All Alone

The Letter

Stiles sat at his desk, a soft hum of  music coming from his radio.

He opened one of the draws and pulled out a notebook and a pen, laying it in front of him.

Slowly, he opened the book and began to write, tears dripping down his face.

Dear all,
I hope you're happy. I hope you're content. I hope your life's going well. Because let's be blunt mine isn't. Over these past months, everything has become a lot clearer to me.

I thought since most of you are going to lie about this whole thing I would write it down in black and white for you. So here we go. Here's all the reasons I hate you.

He stopped writing and screwed up the paper and stood up, he began to pace around his room, tears streaming down his face.

He stopped and looked in the mirror. He sighed when he saw what was staring back at him. He was no longer happy.

His eyes that one had a glimmer of mischief now lay bare and dull. Sunken even.

His sleeves rose as he laced, revealing a few of the pink marks that were carved into his arms.

He couldn't stomach the sight of them, yet he continued to do it. He needed a release. A way of letting out the hurt and betrayal.

If marking himself was the only way to satisfy his urge, then so be it.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, moonlight streaming through illuminating the curves of his face.

It was night but he could still see it,the circle of mountain ash surrounding his house. The one protection against those who pledged so long ago to protect him.

Quite ironic he thought, protection against his 'protectors'

Except they never protected him. The pack ripped into him, used him as their punching bag and whilst it rarely got physical, Stiles bared the weight of the verbal abuse.

A small gust of wind blew through the window and he shivered, his thin hoodie failing to keep him warm.

Stiles rose, making his way to the window and looking out side one more time, his hand on the latch of the blind.

He squinted his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows, sure that he has just seen someone looking into the window from the woods.

With one last look, he closed his blinds and huddled under the blankets on his bed. His one place of solitude.

Stiles' arm tightened around the pillow he grasped, thinking back to the fateful night..