Monsters | Stiles Stilinski

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

"HOME SWEET HOME." I exhaled contently, dropping the duffel bags in either hand on the floor in the hallway. It'd been a while since I'd been inside this house — our house — and as bittersweet as it felt to be back, it was nice. The last time I'd been here we'd been a family, it was our family home but things had changed since then. I was surprised my father didn't sell the house on after vowing never to return to Beacon Hills, yet here we were.. standing in a room full of memories.

"Move your bags Alex." My father complained as he shuffled past me with an annoyed sigh. He struggled along with the two boxes in his arms and the duffel bag slinging off his shoulder. Had he not of just sighed at me I would've offered my help but now my stubbornness was warning me against it.

My dad and I were close once, before everything happened. I loved him and he loved me, as well as my mom and we were one big happy family. He had never had a problem with me until he forced me into moving away — into doing things I didn't want to do. Going through your teenage years without a mother to help and guide you was hard and it was my dad who was always on the sharp end of my words. Our relationship took a strain and eventually it decayed to the point where we were two people living in the same house.

He was like my legal guardian, not my father.

"Alex, c'mon." My dad snapped, turning to me from half way up the staircase, "We've got things to do."

I rolled my eyes, picking up my bags in annoyance, "God, don't remind me."

I'm sure it wasn't hard to ask for just a few hours to yourself but why would I get it? I'd been stuffed into a car for five hours, running on three hours of sleep and I hadn't even showered today. All I wanted was to get a nice hot bath, order a pizza and spend my last night of summer break relaxing in bed.

Instead I was going to the hospital to be injected with something that was supposed to help me, make me feel less lethargic and tired but it never did really help — only for the first week or so. The closer I got to my next appointment the worse I stated to feel but no matter what tests were done no one could ever find or give me an answer. No one knows what's wrong with me, not even medical professionals.

"Alex!" My dad called a third time. He'd climbed another few steps.

"What?" I replied exasperatedly.

"Your bags." He responded, "We haven't got long."

I pulled my phone out of my back pocket for the time, ready to argue, "Two hours dad. We have two hours."

"We still have to unpack the rest of the car and the boxes." He told me.

"You want to unpack the house now?" I asked incredulously, "It's gonna take longer than two hours to unpack the whole house."

"Well get a move on then." He exasperated.

I huffed under my breath, shoving my phone back into my pocket and picking up the two bags again. I hauled them up the stairs as quickly as I could, dropping them at the doorway of my old room and kicking them into the room tiredly with my foot. I put my hair into a messy ponytail using the hair tie around my wrist and turned back to head back down the stairs when my phone beeped in my pocket.

I took out again, looking at the notification on my screen.

Get your ass back to San Fran, this place is dead without you.
- A x