Multi-fandom imagines

#12 Stiles Stilinski - Guilt

Warnings: death, gun violence, mentions of cutting, mentions of suicide, mentions of abuse

BANG!

A gunshot can be heard, echoing throughout the house as the trigger gets pulled down.

A murder in Beacon Hills. A murder committed by the hands of a human.

Today marks the death of y/n's father.
And the killer?
Well... he was killed by his own blood.
By y/n's hand.

Y/n POV
I couldn't take it anymore. I just couldn't. I did what had to be done. What I believed had to be done.

I grew up in a household with a mom who always spoke foul of me and a dad who abused me, with each time being worse than the last.

To my mom, I am a mistake, a bitch, a whore, a slut. Most of it is because of the guys I befriended.

To my dad, I am a punching bag. Someone that is there to merely lash out their anger upon. One day it could be a simple punch to the face. The next, it could be glass shattering onto my skin as he throws it directly at me.

I started cutting because of them, and there are scars everywhere on my body. But, today, I decided to end this pain. For good. So, I took the gun and...

Shot him.
I shot my father.
I mean, it can pass as self defense, right?
But, who would believe me?
Shit.
Who would believe me?!

I'm staring at the lifeless form of my father, panic settling in from realizing what I actually had done.

How am I going to explain this when my mom comes home from work? What if the neighbors heard and already reported the police about it?

"Shit," I mumbled under my breath. "Shit, shit, shit, shit."

Tears running down my face. My hand, gripping the gun, profusely shaking. My breath, quickening in pace, as a begin to hyperventilate. Each and every reaction making me lose my ability to think through this situation logically.

What's even worse is the banging on the door as someone proclaims their arrival.

Upon instinct, I aim the gun at the door, almost as if one body wasn't enough to deal with.

Then, they spoke up.

"Y/n?" an all too familiar voice says. "Y/n, open the door."

Stiles.

Stiles' POV
I frantically bang on the door to y/n's house, in hopes she is okay after hearing that loud bang.

"Y/n, please open the door," I pleaded.

Moments later, the door slowly opens, revealing a very distressed and very panicked y/n.

"Hey, are you okay?" I ask.
She doesn't respond.
"Y/n?" I ask again, getting more and more worried.

This time, she looks up at me.

"I'm sorry," she finally responds with.

"Sorry? Sorry for what? Y/n, what did you do?"

That's when I noticed what was in her hand.

A gun.

Immediately afterward, I gently pushed her aside and walked into her house.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes for the second time. "I couldn't take it anymore. I had to do something. I... please don't hate me."

She says this as I stare upon the dead body on the couch in the living room.