Scars

2

Stiles Pov:Past:

"Stiles get in the car." My dad says with irritation. "And do you have to bring your lacrosse stick?"
"Yes! And I'll only get in if I can drive." I protest. I watch my dad rub his face with his hands. It's easy to tell that he is exhausted. "Fine." Wow he most be really tired. I jump in the car and wait for Pops to get in.

I drive for two hours straight before pulling into the gas station. I turn and look at my dad sleeping. Being the loud person I am I ask him a question.

"Dad why are we doing this if your so tired?" I ask looking over at him. He has his head against the window with his eyes closed. "Because your grandmother wants to see you. And we need to talk about somethings." He opens his eyes and tilts his head my direction. I tap my fingers against that the stirring wheel anxiously. It's been five years and I still haven't told him.

Even me being posed, the zombies that killed five people, the big ass dragon that burnt down half the woods, the three witches that made me go crazy for a week, and meany more, and still hasn't figured out about the supernatural; and I plan on keeping it that way.

I jump out of the car to pump the gas.
Placing the hose back, I turn to see my dad still sleeping. I huff and walk into the gas station. It takes me minutes to find what I need. Two packets of cherry twizzlers, Coke, and a bag of Chex mix. The door rings when someone walks in. I turn to find my dad heading to the restroom. Paying I head out of the smelly gas station and to the car.

Popping open the can of Coke taking a sip. I open up the twizzlers and eat one, as pull out my phone. I type in the emergency phone number then delete it. I do this three times before releasing I have a gut feeling something wrong is going to happen. It like a sudden chill down my spin, when I know my mind is telling me something. Like my figures know to type the number when this chill always comes.

I'm the one who had the idea of the emergency phone. Everyone would take turns caring it around. Each person would have a week before passing it to the next. The phone was always to be on hand, and everyone was supposed to have the number memorized.

I jump out of my set when I hear a knock on the window. "Stiles move over." My dad says, opening the door. I just stair at him with wide eyes, before nodding and moving to shoot gun set.

"Who where you calling?" He say as he gets in and takes the keys from me. I watch him open the bag of Chex Mix before I answer. "No one." I say as I put my phone in my pocket. He starts the engine with no response. I turn around in my set to make sure my bag is in reaching distance. I have my lacrosse stick strapped to it, easing my worries if I have to grab it quickly. I strip of my red lacrosse jacket, and is it as a pillow. "SHIT!!" I scream sitting up fast. Making my dad flinch and glares. "What?" He say.

"I forgot my pillow!!" I look at him with wide eyes. "I'm not going to sleep at all the next three days." My father just rubs his hand over his face and gives me a "really are you serious look." I just huff and lean back against the set, resting my head on my jacket against the window.

Not really try to fall asleep, until I feel my eyes become heavy.

Fours hours later. Waking up of and on to take sips of my Coke or to eat a twizzler. But it wasn't very nice to be woken up to the sound of rubber screeching against pavement, sound of crushing metal, and the feeling of your set belt snapping against your chest when thrown forward. I touch my figures to my head until I feel like the dizziness has subsided.