The Breaking ➝ Isaac Lahey

Chapter Sixty-Two

But Stiles couldn't get that image out of his head. Her eyes glossed over with unshed tears, and quite honestly, seeing other people cry never really affected him. Scott, Aspen, his father, and Lydia, yes, but Charlie? Someone he barely knew? He couldn't understand why he was feeling this way. She was disheartened, and he knew she didn't want anyone to see her like that. But Stiles wouldn't be Stiles if he wasn't indecisive and notorious for going against his morals. Stiles groaned with instant regret and rolled his eyes before turning on his heel and walking toward the girl's bathroom.

He hesitantly approached the door, his tongue pressing against his cheek. He lifted his hand several times as if to knock, but if there were other girls inside, they would surely accuse him of being a childish pervert. Then again, Charlie wouldn't have entered the bathroom if there were any other occupancies. Relying more on the latter, Stiles gently pressed his palms against the door in an attempt to push it open but only got so far when he felt resistance. He furrowed his brows and tried again, but something was still blocking the door.

"Uh, Charlie. You okay?" Stiles asked, keeping his fist against the door. He looked around, hoping a teacher wouldn't catch him, and wished she would just open the door.

Something bumped against the door, and he could hear the quiet echo of sniffling from the other side. He gathered that she was sitting against the door, and he gradually knelt down, keeping his hands on the door for support. His legs ached from running half the day, but the thought quickly fled once he heard a sob being strangled to stay quiet.

"Charlie, it's Stiles. Let me in," he said, his tone slightly desperate.

"Go away, Stiles!" her half attempt to sound stern failed as her voice broke off into more strangled cries. Stiles tightened his jaw at her stubbornness and shook his head.

"Would you just open the door?" silence ensued after, and part of him wanted to let her be. Instead, he got his feet and knocked again. "What's wrong?"

"I don't need anyone seeing me cry, and I don't need your half-assed attempt to comfort me, so just leave me alone." she snapped, her words dripping like venom, but Stiles was immune to her harsh words. He was always on the receiving end from Jackson and Mr harris. This was nothing.

"Cmon, Charlie. I don't care, alright? And neither should you." he said, keeping his tone sincere. And oddly enough, every word was true.

Charlie scoffed before sniffling, "And why is that?"

Stiles breathed heavily through his nostrils, shaking his head at the dreadfully honest words. "Because you don't deserve to cry. Not even in the slightest. You're way too beautiful for them."

A long silence veiled over, and Stiles was sure he had blown his chance. But he stammered back once he heard movement from the other side, and the door swung open. Charlie stood before him, eyelids an irritable red, watery gaze glued to his shoes and dry blood staining below a couple of scars.

But his words were proven to be true. Even with tears on her porcelain cheeks, she was still undoubtedly beautiful.

Stiles stood frozen in place and only moved once Charlie tipped her chin impatiently, gesturing for him to enter. Once inside, Charlie slammed the door and watched as Stiles looked around, not surprised to see that it was more put together than the boy's bathroom.

"What do you want?" Charlie questioned, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive stance. Stiles turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers only for a moment before she looked away. From the constant clenching of her jaw, he could tell she was fighting off crying.