Maybe I Was Wrong (Teen Wolf: Stiles Stilinski)

Chapter 35

"Grace?"

I move my head away from the light, sighing tiredly, my eyes refusing to open. I try to pull my blanket up to cover my face, when I realise I don't have a blanket.

The slightest gasp, right next to me, and my eyes open to find Stiles' on me.

"Could you just- please-"

"What?" I mutter, lifting my head from his shoulder and looking down, finding my hand half hidden underneath Stiles' sweater, resting on the warm skin of his stomach, dangerously close to the waistband of his boxers that's just visible above his jeans.

"Oh," I say, moving my hand away and getting off of him, eventually awkwardly sitting down on the couch next to him, leaving an appropriate amount of space between us. "Uh, I-"

"I'm gonna- I'm just gonna take a shower. And visit Lydia in the hospital," he cuts me off, staring at the floor when he says the words.

"Yeah, uh, I might visit her today as well," I say, grabbing my phone to check the time. "I guess I should go home now?"

"I don't know," he says, which is about the clearest yes I could get.

"Yeah- I'm- I'll see you, Stiles," I say, standing up and letting myself out, him not even following to say goodbye.

Why is he so weird all of a sudden? Why are we so weird now?

***

The first thing I do when I'm home is check up on Allison, because I'm starting to think Chris was right about me being a hypocrite and I haven't even seen Allison since...

So I go upstairs and open the door to Allison's room, to find her and Scott frozen in place right next to each other, both a bit too close to being naked, looking a lot like they were just making out.

"Ugh, are you serious?" I ask, them looking at me sheepishly.

"Hi, Grace..." Allison says. "How are you? Uh-"

"No, just forget it, just-" I close the door again, walking off. Well, it seems Allison's just fucking fine without me.

"Is that Stiles' sweater?" I hear Scott say from behind the door, and it makes me realise I'm still wearing it, so I go to my room to change into my own clothes instead. I wonder how I'm gonna be able to give him his clothes back without making it incredibly uncomfortable.

Next, I go to the bathroom and find a washcloth, hold it under a stream of cold water, pull up my left sleeve and look at this haunting wound again. The stitches still look fine, but there's dried blood everywhere because my harsh movements must've made it bleed. So I carefully clean the wound with the washcloth, watching how the blood comes off but the scars remain, and I get the feeling they might fade, but they'll never go away. And that's how I feel. I feel like I've been stitched back together but I'm still bleeding. And if you take out the stitches, I'll fucking bleed to death.

The front door opens and I flinch, throwing away the washcloth and pulling my sleeve down again, running to my room and sitting down on my bed, the door opening right when my heartbeat has slowed down to a normal pace.

"Oh, you're home," Victoria says. "I picked up your dress for the funeral tomorrow."

"It's tomorrow?" I ask, stunned. I can't mentally prepare for a funeral that's tomorrow.

"Yes. We didn't want to bother you with the organisation," she says. "Also, some family members you haven't met before will be there, and they'll stay with us for a while."

"Who?" I ask.

"You'll meet them tomorrow," she just says, laying the dress next to me on the bed.