Rise

Chapter Seven

I don't own Teen Wolf

 ~edited~

☾☾☾

        I found myself falling into a routine in Beacon Hills.  I ran with Bobby three times a week, and when I wasn't out with Stiles at night, we cooked dinner together.  I was getting better at both activities, though running was coming easier than cooking.  Our jaunts through the forest were physically painful but slowly, I was learning to control my breathing.  Feeling my body strengthening was exhilerating, and running allowed me to zone out everything but the rhythm of my feet pounding the earth.

        Cooking, however, I still loathed.  I wasn't sure I would ever enjoy it the same way Bobby did, but as he was sure to remind me over and over, everyone has to eat.  It was supposed to be one of those life skills that would keep me from living off ramen in college or whatever.

        Bobby was becoming busier, preparing for summer school.  I always thought teachers kind of had the ideal job, because they got a whole summer vacation to do whatever they wanted.  Apparently, that's not exactly accurate, and working summer school allowed Bobby to keep up with his expenses.  While I loved my uncle, I was a little grateful his attention was being diverted from me more and more.  It relieved a certain amount of pressure from my shoulders, not having to endure his worried looks and constant prodding.  Though, maybe he was laying off me because I'd started finding it easier to eat at least three meals a day, and while I was still prone to bouts of numbness or crushing grief, I found myself genuinely being able to smile and laugh sometimes.

        Two weeks had passed, and it simultaneously felt like no time at all and an eternity.  I had only had two panic attacks, and one was while I was at a diner with Stiles picking up dinner to take back to his dad.  I still couldn't pinpoint what was triggering them, as I'd gotten them both while alone and while surrounded by people, and I couldn't really see any connections.  In the diner, we'd been standing at the register waiting for the waitress to return with the order to-go, and I'd been leaning against a wall, scanning over the half-empty place, listening to the clinking of silverware on plates when that sick feeling began crawling it's way up my chest.

        I tried to swallow it down, but my heart began beating faster and the world kind of lost focus around me while I tried to control my thoughts.  By the time the food arrived and Stiles was thanking the waitress, my panic was obvious, and he immediately steered me out to the Jeep.  He sat me in the passenger seat with my legs dangling out the side, and held my hands while he calmly talked me through it.  The Sheriff's food was a little less hot and fresh by the time we got it to him, but he never said anything.

        I'd also had an attack once at home, in the evening after Bobby had gone to read before bed.  That one I endured alone, ending up hugging my knees in the bathtub while the shower rained down around me.  I knew Stiles had asked me to come to him, text him, call him, whatever, but I had felt so crushingly alone and pitiful, that I hadn't wanted to bother him.  I never told him about it, afterward.

        "Can I move?" Stiles asked, trying to glimpse me from the corner of his eye.  He sat on his couch, Xbox controller in his hands and his feet on the scuffed coffee table.

        "Sure," I said, smiling softly.  I had my back against the arm of the couch so I could face him with my sketchbook in my lap.  He'd agreed to being my live model, and various sketches of him scattered the last two pages.  It was always fun studying someone's individual features in real life, rather than through photos.

        Stiles let out a breath and sat up to stretch before going to change the game disc.  He sat back down, angled slightly towards me this time, and watched me while his game loaded.  He started biting his fingernails, but slowly lowered his hand after I sent him a pointed look.