bruised//«stiles stilinski»

Part 12

A/N Idrk what this is lmao oops sorry

I walk to gym class slowly, trying my best to be late. Fuck, I hate sport. For starters, my back and stomach kill, and not to mention someone is bound to notice the bruises all over my torso; front and back.

When I enter the locker room, I remember Scott's in some special lacrosse class, so won't be with me. I go to the emptiest corner of the room. I look around for some kind of help to cover the bruises, but no one knows what's going on with me. With my dad.

The only other people in this class I'm really friends with is Isaac and Danny, who are both engrossed in their own conversations with other people. They wouldn't be any help anyway.

"Stilinski! For the love of God, get changed!" I hear coach shout, making me jump, snapping me out of my daze.

I nod in his direction before taking off my jacket. I shake as I remove my pants, revealing scars and fresh cuts from where my dad kicked me in the shins. No one notices anything yet.

However, just as I lift up my shirt, someone happens to look in my direction. Fuck. Soon everyone looks and begins talking about me. It's as if I'm not even in the room.

"Woah, what the hell happened to Stiles?"

"Damn, he must've gotten beat up."

"Ew, look how skinny he is! Does he even eat?"

"You can practically see his skeleton. That's so gross, man."

I feel my breathing begin to speed up and get heavier, and I pull my shirt back down, leaving my stuff and run out, to everyone's apparent amusement.

My eyes fill up with tears, and my face is hot as I'm nearly running down the halls. My heart beat thumps out of my chest at a rapid pace. Fuckkk! Fucking panic attacks.

"Stilinski! Stilinski, what're you doing?!" I hear coach bark at me down the hallway.

I'm staggering around like some sort of drunk, barely able to see through my blurred vision. Sweat forms in beads across my forehead and tears fill my eyes. Accidentally, I slam into some lockers whilst trying to regain my balance, which obviously wasn't successful. My breathing becomes even heavier, longer, deeper, shaking. In the end, I slide down the wall in defeat. I lift up my shaking hands in front of my face before holding my head in them.

"Fuck!" I cry, tears freely streaming down my face. "For fucks sake..." I whisper. I'm sobbing now, the lump in my throat almost cutting off my oxygen supply completely as I try and gasp for air.

"Stiles?" I hear a familiar voice ask. I look up, and to my surprise Malia is stood watching me, a sympathetic frown formed on her face. She tilts her head slightly to the side. All I can do is cry and she immediately rushes over to me, a hand on my back, rubbing in a circular motion.

"Hey! Hey, Stiles, listen to me, okay? Breathe, Stiles, come on." She instructs. I shake my head and let a fresh set of tears erupt. I still can't breathe. Oxygen seems like a million miles away right now.

"Stiles! Hey! You're alright, okay? Just breathe." Malia's voice is stern but softens slightly. I flick my eyes up to her and slightly lift my head to see an incredibly concerned expression plastered onto her face. I sniff.

"No, no, Malia... They- they all saw-" my hoarse, croaky voice is cut off by more tears and my throat is dry from crying.

"All saw what?" Asks Malia, a hand on my shoulder.

"The- the bruises, everything." I cry.

Malia exhales deeply and shuts her eyes, as if having to compose herself.

"Oh, god, Stiles..." She begins, shutting her eyes as if concentrating. "It's okay. Just... Just focus on the sound of my voice, alright?" She panics as she tries to help me regain my composure.

I shake my head again, letting the tears fall freely. Then I'm clenching my fists and banging on the lockers next to me. Anger, sadness. All rolled up into my fist and ferociously attacking the lockers. Until Malia grabs my wrist.

"Stop!" She yells, pulling both my hands into hers. "Okay? Stiles, you're alright." She says softly, stroking my hand.

"I'm never gonna be alright." I whisper glumly, wiping away my tears. Soon I manage to regain long, slow breaths. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, as if doing so will make it all go away. The pain, sadness, loss. The anxiety, ADHD and just my whole damn life.

"None of us are." I whisper to Malia as she's tucking her hair behind her ears. Her baggy jumper limply slips down her wrist, revealing some cuts. I frown at them sadly.

"Malia..." I whisper, my voice breaking. She notices me staring and quickly pulls her sleeve back down. "Why? Why did you do that to yourself?" I ask quietly, though if course I know the answer. I've done it myself before.