I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters. I only own Celeste. If I did Shia LaBeouf would do a cameo every episode where he just ate cereal for like ten minutes.
Song - Gasoline // Halsey
Celeste's POV
Celeste lay stiffly on her twin sized mattress, listening absentmindedly to the Cicadas singing outside her window.
She heard the click clack of her mother's heels hitting the hardwood floor as she passed her room, her unblinking eyes staring at her standard off-white ceiling apathetically.
The glitchy streetlight across the way that blinked on and off sporadically acted as her only source of light.
She rubbed her eyes furiously, as if the action would somehow wipe her mind clean of the day's events, and fluorescent colors exploded behind her eyelids. The obscure shapes they made were more sensible than her current life situation.
It wasn't even the werewolves that she had a problem with. In fact, she thought that it was the best thing to have happened in her life since the invention of Olive Garden. Better, even, and unlimited breadsticks is no laughing matter.
The idea that something considered widely to be nothing more than a myth, a story woven out of the cloth of boredom and idle minds, was actually true made Celeste's hopes soar. She had suddenly been thrust into a reality where impossibilities became possible, and possibilities became substantial, and it offered the girl the opportunity to do something more with her life.
It was Derek Hale that she couldn't wrap her head around. How could she have been so wrong about a person? Celeste had always been a good sense of character, and she had felt for Derek. She had him pegged as a good man who had been through an unspeakable tragedy.
However, the corpse buried on his property seemed to prove otherwise. She couldn't get those lifeless eyes out of her head, they bore into her mind and engraved themselves in her thoughts.
Sure, she had seen every episode of Dexter and she figured she was as desensitized as every other teenager in their generation, but nothing could have prepared her for the real thing.
Tap.
Celeste jumped as her musings were interrupted and sat up alertly, her head whipping around vividly.
Tap.
A second noise resounded, and Celeste was able to pinpoint the source to her window.
Cautiously, she padded over, grabbing her worn copy of The Bell Jar for a meager means of protection.
She creaked open her window slowly with a pounding heart, her mind immediately jumping to the witches from Roald Dahl's book for some reason.
"OW," she cried, pulling back from the opening and holding a hand to her forehead, where a small pebble had so rudely attacked her moments ago.
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