𝟎𝟗. GAME OF CHASE

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𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋

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𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋

𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑒. 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞








It's weird in how such a short time, in a matter of seconds, how your whole world could change. Like the time I found out both Scott and Derek were werewolves. Or when Derek and I shared our first kiss. Or for instance now...where I had just watched Derek get torn apart and killed by the Alpha.

The alpha killed him. Derek was dead. Why was that not being processed through my mind? It was probably because I couldn't bear to think of it. He took his last breaths next to me. I shook my head, and stood up.

"No, no, no. He can't be dead." I made a beeline to the door. I pushed in front of the boys and tried to open the doors that they had budged shut.

"No! You're not going out there!" Stiles wrapped an arm around my waist and dragged me backwards.

"No!" I cried, tears finally rolling down my cheeks. I stumbled back against a wall and slid down it, "Please! Derek can't be dead!"

"Going out there isn't going to solve anything, it'll just end up to you being dead too." Scott reasoned, his eyes gazing to the window ever so often.

"Please, Scott. We have to go get him. He can't be dead." I must have sounded crazy, my voice cracking from my tears. There was a hard lump in my throat. I cupped my hands over my face and tried to decrease my hyperventilating.

"Healthy people don't just spit up blood!" Stiles exclaimed.

"Stiles! Not helping!" Scott yelled. Not helping he was, Stiles was making this worse. Derek was really dead. Stiles mumbled something like a pathetic sorry.

"What do we do? These doors aren't going to hold him." Stiles wondered.

"I don't know. We need to lock it."

"Does it look like I have a key?" Stiles retorted.

"I don't care! Anything!" Scott cried out. Stiles stood up and peered out the window.

"No."

"Yes." Stiles pushed the yellow flashlight into Scott's chest. The next few moments were a blur for me, all I really could process was that Stiles had run outside. But I wasn't sure why. Scott began screaming for Stiles to run. Moments later, Stiles came tumbling in and jammed a pair of clippers into the door. At least, I was almost positive it was Stiles—I could hardly see past the salty tears burning my eyes. While the boys were busy glaring out the small windows on the door, I stood up and tried to gain control of myself.

𝗦𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗧𝗛 𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗔𝗟, d. haleWhere stories live. Discover now