𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 // stiles x oc

[ 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 ]

                      ———————————————
                          𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕:

Stiles' fingers wrapped through and around the worn threads in the net of his lacrosse stick. Backpack at his feet, he absentmindedly tightened the knots on the head of the stick.

"You know, when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you're about to black out. It's called voluntary apnea." He begun, pulling the knot tighter and tighter.

"It's like no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let water in is so strong, you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head is exploding." He paused, "But when you finally do let it in, that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's actually kind of peaceful."

Ms. Morrell sat across from him, watching as he spoke, "Are you saying you hope Matt felt some peace in his last moments?" She asked.

Stiles glanced up at her, "I don't feel sorry for him."

"Can you feel sorry for the nine year-old Matt who drowned?" She interrogated.

He scoffed, "Just because a bunch of dumbasses dragged him into a pool when he couldn't swim doesn't mean he's allowed to kill them off one-by-one." He paused again, finishing another knot, "And, by the way, my dad said they found pictures of Allison on his computer. Not just her. Matt photoshopped himself into them. Stuff like them holding hands a kissing," He grimaced, "Like he'd built this whole fake relationship. So drowning might have sent him off the rails, but the dude was definitely riding the crazy train."

"One positive thing came out of it though, right?" Ms. Morrell asked, referring to his father getting his job back.

Stiles' eyes focused on the threads of the lacrosse stick, "Yeah, but it still feels like there's something wrong between us. Like there's this tension when we talk. Same thing with Scott." He sighed.

"Have you talked to him since that night?" She questioned. Stiles shook his head, "Not really. He's got his own problems to deal with."

Ms. Morrell tilted her head, trying to gauge Stiles' reaction through the netting of his lacrosse stick.

"No, I'm pretty sure he hasn't talked to Allison either. But that's more her choice, I think." He added, "Her mom dying hit her really hard. But I guess it kind of brought her and her dad closer." He shrugged.

"Jackson?" He paused once again, "He hasn't really been himself lately."

"Aurora's fine. She's beginning to warm up to me, I guess." He told her, not removing his eyes from his lacrosse stick, "The new girl?" Ms. Morrell asked, the boy returning a nod.

"Thing is, right now, Lydia's the one who seems the most normal." He concluded.

Ms. Morrell relaxed back into her chair, "And what about you, Stiles?" She watched Stiles closely from behind her desk, "Feeling any anxiety about the championship game tomorrow night?"

Stiles looked up, one of the threads from the stick clenched between his teeth, "Why would you ask me that?" He complained.

He finally set the lacrosse stick down, "I never actually play. But hey, since one teammate is dead and the other missing, who knows?" He shrugged, "You mean Isaac? One of the three runaways. You haven't heard from any of them, have you?" She questioned.

Stiles ignored her question, focusing on Ms. Morrell's desk, "How come you're not taking any notes?"

"I do my notes after the session." She answered quickly. "Your memory's that good?" He asked once again, "How about we get back to you?" She interrupted.