The Sicilian Defence [Derek Hale]

Chapter Thirty-Seven

It was my birthday.

Nineteen years ago today at exactly 10:06 in the morning I was brought into this world, I came into the world screaming and crying. Nineteen years on at exactly 15:29 and I felt nothing. It's done. I loved him and now it's done. It's all over. I can't remember how I got home last night, all I know was that I must have spent a good seven hours crying with Stiles and now it was over. I couldn't feel anything. It was just a large empty void that wanted me to follow after him. I was completely and utterly souless. Just empty.

"Close your eyes."

Cora had come to me earlier today trying to convince me to go back to the Mall. To get his body. I couldn't look at that. I don't want to look at his dead body. If I was to see it then it's real. More real than the fading bond and the loneliness in my own head. More real than the torture I'd endured.

Bringing the whisky to my lips, I knocked it back as I stared out at the town. I'd escaped everyone and taken a seat on the bench which sat in the preserve looking over the entirety of Beacon Hills. Had it always been so small? No, it wasn't small. It was completely the same. There was just a lot less in it.

"Close your eyes."

I'd stolen three bottles of alcohol from Noah, I'd already gotten through two. Except thanks to being a stupid werewolf it didn't make much difference. There was a slight buzz, but it would never develop as more than that. It couldn't. It was my fault.

"Close your eyes."

The plan was mine. The plan, the strategy, all of it was mine. It was my plan that failed.

"Close your eyes."

"Oh, look. It's the one from the pathetic, weak, pack," an annoying teenage voice called out. The twins. Of all the places in Beacon Hills and they just had to be here.

"Do you mind, or is it some rule that you can't even let people grieve in peace," I spat out, taking another swig. The twins. Forcing myself to look at them, seeing the conflict in their eyes, it made me sick. But I needed to know. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Wonderful. You know ..." why was I talking to them? I should be running or fighting, I should be doing something. Anything. Yet I couldn't do a single thing. I didn't care. "I've spent the past year trying to save children's lives...because they're children. They're kids. They have parents, siblings, friends, loved ones... they have whole lifes ahead of them but looking at you... looking at you makes me think how disgusting a child can really be. And that makes me think...all those people who are grieving, mourning, crying, those who have to be parents when they don't even have a kid anymore... maybe it was worth it."

"We're werewolves. It's what we do."

"Being a werewolf doesn't make you a monster... you do that all on your own."

"You know we could kill you now if we wanted to," one of them mused, both of them had different looks. One was filled with a war and the other complete arrogance. Well, at least I now know who the nice one would be. The needle of anger was beginning to throw it's way into my mind.

"Already dead," I countered holding my drink up to them in a way of saying cheers, "I mean really go ahead... all you'll really be doing is adding to the pile of bodies you get to carry around with you, although I'll admit I do want to see the day when one of you dies...I'm hoping you," I added on gesturing to the 'kinder' one, "because when your heart is torn out... I can sit there laughing and mocking you."

"You're too weak to do that."

"You're right... I'm actually capable of basic humanity," I scoffed, I don't have time for this. I don't have the energy for this. Forcing myself up to my feet, I glanced at the bottle before tossing it into the bin. It was disgusting anyway. "Now if your empty souls allow it...I have a cake to eat."