Cindy going to this party was so out of character, her grandmother didn't know what to say.
The decision to attend a party, especially considering her usual reserved nature, left Cynthia in a state of mild surprise.
Should she offer a lecture on safe practices or outright forbid her from going, even if she had already agreed to let the girl attend?
Cynthia was well aware of Scott being Cindy's first boyfriend, a fact that didn't bother her in the least.
She trusted Cindy's intelligence and maturity, believing she would navigate social situations responsibly.
As a sixteen-year-old on the verge of turning seventeen, Cindy had a year's worth of additional experience compared to her friends.
The topic of why she was held back a grade was one Cindy rarely discussed, yet it remained an unspoken understanding among her peers.
The girl didn't like to talk about it, for justifiable reasons.
Her father's death cast a long shadow over her, and it wasn't an easy subject to broach.
What made matters more complicated was that her father hadn't died accidentally; he was murdered.
The case remained unsolved, leaving a cloud of uncertainty hanging over the circumstances of his death.
Nobody could point fingers or determine a cause of death definitively.
Sheriff Stilinski, who was also her godfather, refrained from providing her with many details, and the investigation seemed to be at a standstill.
In truth, Cindy was in the dark about the specifics of her father's death. Foul play was on the table, and the uncertainty weighed heavily on her.
Scott and Stiles probably knew more about it than she did, but they wisely refrained from bringing up the sensitive topic, understanding the pain it could cause.
Cynthia was now in the kitchen, seated at the small, well-worn table, still savouring the remnants of her tea.
The room exuded a cozy warmth, the soft glow of the overhead light casting a gentle ambience.
Tea was a constant companion for Cynthia, a ritual she embraced three times a day, with each cup steeped in tradition and personal significance.
It wasn't just a beverage; it was a cornerstone of her daily routine.
Her granddaughter, Cindy, often marvelled at this aspect of Cynthia's life.
Here was a woman who, as a doctor, navigated the intricate world of medicine, prescribing countless remedies, saving lives, and skillfully performing surgeries.
Yet, when it came to her own well-being, Cynthia leaned toward the simplicity of nature.
She encouraged Cindy to follow suit, claiming that the regular consumption of tea would contribute to her overall health.
Cindy, however, held a sceptical stance on the matter.
Cynthia's approach to her diet was equally intriguing.
While she wasn't an advocate for extreme dietary choices like vegetarianism or veganism, she believed in a balanced intake.
Three meals, three cups of tea, three snacks, and a litre of water—every day.
It was a routine grounded in both wisdom and practicality, embodying the harmony between modern medicine and natural practices that defined Cynthia's unique philosophy toward well-being.
When Cynthia heard the approaching footsteps, she looked up from her tea to find Cindy adorned in an outfit that deviated sharply from her usual casual attire.
Stiles was evidently in the vicinity.
Cindy sported a snug, long-sleeved dress, its hem halting midway up her thighs, complemented by sheer stockings.
In a surprising twist, she opted for the comfort of her Converse shoes, a stark contrast to the expected high heels heeled boots.
A jacket dangled casually from her right hand, and her typically unruly hair had been transformed into a sleek, pin-straight style.
A faint application of makeup adorned her features, prompting Cynthia to blink twice in astonishment.
Observing the unexpected ensemble, Cynthia couldn't help but sense that something was amiss.
Straightened hair, a dress, and makeup were not elements of Cindy's typical repertoire.
The grandmother's curiosity was piqued, and she harboured a myriad of questions. However, she understood that answers might elude her tonight.
Cindy, after a brief exchange of goodbyes, departed from the house, leaving her grandmother in a state of pondering and an unspoken sense of concern.
Cynthia found solace in her trust in Cindy.
The young girl had never given her a reason to doubt her judgment, and Cynthia believed she would be fine.
Witnessing Cindy climb into Stiles' Jeep eased some of her concerns, although she couldn't help but worry about the old rust bucket breaking down. However, her concerns about Cindy getting into serious trouble were minimal.
As the years passed, Cynthia acknowledged that she was growing too old for such worries.
Cindy consistently made sound choices, and with Stiles at her side, she was confident that they would look out for each other.
Sipping her tea, Cynthia comforted herself with the assurance that everything would be fine.
They arrived at Lydia's house around nine, just when the party was hitting its peak.
Stiles couldn't help but be amazed that his best friend, Cindy, was donning a dress. Her transformation from the usual casual attire left him inquisitive.
"Okay," Stiles piped up first, unable to contain his curiosity, "What's with the dress?"
Cindy casually shrugged, "I had nothing else to wear..."
"You lie!" Stiles accused, pointing a finger at her, confident that he had uncovered the truth.
His intuition about Cindy was typically spot-on.
"Please, Cindy, don't try to win Scott back."
Stiles halted her progress, grabbing her arms for emphasis.
She responded with a roll of her light eyes, a gesture that spoke volumes, before locking gazes with him, her lighter eyes meeting his darker ones.
She leaned in closer to him, her breath carrying a hint of mischief, "No one is trying to win Scott back. The plan is to get wasted."
Cindy flashed him a pursed-lip smile, smoothly extricating herself from his grasp.
Stiles muttered curses under his breath, a mix of concern and exasperation, silently praying that nothing untoward would happen tonight.
The party held little appeal for her, but the allure of free alcoholic beverages was undeniable.
Stiles made a conscious effort to keep an eye on her, only to find her elusive.
Cindy moved through the crowded space like a snake in tall grass, effortlessly navigating the sea of people engaged in revelry, drinking, and dancing.
Eventually, Cindy found herself pleasantly tipsy, not quite crossing into the realm of intoxication yet, but fully intending to take advantage of the free-flowing booze for as long as she remained conscious.
The glances from others, particularly the sleazy high school guys from the lacrosse team, were not lost on her.
They gawked at her, unaccustomed to seeing Cindy in this state.
In the eyes of her peers, she was the granddaughter of one of the town's best doctors, known for her family's impressive house and the tragic story of her parents—a narrative that had garnered significant news coverage.
Witnessing her in such a carefree state was genuinely shocking to those who thought they knew her well.
The first guy who approached her attempted to dance, but the encounter left her feeling somewhat repulsed, even in her near-intoxicated state.
The second, even more audacious, couldn't seem to grasp the concept of personal space.
A parade of ten different guys, mostly lacrosse players from her school, tried their luck with her, but Cindy's lack of interest was evident.
Disentangling herself from these unwelcome advances, she sought refuge near the drinks table, where a group of girls, acquaintances at best, had gathered.
Tequila shots flowed freely, and Cindy willingly joined in.
Ah, tequila—the captivating yet treacherous elixir.
The initial burning sensation in the back of her throat subsided after the third shot, paving the way for the warmth and relaxation that typically followed.
As Cindy downed the tenth shot, she found herself comfortably inebriated, blending into the chaotic rhythm of the party.
Stiles' attempts to locate her proved futile, leaving him with a sense of unease.
Meanwhile, Cindy immersed herself in dancing, momentarily distracted by the flickering bonfire on the other side of the pool.
A double take revealed a familiar face near the gate—Derek.
She shook off the thought, attributing it to the alcohol-induced haze.
Resolving to return to the dance floor, her plan was interrupted by the sight of Scott in the company of Allison.
The unexpected encounter tugged at a corner of her tipsy consciousness.
As the music pulsed and the party raged on, Cindy couldn't shake off the sight of Scott and Allison entwined in a connection that felt alien to her.
Their proximity, the intimate glances—they were unfamiliar facets of Scott's demeanour that pricked at her tipsy consciousness.
Stiles' words echoed in her mind, and the realization hit her with the force of a crashing wave: Scott did harbour feelings for Allison.
In a moment of impulsive frustration, Cindy let her cup plummet to the ground, its contents splashing over indifferent feet.
The annoyed glares from surrounding partygoers didn't register as she stumbled through the crowd, weaving through people she cared little about.
The intensity of her emotional reaction surprised her.
She questioned why it bothered her, repeatedly reminding herself that she was the one who ended things with Scott.
Her aimless journey led her outside, where the uneven steps threatened her balance.
Determined to escape the overwhelming scene, she navigated the driveway, desperate for solitude during the disorienting night.
The path home stretched before Cindy, a winding route that would take her around thirty minutes on foot.
The cool night air painted her cheeks with a rosy hue, and the visible breaths escaping her mouth hinted at the frigid temperature.
Each step felt like a precarious dance as she navigated the pavement, the sneakers on her feet an unsteady buffer against the uneven terrain.
Tripping over her own feet, she managed to maintain her balance, the rhythmic motion of her journey unfolding.
Yet, the turmoil within her refused to settle.
Five minutes into the walk, an overwhelming surge of emotions compelled her to halt.
Seating herself on the roadside, she cradled her arms around her, the subtle rock of her body a reflection of the inner turmoil she grappled with.
Was this a breakdown?
Cindy questioned herself, feeling the weight of an unfamiliar vulnerability.
She ran her fingers through her straightened hair, the disarray mirroring the chaotic thoughts that swirled within.
Was it the full moon, as Stiles had suggested, or something more profound stirring in the depths of her being?
Headlights illuminated Cindy's face, the beams casting a soft glow on her closed eyes.
A looming shadow, larger than life, was cast over her as the lights from the street lamp and an approaching car were obstructed by a figure that appeared out of the darkness.
Fear momentarily gripped her—was this the end, alone on the side of the road?
"Why are you sitting on the side of the road?"
The familiar voice cut through her anxiety.
A grin played on her lips as she looked up, "Derwick!"
Her playful tone and unique pronunciation of his name earned her a furrowed brow from Derek.
"I didn't know you were so tall. How'd you get up there?"
She squinted her eyes, the haze of tipsiness contributing to her playful confusion.
The man shook his head, "Cindy, are you drunk?"
Derek observed her intoxicated state with a knowing look, having witnessed her downing those shots as if they were mere water.
"No... hmph!"
A hiccup immediately followed her feeble denial, a small smile playing on Derek's lips.
"Come on, I'll take you home."
As soon as he uttered those words, she sprawled out on the road as if she had just been run over.
"Hmm, no. It's a full moon. Let's... stay here."
She smiled to herself, blinking slowly, and Derek wasn't having it.
Concern etched across his face; she was putting herself in danger, and he couldn't just stand by and watch.
Derek effortlessly lifted her with one arm around her waist, her feet dangling in the air.
The sudden elevation left her feeling a bit dizzy, but she managed to focus on his facial features.
His icy green eyes were distinct from her own, featuring a captivating touch of blue that intrigued her.
Thick eyebrows framed those intense eyes, and a well-defined jaw highlighted his chiselled features.
Perfectly pink lips and a cute nose completed the package.
"Woah," her eyes widened, "Are you a model? Is that why you left Beacon Hills? You pursued modelling, didn't you?"
The alcohol had evidently emboldened her, and under different circumstances, she might never have been this forward.
Derek listened as she rambled on about his looks, her words becoming increasingly candid. It was amusing to him.
"You are soooooo hot...hmph. I'd rather kiss you every day than ever kiss Scott again. Can you believe that idiot? We've only been broken up a week, and he's already seeing someone else. A royal dick if you ask me. I hate him... hmph."
She pouted, pressing her forehead against his.
"No," she whispered, "I don't hate him. Scott and Stiles are my best friends. I could never hate either of them. It just hurts, you know."
Her words echoed with a mix of honesty and inebriation, revealing the emotional turmoil she was going through.
Derek couldn't help but notice the sincerity in her eyes, even in her intoxicated state.
Derek could smell the alcohol on her breath, but it didn't smell bad.
He wasn't affected by it in the slightest.
He was, however, affected by their lips being an inch apart.
He was keeping it together, but he still moved his head back just in case.
There was a shared silence between them, only for Cindy to moan.
"I need to tell you a secret."
"What?" He asked, tilting his head at her.
"If you don't put me down, I'm going to throw up on your sexy, beautiful, gorgeous, sexy face...hmph."
She cupped his cheeks and squished them, the playful gesture breaking the tension that had been building between them.
Derek immediately put her down, turned her around, and held her hair back before she hunched over, letting it all out.
The entire contents of her stomach were now on the side of the road. She had missed the grass area completely.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were now on the roadside.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, ridding it of any excess that lingered.
Cindy stood up straighter, lightly swaying.
"Derwick, I think... I think I see stars. Aw, it's all fuzzy..."
Her eyelids closed, and she fell back into his arms.
He caught her with ease, the weight of her unconscious body feeling strangely light against him.
This was not how he thought he would spend his night.
Derek scooped her up, bridal style, and walked to his car.
He carefully placed her in the passenger seat before adjusting the back, letting it recline so she could sleep comfortably.
He took a moment to push her hair out of her face, using his jacket to cover her legs.
As he got into the car, he let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his hands over his face.
Regret lingered in his expression.
This wasn't part of his plan, and he knew this unexpected turn of events would bring complications he hadn't anticipated.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Cindy remained in a deep slumber, oblivious to the fact that Derek had entered her house without needing any specific details.
He skillfully navigated through the gates and front door, making his way to her bedroom.
The door was already ajar, and he quietly walked in, carrying her in his arms.
Gently, he laid her down on her luxurious bed.
The four-poster structure adorned with numerous pillows provided an unexpected contrast to the image Derek had in his mind of a typical teenager's room.
A stuffed teddy bear, a cherished relic from her childhood, rested beside her, adding a touch of innocence to the otherwise elegant setting.
Derek found himself in a room that seemed to encapsulate a vintage, rustic, and expensive aesthetic.
Classic literature graced the shelves, and candles were scattered in artful arrangements, casting warm, flickering light across the space.
A gold vanity added a touch of glamour, while numerous plants breathed life into the room.
A vase of once-vibrant roses now stood withered, a poignant contrast to the cozy atmosphere.
Cindy's bed, positioned on a raised platform, featured small steps on either side, reminiscent of an elegant throne.
A white curtain enveloped it, akin to the ethereal drapery above her bay window.
Above her pillows, a painting adorned the wall—a canvas embellished with kiss marks in various shades of lipstick, a spectrum of reds, pinks, and purples.
The cost of such a piece was something Derek preferred not to contemplate.
In the room, Derek discerned aspects of Cindy's life that had evolved since he last encountered her.
As she lay on the bed, he observed a brown electric guitar standing proudly beside a bookshelf, signifying a newfound interest.
Derek carefully removed her shoes and jacket, ensuring she was comfortably covered with a blanket.
As he brushed her hair away from her face, tucking a few strands behind her ear, he couldn't help but notice the details of her bedside table.
Derek, ever attentive, removed her shoes and jacket, ensuring her comfort as he covered her with a blanket.
While gently brushing her hair away from her face, he couldn't help but notice the details of her surroundings.
The lamp on the table cast a warm glow, illuminating a small bowl that cradled an assortment of jewellery pieces.
Among these personal treasures, a framed picture caught Derek's attention, revealing a younger Cindy alongside her father, Arthur Ambrose.
The innocence captured in the photograph painted a portrait of familial love, with Arthur's electric blue eyes shining brightly.
As Derek absorbed these details, Cynthia's voice broke through the moment, revealing her presence.
"You've been watching the house, haven't you? The horses knew you were out there," she spoke just above a whisper.
The exchange turned to the matter of Cindy's forgotten memories, prompting Derek to ask, "Why doesn't she remember me?"
"I took her memories."
Cynthia, unfazed, motioned for him to follow, leading to a conversation that promised revelations about Cindy's past.
The urgency of the situation pressed Cynthia and Derek into the library, sealing the door behind them to shield their conversation from Cindy's unknowing ears despite her being unconscious.
In the intimate space, Derek sought answers with a furrowed brow, prompting Cynthia to explain the painful decisions that led to erasing Cindy's memories.
Cynthia's voice carried the weight of regret as she listed the reasons: the hunters, the tragic fire, Celeste's abandonment, Arthur's untimely death, and the harsh reality that Derek, though a protective presence, couldn't be a perpetual shield.
The mention of Laura's fate lingered in the air as an unspoken cautionary tale.
Derek, grappling with the emotional complexity of the situation, sought understanding.
Cynthia clarified, "I'm trying to keep Cindy away from the supernatural..."
The revelation continued, as Derek shared the impending threat, "Her friend, Scott, was bitten by an alpha. He'll change tonight."
The library, with its shelves of wisdom, now held the weight of secrets and the impending challenge that loomed over their lives.
Cynthia's weariness manifested in a sigh, and she closed her eyes, her fingers gently kneading her temples.
Derek, attentive to the gravity of the situation, inquired about Cindy's supernatural abilities.
The families had shared a history spanning years, and Derek, aware of the nuances, sought insights into Cindy's impending powers.
The older woman, a repository of familial knowledge, shared, "She doesn't have her power yet."
Derek's concern mirrored the weight of the conversation.
Cindy, still on the brink of adulthood, had not yet come to her full potential.
Cynthia, acknowledging the future, remarked, "She'll only be eighteen next year. I'll worry about it then, but you have to look out for her."
As they discussed the looming uncertainties, Derek's gaze shifted to the window, the outside world mirroring the unpredictable path ahead.
Cynthia, sensing the impending storm, emphasized her premonition, "Something is coming. I can sense it in the weather."
Derek, with a profound understanding of the town's mysterious history, questioned, "Hunters?"
Cynthia, unable to provide a definitive answer, acknowledged, "I don't know. All I know is that there is a reason they call this town Beacon Hills."
The weight of her plea resonated as she implored, "Promise me you'll watch out for her?"
Derek, resolute, assured her, "I promise. What about her friend?"
Concern etched into Cynthia's expression as she uttered, "He's going to need all the help he can get. Help him, Derek."
The library, a sanctuary of knowledge, now bore witness to the unfolding destinies of those tied to the supernatural threads of Beacon Hills.
Hello!
This was a very long chapter because I wanted to apologise for not updating in a while. I have been super busy with uni and my personal life.
I hope you all enjoyed this because it's about to get even better!
Thank you all so much for reading and waiting patiently.
I will see you all very soon.
🤍