Dear Rabbit

Chapter 7

The peace of the park had only been temporary. Soon the quiet was disrupted by a familiar rumbling noise, followed by the sight of a blue jeep careening into a space against the curb. For a second I considered running again when I saw him leap out of the vehicle and stalk towards me. He had such strong strides that I could practically feel the tension radiating from him from my seat meters away. But unlike before I stayed put. I was just so tired.

Tired of running, tired of aching, tired of hiding way. Exhaustion has permeated my skin and settled into my bones. My limbs felt heavy as lead, my muscles weak and useless. I just wanted things back to how they were, even if it meant embarrassing myself ten million times over like before. Because really was it worth it? Was it worth all this trouble on the whim that maybe the boys found me annoying? I'm not sure it was...and I'm not sure it wasn't. I was confused, tired, and ready to give in.

I, however, found myself unable to even look at him when he stopped in front of me. It was like some ghastly habit I had gotten into. I had been so distant, so standoffish that I couldn't go back to smiling, laughing, talking. It was like I had forgotten how.

"Look you don't have to talk to me...or...or look at me..." A heavy sigh escaped his lips, and I'm sure he had that furrowed brow, tight lipped look on his features. The one he got whenever something pissed him off or exasperated him. "But we are going to sort this out eventually."

A cautious hand came to rest upon my shoulders which tensed instinctively. They'd never done that around Stiles...I'd always been relaxed, the same with Scott. They were harmless in practically every way, yet I'd brought myself to the point at which I had to stop myself from shrugging off his touch.

"Okay..." My voice was weaker than I wanted it to be. More monotone than I'd ever heard it. It honestly didn't sound like me at all...there was no cheery lilt or inability to stop talking to take a breath. There was just hollowness and silence...and he noticed, oh boy did he notice. I'd never seen Stiles look so cautious around anyone.

"Okay," he repeated hesitantly. I could feel his eyes searching my face, waiting expectantly. A pregnant silence stretched between us, making me hyper aware of the sound of my own breathing and ticking over of my fingers. This was my cue - this was the bit where I was meant to explain myself. I opened my mouth, ready to vocalise my thoughts, tell him how I'd gotten myself into this ridiculous mess, but no words came out. It was like my tongue was made of lead, my brain drawing a complete blank. I was again overwhelmed by how cliché this was - all that was missing was some cheesy line like 'it's not you, it's me'. I shook my head at myself, letting out a noise halfway between a snort and a laugh, though the sound was hollow, holding no real amusement.

Stiles seemed to accept that I wasn't about to explain any time soon, that I couldn't, but instead of giving up and leaving like I had expected, he quietly collapsed onto the swing next to mine. Although the silence wasn't exactly comfortable, it wasn't as deafening as before. It wasn't suffocating me. He started swinging slightly, unable to keep still as usual. The metal of the swing squeaked and groaned lowly, but I didn't find it annoying; the steady rhythm was actually rather comforting, like the ticking of a clock when you had nowhere to be or the steady rhythm of a drum.

"I-uh, I used to come here a lot, when I was a...um, kid..." his voice was soft, hesitant like he was poking a bear or something equally as likely to jump at him. He paused for a moment, but it didn't seem like he expected a reply from me... it was more like he was collecting and organising his thoughts before continuing on.