I M P U L S E | Jackson Whittemore [2]

12: Like I Do

SOTC: make me — noah cyrus ft. labrinth

She was going to be late.

She knew she would cause an uproar—or at least a few arguments—when she asked Allison to drop her off at her house, instead of riding with the crew to the battle. Despite everyone's protests, Allison dropped Annie off and wasted no time in speeding away, worried they might never find their parents.

She admitted, it was a kind-of selfish thing to do. Scott, Stiles, and Allison's parents were all at stake; not to mention her brother, also, but she felt like there was something she needed to do. She couldn't understand it.

Walking into her home, flashbacks of memories came with it. She couldn't believe she was back here. After everything, no matter how hard she tried, Beacon Hills was like a magnet. Always pulling her back into the electric current.

She imagined her mother, stashing something into her father's office desk. Something important. Something that would help them win this unconquerable battle. Annie ran into her father's office, pulling at the top desk drawer and dropping to her knees in defeat when it refused to open. It was locked, and her father was sure to have the key hidden away somewhere.

Annie leaned forward and rested her head against the cool wood, thinking of her father and how he left her and her brother. Without a hint of remorse, guilt, or even hurt, he left his children at the hands of the most supernaturally filled town in America. He didn't care, she thought, so why did she?

With a pop and then a squeaking sound like metal being twisted, Annie looked up to see the desk drawer being pulled open. Her eyes floated up and to the face coming to her rescue. She should have known. The incredible strength shown with a senseless ease, it couldn't have been a human. She looked up and met his glowing blue eyes, and she couldn't deny that he was still as beautiful as when he left.

When he broke her heart.

With a clang, the wooden desk was yanked apart, and inside sat an arrow practically glowing yellow. Annie sat up and took the arrow in her hands, smiling. Wolfsbane. If anything could defeat Deucalion, it would be the wild flower wolfsbane that only grows in the worst climates of America. Deep in the desert.

Tucking the arrow into the bushel she had slivered precisely on her back, she looked up at the man above her sighed, "What are you doing here, Jackson?"

He shrugged his shoulders, reaching a hand out to offer Annie an assist to her feet. She ignored his hand and jumped to her feet, fully capable of managing to stand by herself. He shook his head as Annie gave him a cold shoulder, gathering a few, final things.

"I was just passing by," he lied. "It looked like you needed some help."

"I could have handled it myself."