Tiring Mornings

chapter fourteen

Terrance King 

"Terrance," Stiles says slowly and carefully, like he's trying not to blow up on me. "If you're not going to be honest with me about this, then we're going to have a serious problem."

"I'm telling the truth!" I insist, closing my laptop from where I'm sitting on my bed and meet Stiles' angered eyes. "I didn't eat the pickles!"

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other holding the empty jar of pickles. "Terrance, I am not in the mood for your lies. You ate my pickles. That's not cool."

"It wasn't me!" I exclaim once again. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Because you're Terrance."

I scoff, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Stiles throws the jar of pickles onto his unmade bed, "You know what that's supposed to mean!" Stiles pouts, crossing his arms over his chest, looking genuinely hurt. "I thought we were friends."

"Stiles, I love you like a brother, but I'm seriously debating on sending you away to a mental clinic."

This puts a sudden grin on Stiles' face, his expression totally changing within seconds. "Oh, so what I'm hearing is you love me," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

"Oh my God," I deadpan.

Stiles smirks, "I didn't hear a no."

"Oh my God," I repeat.

"Wow, you're not even trying to deny it," Stiles grins. "It's okay, Terrance, I won't judge. I mean, look at me."

I dramatically gag, causing Stiles to whip a pillow at me. We're quiet for a few moments as Stiles mopes over the empty jar of pickles and I open my laptop to continue my essay, when the sound of my cellphone ringing fills the room.

"Wanna get that for me?" I ask, opening up the document.

Stiles frowns, testing me, "Why should I?"

"Because if you do, I'll declare my secret love for you," I say, not even bothering to look up. I hear Stiles snort but walk to my desk, looking at the caller ID. My head snaps up when I hear the sound of Stiles declining the call.

I frown, looking up from my laptop, "Stiles? Who was that?"

"No one," Stiles says, too quickly.

The phone rings again. Stiles declines the call quickly.

"Stiles," I say slowly, holding out my hand, "Give me my phone."

"Why?" Stiles asks, leaning against the desk, trying to be casual as he once again declines another call. I've realized who has been calling ever since I saw the expression on Stiles' face after the first call. My hands are shaking, but I'm not sure why.

"Because it's my phone," I say, my voice tight.

Stiles declines another incoming call. Muttering a few curses, he turns off the phone altogether.

In a soft voice, I say, "Just give it, Stiles. I know who's calling. There's no point in hiding it."

Reluctantly, Stiles gives me the phone. With wide eyes,he watches as I turn the phone back on and check the call history, just to have my fears confirmed.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asks slowly, eyeing me.

I look up, give him a small smile, and toss the phone aside, turning back to my essay, "Yeah, fine."

Stiles gives me an uncertain look, "You sure?"

I know I have to play it cool. I've been pretty horrible these past few weeks, and if I don't get my act together, Stiles is going to force me back to therapy. I can't have that. I force my smile to grow wider and say, "I'm fine, Stiles. Don't worry about it." I close my laptop once again, grabbing my wallet from somewhere underneath the sheets, and my cellphone, pocketing them.