chapter 18

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"Stiles! What happened!?"

Scott, alison and lydia rushed up to him in a blur of panic, "are you ok? Are you hurt? why is there so much blood!?"

All their questions rushed past him in a blur, he couldn't answer them. Answering then would confirm that what happened was real and not just apart of of his fucked up imagination. Answering them would tell him what he already knows.

"He's dead"

The room went silent, left with the background buzz for a few seconds before the questions started again. Questions he refused to answer because even he admits that if he does he won't be able to handle it.

He walks out of the living room to his bedroom, head swimming with memories and flashbacks to what happened mere moments ago. He pushed them away, he cant deal with all of it right now.

Without even realizing, he had driven himself into a panic attack. As he looked up at his old star wars posters the room starts to spin.

He tries to fight the tears that he feels trying to join the panic but all it takes is a glance at a photo of his mum and dad for him to lose.

He sinks into the corner of the wall with his legs drawn up to his chest, granted it doesn't help him breathe intact it makes his breathing worse but, it brings him comfort instead, and he really needs that right now.

"Ha" he has to laugh at himself, look at him. The boy raised to be a killer, the boy who runs with wolves. Weak.

So weak and pathetic that he cant even get ahold of himself enough to clean th3 blood off.

Hes just glad he managed to kill the guys who did it.

But it doesn't matter not really, nothing will ever to  compare to losing his dad, the second parent hes lost.

He was too weak to save him.

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