ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
— ASPEN BELLATOR
It's been five days.
Five days since Scott and Stiles have spoken to me.
Five days since Kira left town.
Five days since Deaton's been gone.
Five days since we figured out that Parrish was the one taking the bodies.
Five days since I last took a pill.
Five days since any of us have smiled— actually, it's probably been a lot longer than that.
Everyone goes to school, everyone attends their classes— and then everyone goes home, pretending like we don't know that something awful is coming. Scott and I live under the same roof, and somehow we never even cross paths anymore.
The only person Stiles has really been talking to has been Lydia, since the two of them have been trying to find the nemeton and find a way to tell Parrish about what he's been doing. They've been driving around the woods in search of it for days, that's what Lydia told me— since she's still talking to me. But the last time we searched for the nemeton, Scott, Stiles and Allison had to drown under ice to find it.
I'm exhausted. Even without the pills, I haven't been able to sleep once since that night. The night Scott and Stiles shut me out and turned their backs on me— but I don't blame them, I know that I drove them there. I lied, I kept secrets, I've basically given them every reason under the sun not to trust me anymore.
But I was ready to tell Stiles everything.
I was ready to run after him that night and beg him to hear me out, I was ready to confess nothing but the truth, even if it meant he never looked at me the same way ever again.
I'm still ready— but I can't tell him if I can't even see him.
He said he needed space, those were the last words he said to me. I've tried texts, I've tried calls, but he's been ignoring them all. And as much as it breaks my heart, I understand it. If I was him, I wouldn't want to talk to me either right now.
I feel like there's only one person in the world who I could talk to right now who would hear me out with no judgement. There's one person who would tell me I'm still a good person, even though by definition of 'good'— I'm definitely not one.
But that person was currently locked in a cell, enduring never-ending suffering, all so that I could have my freedom.
But what's the point in having freedom if the only things you can do with it are mistakes?
I miss my brother right now more than I ever have before. It's weird for me to think that this time last year, he was the one destroying my life. Threatening me, psychologically torturing me.
