Alone • Liam Dunbar

Forty-Eight

I felt at peace in the loft. My loft.

It didn't take long to get the window that Kate jumped through fixed. Stilinski had plenty of connections in town and was more than happy to use them to get me out of the motel. It felt almost strange, having an entire place to truly call my own after all this time; to have a fresh start. 

Lydia was adamant that she would do most of the interior decorating, though. She sent me digital inspiration boards almost hourly and rarely compromised in areas where we disagreed. I was a little hesitant about it, but I was willing to sacrifice a bit of freedom to make her happy. Lydia always found joy in putting together aesthetics and being in charge.

We already brought all my things from the motel here along with a new mattress. With Derek's past dating history, it was a safe bet not to sleep on the same bed he had.

Most of my gear was downstairs now. Each person in the building had their own locker unit, so I used mine for weapon storage. It felt like the right decision. Lydia mentioned that she might want to display a few things in here, which I was okay with, but having my guns around me for no other reason than to keep them close was too much of a temptation.

With that being said, I also couldn't bring myself to be without everything completely.

I hid a wooden chest beneath my bed when I moved in. Lydia would have happily tossed it out if she saw it considering how unattractive the aged planks were, but I didn't care for its appearance. I only wanted to use it to discreetly house a handful of daggers. There were other things inside of it, like letters and pictures I collected over the years and never parted with, but they were mostly to cover the blades if anyone went snooping. 

I pulled the chest out this morning, deciding to place my motocross jacket inside, too. 

Over the years, that jacket had seen just as much bloodshed as I did. Kate bought it for me after teaching me how to ride a motorcycle and had me sew the pockets into the lining for my daggers the same day. I used to favor it for that very reason, believing it to be nothing more than a good-natured gift, but just like my training, the jacket was another thing I gained from her over the years that I didn't need to rely on anymore. Yet, I also couldn't part with it either. 

I lay the jacket over the contents of the chest flat, not wanting to crease the kevlar padding. My fingers trace over the material gently, as if I'm saying goodbye to a dear friend. I try not to be resentful for this, knowing I wasn't the only one of us who could use some retirement. 

I close the lid to the chest and slide it under the shadow of my bedframe once more. When I stand back up, I slide on the new padded jacket I bought. I still needed one for protection while riding, but I had no intentions of turning it into another glorified weapon holster this time around. I also grab the denim coat that Liam gave me and shove it into my backpack, intending to change into it once I reached campus. 

He would wear my bullet, and I would wear his jacket. It would be an unspoken language of belonging that only the two of us could understand. 

I gather the rest of my things and exit the loft, heading downstairs to my bike. 

The journey to the high school is lengthy. It's not as short of a commute as it used to be from the motel, but I enjoy it nonetheless. There's an ease of simplicity that fills me as I ride through the streets of Beacon Hills, feeling right at home.

When I finally do reach campus, I park near the front and then head into the main building. I make my way toward the courtyard, receiving a text from Kira earlier this morning where she instructed all of us to meet there before class started. My pace slows, though, as I near the boy's locker room. The door was propped open, allowing familiar voices from inside to flood into the hallway.