Every tear's a waterfall, every scar's a vile reminder

Chapter 2

The next day, when stiles woke it was to his father slamming the door shut downstairs. He had successfully slept for more that two hours. Actually it seemed he had a successful 5 hours sleep which was the most he had had in at least 5 months. He knew it wasn't sleep thought, it was a result of sleep deprivation and exhaustion.
Shaking as he rose from his bed, he ran into the bathroom and switched on the bath taps. It was a bit of a ritual really, every Saturday he would wake up and slowly make himself the most relaxing, peaceful hot bubble bath of the century and spend at least half the morning soaking in the hot water.

Slowly stripping from his clothes, he chucked them in the washing basket and made his way towards the bath, carefully avoiding the full body length mirror across from him. Sliding into the still running bath he popped the cap of the bubble mix and poured an excessive amount into the stream of water then relaxed back, resting his head against the back of the bath. He felt the burn in his cuts as the hot water enveloped them but he let it happen, relishing in the burn.

As the time passed he washed his hair and his body then got out and dried himself. Wrapping a towel around his whole body, he made his way back into his bedroom then collapsed on the bed.

Contemplating the meaning of life was something stiles did frequently and now was no exception. Although feeling very uncomfortable wearing just a towel he tucked both hands under his pillow beneath his head. Sighing and shutting his eyes, he let him self slowly drift out of consciousness.

Screaming himself awake. He curled in on himself. His dad burst through the room with his gun out,seemingly sober for the first time in a while, and once he realised there was no danger he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Bloody hell stiles" he muttered and he put his gun away.

"S-sorry" he stumbled over his words as his dad exited the room, slamming the door behind him.
Once his dad had gone, stiles realised that his towel had fallen to the floor in the middle of the night and he had made his way beneath the covers.

Feeling very uncomfortable with his nakedness, he rose from the bed and made his way over to his dresser. He pulled on a pain of large, black jogging bottoms over a pair of black boxers that now hung off his hipbones and pulled on a black hoodie with sleeves that engulfed his hands. Pulling the hood up, he pulled on some socks and made his way down the stairs once he heard his dads car leave the driveway.

He ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. Realising he hadn't eaten in a good few days he decided to make himself a bowl of cereal. His stomach growled out painfully as he shovelled the cereal down his throat, finishing the bowl in a few spoonfuls.

His stomach soon started growling out in protest from being too full. He hadn't eaten much recently and when he had it had been in very small portions. Feeing full to the brim he grabbed his keys and made his way to the door.

~~~~~~~~

He liked the library. Always had. When he was little he's go and sit in the comfortable beanbag chairs in the child's corner as his mother would browse the more adulty sections, leaving him in his own world with a picutre book.

After she died he stopped going. It was too much of a painful reminder. It was only recently when he lost him friends and realised he had too much time on his hands that he realised maybe it would be good for him. A sense of closure.

So he went and at first he almost couldn't handle it. He had arrived, entered and within the next five minutes he was in his car, crying and talking to himself. Anyways he returned and had actually found it to be helpful and had continued to return.

Anyways as he entered the building, he walked to the counter to return some books he had due in then walked to the adult fiction section.

Spending many minutes browsing, he finally chose a book and made his way to sit on one of the comfy chairs and started reading.