Beacon ⌲ Stiles Stilinski [1] EDITING

twenty three

While I heard the purr of a car's engine as Allison drove away to meet in secret with Scott, I lay plastered to my mattress and staring up at the ceiling. I knew I was supposed to be sleeping, so had decided to at least make an effort.

But my mind  wouldn't go quiet, as per usual, and at this point I wondered how anyone anywhere could do so. I squeezed my eyelids closed and willed them to relax sleepily but each second a new thought would interrupt my attempts. First, there was the sudden emergence of another Derek Hale pack member yesterday in the form of Boyd from lunch who had given Stiles the keys to the ice rink. I had never really spoken to the kid before but he looked like a strong addition, or at least a number on the wrong side. Second, there was Scott's and Stiles' danger of constantly meddling further and further with Derek's plans and threats. Allison was panicked that every moment with Scott would be her last and upped her number of outings and secret messages of love and care to him. The battle lines between teams were becoming clear, as well as the rift between Gerard, my father, my mother and us. It made my skin crawl that my grandfather was still around and ready to spring another 'training' exercise on one of us any second. Now that he was the Beacon Hills High School principal, we weren't even safe at school.

Then there was Lydia and the way she had become even more aloof and disconnected from the group. I wondered how similar we were and whether or not that meant I should do something or talk to her. But what was I supposed to say? I had no answers to give and that made me feel guilty; like it was my job to provide support for her and I was failing. 

And I couldn't forget the routine visions of the glowing reptile eyes that seemed tattooed on the back of my eyelids. I saw the monster whenever I closed my eyes and sometimes even when they were open; the first thing I unconsciously drew when I opened my notebook of sketches and forgotten calculus formulas. Plus, there was a pit in my stomach which I couldn't shake, making me fear that something might be coming.

Frustrated, I opened my eyes to stare up at my stucco ceiling and simple overhead fan.

But what I observed was not what I had expected.

As my ceiling grew higher and higher and dark as night, I realized I was no longer laying on my mattress. My back was suddenly cold against a floor of concrete, and my hands were stuck to my sides next to a lone wrench.

Above me was an industrial structure, showing rust on its sides and strong bolts at its joints. Something large and faded blue was suspended on the structure above me, and it took me a minute to recognize the object as a vehicle and then another minute to identify said vehicle as Stiles' jeep; placing me in an auto-body repair garage of some sort.

I wondered if I was dreaming and had fallen asleep after all, but the ground felt so solid and authentic, and I could feel a draft on my bare arms. 

Out of the corner of my eye I could see that I was not alone, as I had originally expected. Lying out of arms reach beside me, parallel to my body and the wheels above us, was a grown man in a greasy tank top and jeans which I assumed was a result of his work on the bottom of the Jeep in our view.

That's when the draft grew colder and I felt a twang of pain in the centre of my stomach, flipping my observer mindset to one of panic in a heartbeat.

The man, I realized, was not lying peacefully. His face was scrunched up in pain as he looked up at the car. The structure whined and creaked, making me notice that the bottom of the car was coming closer to us and dropping by the second. If we didn't move, it would crush us.

"Move," I muttered to both myself and the man next to me. However, he made no effort to acknowledge me and I began to fear he couldn't hear me.

That's when I realized, I couldn't move. It was like my back was glued to the cement and so was the man's, as he cried silently and groaned for someone to help.