The Absence of Truth | S. Stilinski

VII. | the truth

VII. | the truth

                    I DIDN'T GO to school the next day, opting to play the victim card and stay home to do nothing. Presley came home early in the morning from the hospital, with the diagnosis of a minor hip strain. He wouldn't be able to play lacrosse for a few days, but he would recover fully with no problem. I'd decided not to tell him what I'd witnessed last night, partly because I didn't really have the full story myself, but mostly because he was already stressed enough with trying to cement a position on the lacrosse team while parenting me at the same time.

After he left for school, Sarah rushed into the station to make up the work she'd missed last night after taking me home and Mom went to the hospital to start her unusually long shift. She hadn't been happy last night when Sarah called her, explaining the situation at the station, and I'd basically forced her out of the front door because she would have stayed home with me in a heartbeat. Now, it was just me and daytime soaps.

The television played softly in the background as I napped on the couch. I'd finished my homework earlier in the day, and sent my teachers emails explaining my absence. Harris was the only one that responded with work and not a pity message. I got most of the work done, but by the time mid afternoon rolled around, I had such a headache that I was forced to stop memorizing chemistry formulas and lay down.

As I rested, my mind wandered. Stiles didn't have my number so I hadn't received any explanation of last night. While busy with homework, I hadn't spent much time daydreaming, but now, with Days of Our Lives playing in the background, I allowed myself to start theorizing.

After I'd gotten home last night, I'd spent the majority of sleep fighting off werewolves in my dreams, but now, the memories of yesterday were almost too clear.

I wanted to go to the police station to snoop around and figure more things out, but all I could do was sit and wonder where Handsome Man had taken Isaac Lahey. True to my word, I hadn't answered any of Sarah's questions on the way home from the station per Stiles's request, but in response, she didn't answer any of mine. I was truly in the dark. And I hated it.

On the coffee table in front of the couch, my phone pinged. I unsheathed my hand from under my blanket and grabbed it, quickly reading the message from Presley. I'm having lunch with some guys from the team - hope you're feeling better! It read.

I didn't respond, opting to drop the phone on the table where it would stay until Mom sent me another message asking about my day. On the television, someone was yelling about something. I turned my attention to the screen long enough to see a woman slap a man across the face before my eyes skipped to the window above the tv set, catching sight of a familiar powder blue Jeep pulling into the driveway. Without thinking, I perked up, excited that Presley had skipped out on plans with the lacrosse team to hang out with me.

After fighting my way out of the blanket around me, I straightened out my pajama shorts and tee shirt before heading to the front door. I opened the door with a grin on my face when Presley's shadow filled the stained glass and opened my mouth to tell him how boring playing hooky was when he wasn't there with me.

"You would not believe the day I've had," I started, rolling my eyes for added effect, "If I get another text from Mom asking if I've had a mental breakdown, I think I might just - " the sentence died in my throat and I coughed out a quick, "Huh," when I realized that it wasn't Presley standing on the doorstep.

In response to my surprised expression, Stiles Stilinski pushed my shoulder so he could walk into the house. Without thinking, I closed the door behind him and crossed my arms over my chest, now very aware that I wasn't wearing a bra. We stood in a tense silence before he opened his mouth and said, "Okay, so I can explain."