One-shots BSM, DDM, DCM, MCM, UNM, Imagines

Product of a Failed Relationship, TW Part 2

Y/N = Your Name

N/N = Nick Name

Y/G = Your Gender

I'm taking requests. Please vote and comment what you think. Thanks for reading! I'll also write the chapters in whatever P.O.V. you'd like.

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Teen Wolf ( When They Grow Up. Imagine Isaac and Alisson are still Alive/In Beacon Hills still. )

Reader's P.O.V.

13 Years Old

Part 2

(If you use makeup, go ahead and read this part) Part:(Italicized)

It's been an hour since I dropped the paint. I haven't left my room at all and I've had to resort to cleaning myself up with makeup wipes Kira put in my room when she decorated the place. She bought me some stuff she thought I'd like which included a makeup set and makeup wipes. I've never touched the makeup. Or really anything else in this room. None of it feels like my things. It's just stuff that Kira and dad bought for me. 

I let out a shaky breath before pulling myself off the floor of my bedroom. I leave the dirty makeup wipes on the floor, not caring at all that the room now looks like a mess. 

Boys( Or girls if you don't care much for makeup) Part:(Bold+Underlined)

It's been an hour since I dropped the paint. I luckily have a bathroom connected to my bedroom, so I was able to clean the paint off. 

I pull on a new shirt and pants and dump my paint soaked ones in my empty hamper. I look around the bedroom, feeling lost. All I want is my stuffed bunny. I'm usually not one for stuffed animals-or any toys for that matter, but Kenny really mattered to me. He's the only thing I have held onto from my childhood. If my friends found out I still had Kenny...they'd probably make fun of me. 

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, hating myself for crying in front of everyone. I try so hard to be strong. To be tough. Everyone I know seems to be tough and move on. Why can't I be like them? Why can't I stop myself from embarrassing myself in front of everyone? 

I let out a shaky breath before pushing myself away from the bathroom counter. I don't bother turning off the bathroom light and walk into my bedroom. 

Everyone:

I snatch my jacket from the bedpost by a desk in the corner and turn to the window. I tug too hard and my jacket tears with a loud rip. I don't care though. I just need to leave. I need to get out of here. I need to go for a run. I need to get out of this room that feels like it's suffocating me. 

I know my anxiety is kicking in but I choose to try to ignore it. I never leave the house without someone because of fear that something will get me. The woods are full of creatures. Creatures my parents and others struggle to fight off. 

Who cares if I get eaten or something. My parents won't care. It'll probably be better if I die. My parents won't have to worry about me. They won't have to worry about running into each other or ever having to talk to one another again. They can finally move on with their lives and their new children. I'll just be a distant memory. I just hope that they give me a semi-nice funeral. One with flowers and priests and stuff.