Violet

Teens Collide

I don't get much sleep, everytime I close my eyes I see my mother holding a gun to my head.

Sometimes she pulls the trigger, other times I see her shoot herself again.

Regardless, every dream is gunfire, blood, death.

I've been staring at the window for hours, even watched the sunrise.

I yawn, stretching out over the queen size bed.

After our akward encounter, Stiles gave me a shirt and some boxers to sleep in before showing me to the guest room. It's right across the hall from his room, and for no particular reason I find that comforting.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and look across the hall to see that Stiles' door is open, but he's not in his room.

I turn and put my feet to the floor, the hardwood reminding me of home. For a moment I can swear I see my mothers blood pooling beneath my feet but after a couple rabid blinks, it's gone.

I take a deep breath and get out of bed, deciding I'll venture downstairs for some breakfast. I take my time walking down the hall, admiring the family photos along the wall. I stop in front of one of Stiles as a young boy. A woman, who I assume to be his mother, has her arms wrapped around him and they're both smiling. Stiles' dad stands behind them, tickling his neck.

For some reason this image really tugs at my heart, both parents and their child all together, happy. I never had that, nor do tons of other kids. Even when they do, it doesn't always last. Judging by the way Stilinski mentioned the lack of female presence in the house, I'm guessing she either left or passed away.

Happiness fades for everyone at some point.

Though my opinion may be a little more pessimistic than usual after yesterday's brutal events. I look away from the photo, staying true to my mission to not let a single tear sneak by.

I make my way downstairs, taking in a deep breath.

Bacon!

The scent makes me smile, I love a good warm breakfast and I'm starving. I run a hand through my bed head, following the delicious smell. I stop right outside the kitchen when I hear voices, they aren't loud but they make no effort to be quiet either, probably assuming I'm still in bed.

"Dad, are you serious? We don't really know anything about this girl, and you just invite her into our home. She could be a serial killer... or a witch! They often sport purple hair." He points a finger at his dad like he'd just spit big facts, though it's clearly all BS.

I guess Stiles doesn't care much for me barging in on his home life. I can understand that, I'm a total stranger.

"Stiles, do me favor and don't drill her with questions, alright? She's been through enough, don't make it worse. She seems like a sweet girl, be nice." His dad is dressed for work, pouring himself a cup of coffee as he waits for the bacon to finish cooking.

"The crazy ones always seem sweet dad." Stiles says matter of factly. "How do we know she didn't kill her mom and stage the suicide, huh?"

Ouch.

I take that as my cue to enter, not wanting to hear him bash me anymore. He's cute but he's kind of being a jack ass.

They both stare at me as I walk into the kitchen; Stiles' eyes calculating, trying to figure me out. The sheriff, however, looks at my baggy eyed face and sits his coffee on the counter to pour me a cup of my own. He walks it over to the kitchen table and pulls the chair out for me, gesturing for me to sit. I do so and thank him with a small smile.