Wicked Game

Chapter 8

My cheek was cold. All of me was cold.

My eyelids were heavy to blink, and I slowly came to realize where I was.

The sun was only beginning to rise. I was lying face down on the cement in the subway station. My wrists were bound with a thick wad of chain behind my back, and my ankles were chained to the subway itself.

Derek sat against the subway where the chains held. On the wall opposite of us, Isaac gazed tiredly at me, and Scott held his head in his hands. Stiles snored unattractively on Scott's shoulder.

I attempt to force my eyelids open again, but don't succeed. I was too worn out to think about any of the damage I'd done... Wasn't Peter here...?

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I woke up on a familiar couch, but I knew it wasn't at home. I take in the scent. I'm at Derek's loft.

I raise my head, getting a good look around. The sun was peeking through the closed curtains, creating a stream of light that shines directly in my face. I sit up stiffly, feeling all of the aches of last night all throughout my body. The fleece blanket fell from my shoulders.

My shirt was torn, stained with blood, and just flat out trash now. The same went for my jeans. I glance at the coffee table next to me. My spare set of clothes sat folded across from me.

I peer around for any sign of life in the gloomy loft. The loft was dark from the black out curtains, but Derek's scent was all over,and Isaac's vaguely. No Peter. I can hear soft breathing from the next room over. It must be Derek.

I tuck my clean clothes under my arm, and sneak my way around to find the bathroom. When I do, I lock the door behind me and quickly strip off the clothes that made me look like I was part of a murder scene. It made me wonder if I hurt anybody, and where Peter might have gone... did I kill him? I would know if I did right?

I pull my shirt over my head after putting my pants on, and look myself in the mirror. I scrub the little smudges of blood off my face with the running sink water before running my fingers through my dark hair. It was a mess.

I sneak back out of the bathroom to search for my shoes. My flannel and my shoes were the only things I was missing.

"Do you drink coffee?"

I nearly jump out of my skin as soon as Derek spoke. I pause to see him standing in the kitchen, pouring water into a coffeemaker. He glances at me expectantly.

"Uh- yeah," I nod. "What time is it?"

"Noon. You had a very long night," Derek himself seemed exhausted.

"What happened to Peter?" I ask and seat myself at the table. I glance over, catching sight of my flannel. I dig through it to find my phone.

"Well, you almost killed him, and nearly broke my nose when I pulled you off of him," he explains, back to me as he washes his hands.

"Sorry," I comment, wincing at the thought of me being a killer.

I check my phone, only one message left.

Louie: Still at Allison's?

I type out another lie. Don't get me wrong, I feel guilty about it, but I know now that this secret could hurt people.

Me: Yeah we were up late doing homework, just woke up.

I sent the text and shove my phone into my back pocket. I ask Derek, "Where's the trash can?"

"Down here," he moves out of the way of the sink, opening the cupboard.

I toss the ragged clothes in, and puzzle out what to say. I sit back down at the kitchen table, shrugging my flannel on. I purse my lips, staring down at my feet as I fix the collar. I don't think I'd ever know what or how to say anything to Derek. He seems so reserved. I guess I was too though.