Faded // A Stiles Stilinski Story.

Shattered Glass.

If you've ever lost someone everyone will tell you that it gets better. That it will pass. You wanted to find anyone who had ever said that to anyone. You wanted to scream in their face that the hurt doesn't fade, it doesn't just disappear like it never happened. It's like a wound that you can't treat, the darkness gets inside it and it festers and you can feel it throb everyday. Now imagine that you had lost a lot, lost your friends, your family, your life. You lost yourself, now try and get the strength to go through that everyday whilst you can watch everybody around not even notice.

If a girl screams behind glass can anybody hear her?

The answer would always be no. You had been screaming until your throat was hoarse, your throat dry and ripped to shreds. You had hurtled yourself at the glass that separated you from your life. You had been bloodied and bruised, your body barely hanging on but you hadn't given up. Every fucking day it was the same. This wasn't living. This was hell, but at least hell had books. You had read every single one on how to deal with loss. You'd ripped the pages out from the binding, shredding it between your fingers that constantly trembled. You'd stained the pages with teardrops, the ink pooling underneath. You'd hurtled the books as far as you could muster, crumbling to the floor when they hit the glass. Five stages of loss was a fucking joke.

DENIAL.

Denial is like when you have a hole in your heart but you carry on regardless of the fact that you're bleeding out on the floor. It's like putting a band aid on and hoping that it heals and that it wouldn't hurt anymore. It was a trap and you had found yourself ensnared within it, desperately clutching onto any hope that it was all a dream. You'd spent the first few weeks determined that nothing had happened, that every night when you went to sleep cold that you would wake up and be in his arms again. That you would feel his warmth, his energy; his light. It got you through the times you wished would never come. Nights when Stiles was wracked by panic attacks that had him waking up, screams ripping through his body with such a ferocity you swore he would be torn in half. It got you through the times where you wanted to run your fingers through his hair and pull him to your chest. It was the only solace in your own personal version of hell. Your brain was protecting you from the pain that was surely going to come crashing down on you. Help was just pretending that everything was okay and that you were going to get through this, that you would break void and get out and be his again. It let you sleep enough that your body could cope and it helped in the hours when you woke and Stiles was still in his bed, his hair mussed and mouth hung open.

It wasn't forever though, you could feel it fray within you, bouts of anger rushing to the surface in the moments that you couldn't gloss over it. It was a hole after all and you couldn't rely on a mantra to get you through it. You could block anything, nothing could hurt you like this. Not even Void, who showed up only to watch you. You smiled maliciously at him, your heart ripping open more with every week that passed, the band aid barely hanging onto the edges. You were cracking, the mantra fading and changing to a scream that never seemed to stop.

ANGER.

You wished you had never met him. You wished you had never fallen for his smile, that you had never felt his skin on yours; that you had never been his. It wasn't his fault but your blood boiled as you watched him live his life, smiles on his face as he lay on his bed, phone in his hands as a laugh erupted through him. He didn't know the pain that you felt, he had no idea of anything, all trace of you was gone so how could he miss a girl that never existed? Your mouth was always set in a hard line, your eyes sunken in your skin as you spent each night tossing and turning. You would tremble, your blood surging, a raging hot fire bubbling under your skin as you seethed. The hole no longer seemed to throb instead it pierced, a pain that you couldn't control or ignore. You knew you shouldn't be angry at Stiles, but it didn't stop you as you watched him fall in love. You knew the signs, avoiding sleeping to talk to her, a daft smile plastered on his face as he came home from being with her, spread out on his bed staring at the ceiling. Void had only fuelled the fire, snide comments as you white knuckled, curled into a ball trying to douse the flame that only threatened to climb higher with every passing day.