As the lines between good and evil were blurred and new, unlikely alliances were formed, there were very few things keeping Carson Bradley sane. But sometimes, even sanity was not enough to win a war when there was already so much blood raining down...
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN BREATHING, FIGHTING
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To say there was ever a moment where I wanted to wring Jackson's neck more than now would be a total lie.
I was sat in between Stiles and Scott, currently wanting to bang my head against the wall. Mrs. McCall was in the corner and I couldn't even look at her. The amount of distress and disappointment would make my stomach go in knots. If I felt this bad, I was worried to how Scott was taking it. Papa Stilinski was near the door, reading off what Jackson and his father had decided to put against us.
A restraining order.
"You will not go within fifty feet of Jackson Whittemore. You will not speak to him. You will not approach him," he said, not looking up from his clipboard. I was afraid to think of what that look would even look like. "You will not assault or harass him physically or psychologically."
He finally looked up and put the clipboard down. His eyes scanned over us and I automatically looked down. I put my head in my hands in frustration. We screwed up massively this time. Jackson's father had been smirking at us the entire time and it was making my blood boil. Damn lawyer. Jackson's lucky he took the restraining order route because I probably would have cut his head off.
Then again, I probably still will.
"What about school?" Stiles asked, his hand resting on my knee. Normally that would have calmed me down but I don't think anything could comfort me right now. My hands fumbled in my pockets now, and I played with the cool metal of Stiles' car keys. Why I had them, I wasn't really sure. But messing with them was distracting me at the very least.
"You're going to take classes while trying to maintain a fifty foot distance," his dad answered, sounding more and more passive by the second.
"Well, what if we have to use the bathroom at the same time and there are only two stalls available and they're right next to each—"
I looked up at him, glaring. Dear God do not make this worse.
He paused at the sight of my narrowed eyes. "Yeah, uh, I'll just hold it."
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I was leant up against the wall while the parents lectured their children. Stiles was in the doorway complaining about how humor was subjective and that we filled the tank on the police transport van. Mrs. McCall and Scott were in the hall and I could hear her muttering about new lows.
My father of course wasn't present. Not that it really would have made a difference. But since I didn't have a parental with me at the moment, I'm pretty sure I was going to get lectured by someone. For the past four years, Mr. Stilinski and Mrs. McCall have treated me like I was their own daughter. They knew my situation and knew that someone was going to have to act as a parental figure. Most of the time, it was nice. But when it came to things like this, I wished that no one really cared about me.
