My head say's, "Who cares?" But then my heart whispers, "You do, stupid..." - Stiles Stilinski™
teen wolf ✖ the vampire diaries
Dear Mr. Stilinski, ✉
This year's Founder Party in Mystic Falls is coming up...
A lot of going back and forth between what's happening to Stiles, and what's happening to Klaus.
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STILES EYES BORED INTO HIS HANDS LIKE HE WAS DIGGING A KNIFE INTO ONE OF THEM. The illusion of blood dripping and staining his fingernails. Was something that tainted his inner thoughts.
He was snuggled up in the chambers of his room. Not having any motives to leave the comfort his room held.
He killed people, he killed them with the hands that are attached to him. At least he didn't kill one person. It seemed as all his friends are dead, for to Lydia, Stiles was dead to her. He was a monster a killer in her eyes. And he believes her. For he was a killer, a murderer, he should be in prison, or dead.
Guilt was a thing that formed in Stiles' throat and became the constant reminder that he massacres a whole pack. A pack that uses to be his best friends. His own sort of family.
But they had hurt him, had caused him pain. Showed that he will do more for them, then they will, at all, for him.
And he killed them, ripped their hearts out, cut off their heads. The only thing he wasn't guilty about was killing Theo. but, he was guilty that he wasn't guilty of that.
Guilt was the main emotion I'm Stiles life now. It had control of Stiles life to where it stuck him in his room. Where he stayed for two days so far. Not knowing that one of his last friends were dying for a fatal werewolf bite.
Stiles got up and went into the bathroom, his face looked like a cracking mask in emotions. He was trembling from every inch of his body.
Stiles quickly turned on the sink and started to wash his hands fiercely, as if he was scrubbing off every memory, and every stain on them. And to him, he was. He thought he was washing off red fresh blood from his hands.
As if Stiles wasn't hurting, the teen stopped scrubbing his hands. His doe brown eyes, bore into the mirror staring right back at him. That was when he just smiled, smiled as if he was telling someone else that everything was going to be okay. That they will get through this, for not everything can stay bad. And not everything can stay good.
He smiled to convince his self that this was life balancing out, that good would surely come.
It wasn't working for the more he acted out that smile, the more he masked his true feelings. The more haunting, the more broken his eyes looked. It was as if they were broke. Glass lens, unclean with a crack running through them.
And he stopped, and once he stopped faking to himself that he was okay. The mirror showed his true form. A soon to be young adult, with issues and scars as if he was a war veteran. And in a way, he was, he survived a battle. A battle that'll continue out a war. And through this war, the teen will grow, grow in knowledge, and in years. For without knowing, Eighteen was his families special number. Eighteen was when things will become clear when things will freeze truth in appearing. And the. Number eighteen was looming closer and closer to Stiles. For the day he was born is near.
