my personal devil in prada // lydia martin

Breaking out the handcuffs, and not in the fun way.

A/N: Sorry this update is a little late -- life sucks. But I'm also not going to be able to make a November update (this is the late October one), but my life is very stressful right now, especially as the UK is going into a second lockdown, except for schools though (because Bojo doesn't understand how schools work) so stress and anxiety levels are going to be at an all-time high.

*** means a scene break, and ^^^ means a change in perspective.

***

I traipsed my way through the thicket, and entered a clearing of sorts -- trees were sparse between the boulders that both composed and sat atop the ground; perfectly matching the description Stiles gave to me over the phone. My assumption is right when the boys round the corner into my view, Stiles waving me over.

After Allison broke up with Scott at the school the other night -- the kicked-puppy expression makes a lot more sense now -- Scott had been quite depressed, as one is when they've been dumped. At least he's handling it better than me; and by better than me, I mean he hasn't gotten wasted off his face yet, though that may change after tonight. Because in an effort to cheer him up, Stiles decided we all needed another night out like the one when I first arrived in this anything-but-normal town.

I half-run, half-walk up to them because I don't want to slip on the still-wet ground because I genuinely don't think my pride can take another hit after the whole almost-skewering-the-janitor thing. Because that was very embarrassing.

"We really shouldn't be out here. My mom is in a constant state of freak-out from what happened at the school," Scott groans, and by his obvious lack of enthusiasm, I can tell that Stiles probably dragged him out here kicking and screaming. Well, kicking and howling would probably be more accurate for our werewolf friend.

"Well, your mom isn't the sheriff, okay? There's no comparison, trust me," Stiles starts off toward a large and very comfy-looking boulder, and Scott and I follow.

"Hey," I shrug, gaining both of their attention, "try having two asshole half-brothers who leave you for dead when they get a shiny new relative," I joke, but it falls short with a lukewarm reception, so I correct myself, "Kidding," they both raise their eyebrows at me and I sigh, "Not really, as that actually happened, but I'm not butthurt over it, or anything," I lie through my teeth, because I am still very pissed about it.

Though, I must have built some lying skills over my lifetime because they move on. After all, the many 'it was just a few friends', 'I was just studying', 'yes, I did my homework' and 'no, I didn't break into your liquor stash' over the years must have given me some practice to build some decent lying talent.

"Can you at least just tell me what we're doing out here?"

"Yes. When your best friend gets dumped-" Stiles starts, but is cut off by an adamant Scott,

"I didn't get dumped. We're taking a break."

"Yeah, look how well that turned out for Ross and Rachel, the toxic motherfuckers," I mumble, but Scott clearly hears me, glaring at me. I really need to start remembering that he has werewolf hearing.

"All right, well, when your best friend gets told by his girlfriend that they're taking a break," Stiles continues, "you get your best friend drunk." He gestures to me and I pull out the three bottles of jack I got with my fake ID with the desired dramatic flourish.

"Charlie, I said a bottle, not three," Stiles says incredulously.

"Yeah, well some of us use alcohol to cope with traumatic incidents like the other night," I shrug, and set about lighting a fire in the metal containers the preserve people leave out for this very purpose.