A Fox from Beacon Hills

Chapter sixteen

"Where were you last night?" My father's question spears me as I attempt to escape up the stairs. I sigh, putting my foot back on the ground instead of the step I was reaching for. 
He's standing, arms crossed, in the middle of the hall. I tilt my head at him allowing my smile to paint me as an innocent angel who could do no wrong.

"What do you mean? I was with Stiles, remember?"

"Oh really? Your brother seems to remember you running out the door last night. You're lucky I didn't make a call to the station and send every officer working after you. You can't do that, Ari, I need you to understand that." 


"I do, Dad, but-" He's unamused.

"Do you, Aurelia? Do you have any idea how worried we both were last night? The only reason I didn't call the station was because I didn't want to traumatize your brother any more than he already is, and I hoped you'd be smart enough to protect yourself, but Jesus, kid. I was worried sick, thinking about what could happen to you out there. I know you're an officer, but that doesn't mean you can't get surprised. We still don't have a single lead on who could be killing those girls, and you knew that and yet you still went out, you still-"

 My dad cuts himself off, voice pinching with the tears threatening to spill in his eyes. The sight stabs me through the heart, the fact that I worried him that much, and I didn't even think about it. I didn't even considered how my family would react, I was too wrapped up in my own worry, my own trauma. I step forward, arms hesitantly reaching out, and he pulls me in as tight as he can. 

I've never liked touch, the sensation of someone that close, so he knows to take advantage of my hug for as long as I allow it. I don't know where it came from, this fear of being touched. As a kit it didn't bother me nearly as much, but it's grown to the point where a single tap on the shoulder can send me into a panic attack if I'm not prepared. Usually that only happens when I've been being bothered by other things, or stressed for a while, but everyone knows not to touch me with threat of their heads being bitten off.

Not literally of course, my co-workers are -mostly- human, but I have been known to scratch, and my nails (read: claws) leave nasty looking scars. 

After about thirty seconds, my breathing becomes more erratic, and I tense, trying to signal that I'm done without actually saying anything. Luckily, my father knows how to read people, especially traumatized kids, and his release is instantaneous. He steps back, wiping his eyes as I brush my arms off, not being able to leave the traces of his touch on me. I hate doing this, it makes me feel like a horrible person, but there isn't even a hint of hurt in his gaze.

That I at least know started about eight years ago. It was after Claudia. My phobia of touch grew to the point where if anybody touched me, even if it was just a hand shake, or a nudge on the arm, I would need to immediately brush off the part that was touched. If I didn't, the disgusted feeling would grow to the point that I couldn't do anything but tell myself not to freak out. As long as I brush it away, I'm fine. 

The sheriff (respectful angel that he is) waits until I've finished my ritual to speak, bringing the topic back to the one it started at.

"So, where were you? At Derek's?" The memories of last night wash over me, and I freeze. The hunters, the entrails, the blood. As I stare at the man in front of me, I see the boy from the woods, the way his eyes glazed over with my magic. I see the men, see my claws ripping them apart. And I see my dad, waiting for an answer, not suspecting in the least that his daughter is a killer, a monster. 

"Um-" 

A/N: Hey guys! We made it to 400 views, so that's awesome, give yourselves a pat on the back for sticking through this shithole of a story. I know I didn't explain her touch phobia very well, but I've always found it harder to put into words the things you hate, because none feel strong enough. Like, I can research a fear that I don't have, and give you a pretty good paragraph of that fear, but when I try to explain mine, I can't. So, sorry about that.

Also, I fucking love Sheriff Stilinski. He's such a sweetheart. Also, as I was writing this, I had to redo a paragraph because I realized I was explaining things with lore that I haven't put into the story yet, so it would have been confusing and spoiler filled. Anyway, I only write these things because I can tell people later that I did explain, it's just that nobody read it. If you did read this, congratulations. Comment: Theo Raeken sux if you read this entire thing. Go on, do it. I triple-dog dare you. Bye! Love ya and stay safe!-Rum