"please, just let me help you"
"why should i? everyone i know either dies or thinks i'm a total freak show"
Georgia Ray is a social outcast. Nobody bothers to spare her a second glance, unless it's to roll their eyes or scoff. Living alone w...
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A FEW DAYS PASSED since Boyd died. Stiles Stilinski was spending as much time as he could with Georgia Ray. It scared him how well she seemed to be doing. It felt like a facade, a dam gradually being flooded by water until it burst.
Georgia was a ticking time bomb.
But for now, all Stiles could do was watch. He noticed she was back to journalling. She was even rereading bits of her mother's writing. When Georgia wasn't storming up ideas about the darach, she was with him or Willow.
The latter confused him greatly. After asking her about it, Georgia insisted she still hated Willow and they weren't necessarily getting along. She just said it was complicated.
And it must've been. They were always having hushed conversations just out of range for Stiles to hear. Then they'd disappear for a few short hours, supposedly going out running.
This was confusing, but Stiles just went with it.
Him and Georgia flipped back and forth between which house they slept at every night. Stiles refused to leave her alone, somewhat terrified something bad would happen. It always did, it seemed, as soon as he left her side.
The bite, her getting snatched by the Argents, Nate dying, the suicide attempt, her going by herself at the motel, the night Boyd died, etcetera. A part of Stiles wondered if he could ward off all evil if he just stuck by her side.
Currently she was fast asleep. Stiles laid right beside her in the large bed, eyes trailing from her face and then around the room. Georgia slept facing him, one hand having landed on his shoulder at some point.
Stiles delicately reached out, tucking the loose strands away and behind her ear. She was constantly wearing her hair up as of late, needing it out of her face. Stiles thought she looked beautiful always, but noticed how she constantly rubbed at the ponytail like it was getting painful.
The walls in this house were unlike her room back at the trailer. There was no alien on the door or a collage of photographs. The bedding wasn't all ragged and homemade. She even had some nice makeup on her vanity, just like the new clothes in her closet.
Stiles spotted a trash bag next to the door to said closet, filled with old clothes that didn't fit anymore or were too torn up. It was crazy how vastly different this was to her old life. Before, if she accidentally showered too long, she had to go around mowing everyone's lawns to cover the bill. Her fridge was constantly empty—even if she didn't eat—and her room was tiny.
Now, she was in a financially stable home for the first time. Stiles, no matter how much he hated Willow out of respect for Georgia, was somewhat grateful. The walls may have been bare and stripped of all things Georgia, but at least they were secure.
Stiles stared at her floor, seeing the various cardboard boxes with all her research. He also spotted the head of a guitar poking out of her closet, and realized it was the same one he caught her playing before.
