Chaos Magic (Stiles Stilinski)

I Want A Villain

I do want to give off an Emetophobia warning for this chapter. There will be lots of talk about vomit and just throwing up in general. Just wanted to give everyone a heads up because this is my biggest phobia, so this chapter was really sucky to write :)

Surprise, surprise, I didn't get any sleep last night. Instead, I spent the night sitting next to the toilet. I was constantly getting sick throughout the night, hour after hour, minute after minute. I tried to distract myself with the updates Scott and Allison frequently sent me.

Apparently, Stiles, Scott, and Derek were chasing after the Kanima--Jackson--trying to hunt him down. From what Scott texted me, it wasn't going well. Allison sent me several texts about her conversation with Lydia when she dropped her back off at home. Allison asked her not to talk about anything that happened at Scott's, and Lydia got angry with her.

I was only able to reply back to both of them with a thumbs up, vomiting into the toilet afterward. But, my mind was stuck on something else; for once, it wasn't Stiles.

It was Joey.

Everything he said about other girls and how they didn't pass. How many other girls have there been? How long have they been doing this? Why are they doing this?

I leaned on the sink for support, convincing myself to look at my stomach. I slowly lifted my shirt, catching a glimpse. My breath caught in my throat as the whole world froze. Everything looked normal except for one thing: my blood was pitch black. I'm no scientist, but I'm pretty sure blood isn't supposed to be black. 

Am I dead? Did I die?

Oh shit, am I a ghost?

I jumped when my phone started ringing, blasting the Star Wars theme song; Stiles was calling. It took me a few seconds to crawl across the floor to my phone; I may or may not have thrown it out of the bathroom when Scott and Allison kept texting me. Finally, on the last ring, I picked up the phone.

"Hello?" My voice came out all raspy.

"Are you drunk?" Scott asked, with a hint of surprise in his voice. So Scott called me on Stiles' phone, not Stiles. What should I have expected?

"No," I stated plainly, lying on the cold floor. My body was on fire, and I had no energy to take a cold shower, so the cold floor it was. 

"Okay, we'll be at your house in about five minutes. Derek's following the Kanima and will text us the address. We need you for a better chance at catching Jackson. So, see you in five."

"Scott--" Then he hung up.

Great.

I dropped my arm to the floor, letting my phone fall. I closed my eyes and tried to say some encouraging words to get myself off the floor.

If I were to go in public, I would probably be in children's nightmares for a week. I looked like a zombie. The purple bags under my eyes and Erica's friendly shiner haven't faded. There were little spots of black on my shirt from, apparently, my black blood, and I reeked of vomit.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself up off the floor. I hobbled into my room and grabbed a black shirt and old comfy shorts. I walked back into the bathroom and grabbed the mouthwash from the cabinet; even the smell made me nauseous. I held my nose and dumped a small amount into my mouth. I swished that around for a few seconds before spitting it back into the sink.

I returned the mouthwash and heard several loud honks from the driveway. I sighed, checking myself over once more before approaching the boys. 

When I got outside, Scott was standing in the driveway, the passenger seat pushed forward as he tapped his foot impatiently. "Ugh, finally. Come on, we got to go," he exclaimed as I climbed into the backseat. Before Scott had shut his door, Stiles backed down the driveway.