2. The Absence of Peace | Teen Wolf | Stiles Stilinski

I. | back in the hills

I. | back in the hills

                    EARLY AUGUST IN Beacon Hills was partnered with cool mornings and warm afternoons. The sky was usually dotted with white fluffy clouds and the streets were full of young children spending the last few days of summer playing baseball together. Today wasn't too different from the usual. I sat in the front seat of my father's luxury SUV, watching the last few street games wrap up as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Behind me, sitting quietly in his seat, was my twin brother Presley. He'd given me the front seat next to Dad for the ride home from the airport. It seemed like a nice gesture, but I knew it was because he didn't want to have any conversation with our father. I had that job.

"So," Dad started as he glanced down at the built-in car GPS, "Are you excited for school? Junior year is the most important for building your future."

I swallowed the automatic sarcastic comeback as it started to spill out of my mouth. The last three months had been full of me holding those back. The sly, slick jabs that sent Dad into an angry silence. The only thing that kept me calm in these situations was the phone call I had at the end of every day with Stiles Stilinski, because even though he had a much better relationship with his father, he was one of the only people ever able to keep my calm as I talked him through the daily troubles of living with a neglectful asshole of a father.

"Sure," I responded after a second of silence.

Around us, the world darkened as the sun began dipping below the horizon. I focused my eyes on the last few hop-scotching kids on the sidewalk. As we passed them, the street lights flickered on, and they turned on their tails to go inside. Only three days left of summer vacation, and they were going to spend every moment possible outside playing with their friends. Faintly, I remembered being their age and doing the same.

We'd lived in North Carolina then, on a street with big houses and spectacular yards. Presley had been my best friend, and we'd run around outside until we passed out from exhaustion. That was the last good summer before Dad left us.

The memory shocked me back to the present, and I leaned back into the leather seat of the car. No matter how many first class flights, fancy clothes, and expensive rental cars he bought, I would stay passive towards him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced over. The man next to me had changed over the last ten years. His dark skin had started to wrinkle as age crept up on him, but his hair was as deep in color as ever. While I silently regarded him, I was reminded of a night many months ago, at Lydia's birthday party. I'd hallucinated due to spiked punch, and I'd seen him as I'd remembered him from before the divorce. He'd screamed at me, told me he'd never loved me.

Watching him now, I wasn't sure if it had all been a trick of the eyes. Sure, we'd spent the entire summer together, working on building back that father-daughter relationship, but had it truly been a wanted reunion? Would any of this had happened if I hadn't mentioned wanting to talk to him? The questions haunted me.

Our summer in New York had been eventful to say the least. As well as spending time with us, Dad had been forced to juggle work and his own family. A woman with long blonde hair had been at the airport to greet us months ago, but after that, she'd barely made an appearance. Judith is what Dad called her, but I stuck to a more fitting name: Home-wrecker. Judith was what my father saw as a replacement - she was tall, only a few years younger than him, and sickly sweet. Her accent was thick with Georgia, but her high end fashion choices led me to believe that she was far from her small town attitude.

The rented SUV took the soft curves of Beacon Hills slowly. Almost every street we passed gave me a memory. The oneway street that led down to the local funeral home? The last time I'd driven there was in an outfit of pure black, mourning the death of Sarah's deputy friend, Stevens. He'd died at the hands of the kanima, fighting for the safety of the police station. That lonesome alleyway with only one working streetlight? I'd woken up in a dumpster there not too long ago with a gash on my head and stars in my eyes. That had been at the hands of a new werewolf named Erica. For many weeks last school year, she'd been the enemy. Now, she was missing and thought to be in danger, along with another young werewolf named Boyd.