Through The Dark [Stiles Stilinski]

II. Stupid Electricity

Stiles POV

I wake up, my body completely drenched in sweat with my bed sheets twisted around my legs and my pillows littered across my bedroom floor. Breathing heavily, I wipe the sweat from my forehead and look around my bedroom, glad to see that I was not in that damn hallway anymore. Pushing the bed covers aside I get up and head over to my bedroom door, inching open the door slowly to peer out into the hall. The lights were all off, meaning my dad finally must have gone to sleep. He’s been busy at the station lately, getting little to no sleep, and I don’t want to make his life any more difficult than it already is.  

I make my was into the small bathroom and turn on the light. Looking into the large mirror above the sink I see that my face is paler than usual and covered in a fine sheen of sweat and my brown hair is disheveled and greasy. My fingers, still shaking slightly from the dream, twist on the tap for the cold water and I rinse my hands and face trying to clear my head of what had happened.  That dream had felt so real; the school, the shadows, the voices. I had not felt fear like that since the end of the school year when facing off Gerard and the kanima. At least this time there was no naked Jackson, thankfully.

After rinsing my face, I towel it dry and retreat back to my bedroom.  Lying back down on the bed, I stare up at my ceiling, memorizing the lines of white paint. The swirling white keeps my mind from wandering too far. Sleep would be absolutely futile now.

Selena’s POV

Well this is as good as it’s going to get. Brushing my hands through my long dark hair, I stare into the large mirror above my vanity. My eyes are bloodshot and show traces of dark circles, even after many applications of make-up.

It’s been a long few months for me. Moving in with Gran has really helped, but I still don’t feel like myself. Everything has just been a flurry of activity—not a lot of time for me to figure out how I am feeling.

“Selena, I need your help, dear!” I hear Gran shout from downstairs. Grabbing a hoodie, I scramble out my bedroom door and down the stairs. Walking into the kitchen, I see a disaster zone: ingredients everywhere, pots and pans upturned and on the floor, and the refrigerator door is wide open with my Gran’s bottom sticking out, swaying to the beat of some song she is humming. I can smell a horrid burning scent wafting through the room and notice that there is a little bit of something brown on the kitchen ceiling.

“What do you need Gran?” I say, slightly startling the elderly woman. She closes the fridge door and turns to look at me with her light gray eyes shining and quirky hair in disarray.

“Can you please run to the store and pick up butter! I can’t believe I have none!” She exclaims, running over to the stove to grab a pot that was bubbling over. She continues to mumble incoherently, moving at a dizzying pace around the room. 

Laughing to myself, I grab my wallet, keys, and put on my brown boots. “Never fear! There shall be butter!” I laugh, heading to the front door.

One thing about my Gran is that she can always make me laugh, which is exactly what I need in my life. With her eccentric style and flaky attitude, she was a breath of fresh air. I had missed spending time with her the past few years, but never was able to see her. My parents felt that I was better off not knowing my Gran and her “magical mumbo-jumbo” as my father liked to call it. Apparently my Gran used to tell me stories about witches and magic and I would believe they were real. Once my dad found out, after I had screamed fake spells at Anita Williams because she stole my favorite headband in first grade, I didn’t get to spend much time with her anymore.

“Oh and Selena, can you stop across the hall at the Argents and ask for my cake pan? I really could use it dear, and give Mr. Argent my thanks for letting me borrow his mixer!” She shouted after me.