That they would never cheat and mess with fate. But we're liars. Liars who just wanted love.

But then we got older and the game got more complicated.

Instead of us wondering if our seventh grade crush fancied us, we were wondering if we were going to miss dinner tonight so that we could fit into that size 2 dress. We were wondering if our parents were going to fight again when they think we're asleep. We were wondering if we were going to pass the SAT's or not. We were wondering if our friend's were real or not. And we were wondering if we were ever going to be loved. And we didn't need flowers, you could play the game with anything, as long as it had an odd number.

It seems the older you get, the worse the game gets.

And ever since the police showed up on my doorstep in New York and told me that my Mom had been in an accident, the game had gotten unbearable.

So I cheat.

I pick flowers with odd numbers, hot chocolate with five marshemallows, a pack three pack of pens, a string of 13 fairy lights, a shelf with 7 books.

I cheat so that when I have to ask myself the hard questions, the questions that I don't ever want to ask, I always win.

Did my Dad ever want me to come home from Eichan?

Does he still love me?

Am I truly part of the pack?

Would my Mom be proud of me?

Is Stiles afraid of me?

Am I afraid of me?

Am I good or bad?

Good or Bad.

So now, in the little hours of a Tuesday morning, Tucked under Stiles' navy comforter, curled into him with my head resting on his broad chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, I play a game.

Am I good or bad?

Beat.

I'm good.

Beat.

I'm bad.

Beat.

I can never win, of course, the beats are endless, except their not. One day, this heart, Stiles' heart will stop beating and he will cease to exist.

I wonder, when it stops, what will it say? Am I good or am I bad? I can't cheat with him, he defies everything. I can never predict how long or short his heart will beat for. It's fated, written in the stars, meant to be.

But when the beats do end, When Stiles' heart stops beating, I wonder who I will be.

Will I be good or bad?

Good or bad.

He loves me, he loves me not.

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AUTHORS NOTE

Welcome new readers and old readers to your first look at 'Hurricane' the sequel to 'Storm'!!! I am super excited to share my new ideas with you guys and I hope you guys are just as excited to read them!!

Let me know what you think of the prologue!! Any theories or hopes for the book or literally what you had for dinner, I love seeing all of your wacky comments.

Don't forget to vote!

*big big loves*

-J xx