FREAKISH stiles stilinski

chapter thirty-nine

GEORGIA RAY WAS sticky with sweat when she woke up. Her whole body ached and pulsated with a throbbing pain. It brought upon a distantly familiar sensation, as if she was reliving a past conflict. A groan slid out between her lips as her head lulled side to side.

Without opening her eyes, Georgia could tell she was propped up in a chair. Her hands were pulled uncomfortably tight behind her back, both ankles were fastened to the chair legs, and a heavy chain hung around her torso. It was a fight for Georgia to get her eyelids to lift, taking in her bleary surroundings as the frigid temperature nipped at any exposed skin.

Confusion struck her. She recognized it to be her own basement. Georgia had only gone down there once or twice for random purposes. Now, as she turned her head, she saw a decent sized machinery hooked up to the cables entrapping her. The wires were a dark red color, the same crimson as the blood she was constantly covered in as of late.

On the table across from her, various weapons were laid out. Blades of differing sizes and little vials of brightly colored liquids. The sight made Georgia gulp.

She tried to tune in her hearing, but didn't catch anything. It was strange to have what was becoming the norm be taken. However, once she tugged at her restraints, she understood why. A zapping of electricity went through her, causing a scream of pain to erupt.

Unpleasant memories fluttered to the surface. She was reminded of her time in the Argent basement alongside Boyd and Erica. The last time she saw the blonde. Tears pricked her eyes, trying to swallow so many emotions at once.

When would Georgia catch a break?

So much bullshit just kept happening. The rape, her mother dying, the bullying, Peter biting her, the kanima, Nate dying, Eichen, Erica, seeing Oliver, the motel. Everything was happening so quickly. Georgia just wanted a minute of rest, at least. She was sick of choking on so much trauma in such rapid succession.

She could hear a door opening. The one leading to the basement from upstairs. Georgia could hardly keep her head up after such a strong volt of energy. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw who it was that had put her into this position.

"Willow?" she forced out in a breathy exhale. Georgia's brows pursed, trying to possibly wrap her brain around why this was happening.

Willow had a mean glare. It wasn't the usual uncomfortable side-glance of nervousness Georgia was becoming used to. She looked angry—this sudden hostility directed straight at Georgia.

Willow walked closer, harshly dropping a manila folder against her table of weapons before standing in front of her sister, "I know what you are."

Georgia was startled by the blunt confession, "What? How?"

Willow scoffed, shaking her head as though it was all too simple, "I saw the photo of you and Stiles. Your eyes just confirmed what I was hoping wasn't true."

"How do you. . ?" Georgia trailed off, struggling to even process what she wanted to say, "How do you even know about werewolves? Why the fuck did you—?" she went to jerk against her chains, only resulting in another round of fiery pain and an equally horrific scream of agony. Georgia didn't remember it hurting this bad with the Argents, maybe she was too blinded by grief then to register it fully.

Or maybe Georgia was too exhausted to fight it anymore.

"The same way you do," Willow said cooly, her slender arms crossing over her chest. She struggled not to waver upon hearing such sadly gruesome noises. Her stomach churned, feeling bile creep up her throat for a moment, but she tried to stifle the remorse.