My first crush (COMPLETED)√

PART 2: Chapter 64: Wild beast

Stephen's POV

I woke up around five in the morning, the grey-blue light of dawn barely seeping through the curtains. The room felt unusually quiet — too still, too empty. My hand stretched across the mattress out of habit... and touched nothing but cold sheets.

I sat up.

"Sharon?"

No answer.

A faint uneasiness settled in my chest. Maybe she was in the living room — watching TV, scrolling through her phone, doing something trivial like she usually did when she couldn't sleep.

I dragged myself out of bed and walked through the apartment. The hallway lights cast long shadows across the floorboards. The living room was silent — television off, couch untouched. Kitchen — empty. Bathroom — empty.

"Sharon!" I called louder this time.

Nothing.

I checked every corner, every room, every place she could possibly be, calling her name again and again. My voice echoed back at me, hollow.

I rubbed my face, frustration creeping in.

Did she run away again or what...?

When I returned to the bedroom, something caught my eye — a folded piece of paper sitting on my reading table. My stomach tightened before I even opened it.

I unfolded it.

Don't ever look for me you bastard.

The words hit like a slap.

"What...?" I whispered, confusion twisting into dread.

She wouldn't say something like this unless—

I dropped to my knees and reached beneath the bed.

My diary was gone.

My pulse spiked. I searched again — under the mattress, across the sheets — until I saw it lying open on the bed, pages exposed like a wound. The exact page. The one I never wanted anyone to read.

My chest tightened.

"No... no... what have I done?"

I grabbed my phone and dialed her number. Once. Twice. Again. Again.

No answer.

I paced the room like a caged animal, anger and panic tangling together. I hated when she ignored my calls — but this time was different. This time I knew why.

Desperation clawed at me. I grabbed a bottle from the shelf and took a long drink. The burn spread down my throat.

I'd promised myself I wouldn't drink again.

That promise didn't matter now.

I called Stiles.

"Stephen?" His groggy voice answered. "Why are you calling this early?"

"She found it," I breathed. "She found the damn book."

"What book?"

"My diary. I didn't even think—"

"Oh God," he groaned. "Dude, I told you to get rid of that thing. Why keep a diary?"

"I know. Just... come over. I'm losing it."

Silence.

"Is she there?"

"She's gone."

"I'm on my way."

The call ended.

⸻

Sharon's POV

Memories blurred through my mind like scenes through fog.