Little Memories ; S. Stilinski ; book 1

[22]

melody

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Ringing in the back of my head was the sound of small drops of water falling against metal. A cool breeze stopped me in my tracks. I was wearing one of Scott's old t-shirts and a pair of volleyball shorts. The shirt stuck to my back with sweat, and the breeze made a shiver travel down my spine.

Soft cries echoed in the dark room. I couldn't see much. My vision was blurry with sleep, and my muscles were tense from laying in bed all night. I tried to make my hands into small fists, but I was too weak to gather that much pressure. I was barefoot. I could feel the cold ground against my toes, and my heels, and it stung if I stood in one spot for too long.

The cries didn't stop. They followed me wherever I walked. As I moved closer to the wailing sounds of someone struggling in the dark, the soft moans turned into nervous breathing and panting. Sniffles and pants circled in the head.

"Please. I'm here," the voice sobbed. "I'm stuck. My leg, it hurts. It's cold, and it's dark. It hurts. I can't see. Please Melody, please help me. I can't see."

My voice shook. I rubbed my arms to stay warm. "Stiles?" I called. "Stiles, is that you?"

"It's me. It's me. I'm stuck. My leg."

"Speak to me. I'll follow your voice. Just, stay with me. I'll help you."

"I don't know how I got here. I don't know where we are. I don't think I can get out of here. I can't move."

I shuttered. The cold breeze licked my back and dancing at the heels of my feet. "Baby, listen to me. Where are you? Can you see anything? Speak to me."

"I don't know. I don't know, It's too dark. I can't see much and something's wrong with my leg. It's stuck on something. And it's--I think it's bleeding."

"Baby, how much does it hurt?" The room echoed back to me only my beloved's soft sobs. I repeated myself. "Stiles, how bad is it?"

Stiles sniffled. He cleared his throat. His cries vanished, and the only thing I could hear besides the water dripping from before was his breathing. "There's some kind of smell down here. Something smells terrible. It's brutal. My eyes are watering."

I was close to him. I could tell by the way his voice was more than just an echo now. My footsteps were small. I walked on my toes. "Stiles, keep talking."

"I can't," he whispered.

"Why are you whispering?"

" Because I think there's someone in here with me."

My chest hurt. I don't know for how long or how loud I was screaming, but it made my chest hurt. My lungs burned. The cold air coming in through my window made me shiver. My sheets were covered in sweat. My arms burned. My bedroom door swung open.

Two figured ran towards me. One figure wrapped their arms around my sweaty body, and the other flickered the lamp on my bedside table on. Isaac held me. Scott stood in front of me. My screams turned into sobs, and I don't know how they did it, but eventually my sobs reduced to nothing but soft sniffles and heavy breathing.

Isaac held one hand out in front of him. He stared at my arms and my back. "Scott," he called my brother. "Look." He held his hand out for my brother to see. Under the lamp, his hand illuminated in bright red.

It was blood. My brother pulled my blanket off my bed. What I assumed was sweat soaked my sheets. Everywhere from my pillow to my headboard, blood stained the wood and the fabric.

"Scott, look at her arms?" Isaac said. "She scratched herself in her sleep."

Everywhere from my chest to my arms and my neck, scratches and cuts engraved into my skin were soaked with red. My hands appeared to be bathing in red. Embedded in my fingernails were skin and blood.