Rise

Prologue

I don't own Teen Wolf. I think that's obvious, but you know... just in case you were wondering.  

Please, if you have constructive criticism, leave a comment! Feel free to notify me of inconsistencies or typos, as well.

The girl from the cover is from kechake-stock.deviantart.com. c:

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       Wind can be such a ferocious thing.  Like right now, throwing the rain against my window panes and causing this old house to groan and shift like it was an old man, grumbling about the weather.  Logically, I knew that's what it was.  The weather.  Not fingers tapping against the glass in the darkness, or footsteps in the hallway outside my door.  The problem with me was I was logical and yet somehow still managed to be suspicious.  An overactive imagination kept my back pressed against my headboard with my knees pulled up to my chest, and my eyes wide open in the cold blue light that my phone shone onto my face.

        Every thump of a tree branch against the house made me tense and I could only hope that lightning wasn't going to make an appearance.  I'd never been afraid of storms, not even as a child, but for some reason this one had my stomach in knots.  

        It was Uncle Bobby's house, I think.  Not that it didn't have it's charm, the old two-storey- plus an attic, complete with family heirlooms and cobwebs.  Most of the walls were panelled with wood, the exceptions were plastered with dingy, peeling wallpaper with old floral patterns.  All of the creaky floors were hard wood except for the bathrooms and the kitchen, which were orange linoleum straight out of the seventies.  Outdated interior design aside, I had always loved this place.  It was the same house my dad grew up in with Uncle Bobby, Uncle Jimmy, and their parents, and every scuffed floorboard or dinged-up piece of furniture reminded me of summers spent here with the both of them.  

        My grandparents had passed when I was too young to remember, leaving the property to Bobby, since my dad had already set down roots in northern Idaho and Uncle Jimmy... well, Jimmy was less of an uncle or any sort of an authority figure, and more of a shady apparition and a cautionary tale.  "Don't do drugs, or you'll end up like your Uncle Jimmy!"  Dad hadn't really let me see Jimmy much, not since I was very small and he crashed on our couch for two weeks.

        My chest tightened and I pressed my fingernails into my palms until the tears threatening to spill over were under control.  Being here was a double-edged sword, it was like being surrounded by reminders of my dad and being taunted by his absence.  I couldn't decide if it helped to have so many of his things around to hold onto- I never had that with my mom.  She was like a ghost, completely non-corporeal.  Her abandonment hurt less, as it was a constant truth in my life that I'd grown up with.  It was easier to ignore the hole she left in my life- the woman who left me nothing but her heart-shaped face, auburn hair, and slender-and-petite build.  

        Dad, however... his death left me gasping for breath sometimes, random times.  Bobby- the poor, bewildered man- had taken me to the doctor after witnessing me during one of these times.  The doctor had said I was having panic attacks.  I refused the medication offered.  I hated taking pills.  The other treatment offered was therapy, twice a week.  Do you know how much therapy costs?  Too much.  Too much for my uncle, who teaches at the local high school.  He already has had a teenager thrust into his care, one he didn't ask for and certainly didn't need.  I wasn't about to cost him anything more.

        Bobby even said we could pull the money from the hefty amount I'd received from my dad's life insurance, but even thinking about that made me squeamish.  The money was a poor trade for my father, and so far I'd wanted nothing to do with it.  It made me feel slightly guilty, and I wondered if I should just give it to Bobby.  I was sure he could use it, and legally it was under his control until I turned eighteen anyway.

        I reached over and picked up a tiny bottle from the dozen scattered on my nightstand.  They were all gifts courtesy of my best friend, each one filled with a different blend of essential oils she claimed could do anything from cure headaches to help me sleep more soundly.  I didn't really believe her, but there were a few I used simply because they smelled nice, if nothing else.  Like the lavender and chamomile one I dabbed behind my ears before bed, or the woodsy-scented one that had spruce in it that always reminded me of home and riding my bike on the trails around the lake.  For now, I stuck with lavender, rubbing some on the pulse points of my wrist, hoping she was right and it would help relax me.

        The wind began to quiet down, the rain reducing it's once violent drumming to a calm pitter-patter on the roof.  I reached over to plug in my dying phone before laying down and pulling the covers over my head.  Sleep was evasive, but eventually, I caught it.

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