"Please tell me those aren't what I think they are," Scott pleaded, taking my wrists into his hands.
I bit my lip, "Scars?"
Scott nodded, a sad look in his puppy dog eyes that I only fell for every minute of every day. I shrugged, taking my wrists out of his grasp and rubbing down one of my forearms softly with one hand.
"They're not scars. They're battle wounds."
"Of what battle?" Scott asked with furrowed brows. I chuckled with no humor, through all that we've been through, it'd be a surprise if I didn't have any battle wounds.
I looked down at my black converse for a second before looking up to meet Scott's eyes, "The battle of myself."
claire estabrook. mjesec stilinski.
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❝and that's how you get the boy.❞
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————— TRIGGER WARNING : This story contains multiple subjects that could be considering triggering such as suicide, self harm, attempted suicide and more. Please read at your own risk. Stay healthy, darlings.
