The Absence of Truth | S. Stilinski

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                    THE STILINSKI RESIDENCE was bathed in darkness when Stiles pulled into the driveway, humming a song I'd never heard under his breath. He'd asked if I'd wanted to be dropped off at a hotel, but Beacon Hills wasn't full of anything but rundown motels. I'd wrinkled my nose at his suggestion and he'd said that the only place he could take me was back to his house.

"Won't your dad be angry?" I'd asked. Not going home without telling my mother was one thing, but holing up at the Sheriff's house was another. I didn't want to be a burden, and I didn't want to get into any legal trouble for hiding from my family.

Stiles shrugged before turning the Jeep off and jumping to the ground below. "He shouldn't be. Scott stays over all the time."

"Uh-huh," I said, following him closely to the front door. My eyes scanned the bushes surrounding the outer panelling of the small home, searching for any sign of the kanima. I shivered just thinking about it stalking me. Somehow giving it a name made the whole situation more terrifying. "But you and Scott are like best friends. I'm just some random girl hiding from her family at the Sheriff's house."

We stopped in the foyer of the home, and Stiles locked the door behind us while my eyes scanned the walls of the house, focusing on pictures of Stiles and the Sheriff at various events throughout his childhood. A woman with long brown hair made an appearance in many of them, but she seemingly disappeared once Stiles reached middle school. I rested my eyes on her face, catching the similarities between her nose and Stiles's.

"Divorce?" I asked aloud, turning back to the door where Stiles was watching me investigate his house.

His nose twitched. "Huh?"

I walked up to a picture hanging on the wall, of Stiles at an elementary school soccer game. He looked the exact same in the face, but he was swimming in his uniform. That same woman was crouched down next to him, smiling serenely. I assumed the Sheriff was the one taking the picture. Side by side, I could pick out more similarities between the woman and Stiles. I pointed at her then looked back at Stiles.

"Your mom," I said it so confidently because there was no way she wasn't his mother. They had the same soft features and mischievous eyes. "Did she and your dad divorce?"

"Oh," Stiles shook his head and looked anywhere except my eyes. "No. She, uh, she died."

My chest suddenly felt tight. "I'm sorry," I said guiltily, turning away from the wall of pictures. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's fine," Stiles said, walking past me and into the nearby kitchen. "Happens."

He pulled a frozen pizza out of the freezer and set it on the counter before turning on the oven. I shuffled behind him and stood uncomfortably next to the fridge, still shivering in my wet clothes. I internally cringed. I hadn't even thought about school in the morning, or what I would be wearing. That on top of my blatant questions about Stiles's mother was enough to make me shiver harder.

Stiles glanced over at me and noticed my shaking. "Oh. You should probably take a shower."

"Yeah," I said back, holding my hands in front of me.

He stood by the oven quietly, then blinked back into reality when it beeped, signaling that it was preheated. "Uh," He pat his pockets for something, then changed his mind and unwrapped the pizza before popping it in the hot oven. He turned then, scratching at his buzzcut. "Follow me." I couldn't tell if he was jittery because he was nervous or because of me bringing up his mother.