Til The Dawn [Midnights #1] ✓

chapter 3

As Scott stumbled through the front door, the edges of his vision had started to close in rapidly. And for the first time in his life, it wasn't due to a lack of oxygen. The bite on his shoulder was throbbing so painfully it made everything pulse, including his sight. It was in time with his heartbeat and it turned his stomach with each lurch it gave. And it was cloaked in a red haze, as if all the blood he was losing was invading every one of his senses.

He had to stop every few steps, but almost ten minutes later he managed to find himself locked in his room, struggling to stay upright. He couldn't form a coherent thought, though. Every part of his body was on fire.

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and squinted at the screen, willing the letters there to make sense to his tired and shell-shocked brain. As he struggled to make his way to the bathroom, he sent a text he hoped would make sense to Stiles. He needed him right now. He needed him to do what he always did. Scott needed a distraction and he desperately wanted someone here to say that everything would be okay. It was just a bite. Not a death sentence. In the morning, it would all be fine again.

But he was alone.

Scott turned around when he made it to the mirror enough to look at his shoulder. The blood was already clotting around the wound, which he knew was good. But it didn't make him feel better. It was too fresh for that. Too raw. Way too painful still.

He tried, and failed, several times to get his newly shredded shirt over his head, but he couldn't lift his arms high enough to complete the simple task.

Scott leaned against the sink, letting both his hands grip the porcelain there until his knuckles were white. He was steeling up the courage to yank his shirt off, knowing that waking up with it plastered to his skin wouldn't help matters. In fact, the infection would probably be so much worse. And he wasn't going to be able to clean it up enough to be satisfied.

But hopefully it would suffice. For now, at least. As long as he could make it to tomorrow, he could have Stiles help him. If he didn't message back tonight. Which Scott prayed he would.

When he made his way to his bed, he hissed loudly as he pulled the shirt over his head awkwardly, unable to forgo the pain like he intended. Even with how little time it had been, the blood had pooled and dried there.

He picked up his phone one more time, willing there to be a message from Stiles, and growling loudly when he noticed it was as empty as it had been before. Scott knew, somewhere in his pain-riddled mind, that Stiles wasn't actively choosing to ignore him. He was in trouble. It felt like so long ago, and as if no time had passed, since he had sent Scott away to face his dad alone. If anything, Stiles was probably getting his ass handed to him by his dad, Sheriff Noah Stilinski. Which meant his silence was justified.

Just not at all convenient.

Scott didn't bother with turning off his lights, or checking his phone again, as he face-planted onto his bed. He didn't have any energy left. All of it had been zapped out of him from the bite that was still actively shredding through every fiber of his being. It was taking over his body. He could feel it coursing through his veins.

As he drifted off to sleep, the last conscious thought Scott McCall had was whether or not his mom might find him dead in the morning. But being able to do nothing to call for any more help.

It was too late.