NO LIGHT, NO LIGHT

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“  fuck  you.  ”     it’s  meant  to  be  said  much  harsher  than  it  actually  comes  out.  it  actually  just  sounds  so  pathetic  and  defeated.    you  want  to  get  defensive.   deny  that  all  of  what  he  said  was  wrong.   that  you’re  not  terrified  even  though  you  absolutely  are.   you’re  terrified,   paranoid  and  every  single  day  you  wake  up  wondering  if  this  is  going  to  be  the  day  that  you’re  no  longer  you  again.    but  there’s  no  point.   you  know  that  you  can’t  lie  to  him.   he’s  right  because  he  knows  you  and  he  sees  you.  and  you  hate  it  more  than  anything.

it  feels  like  you’ve  been  cut  open  in  the  middle  of  the  apartment  and  he’s  looking  inside  of  you.   every part  of  you  on  display.   it’s  a  real  awful  feeling.  it’s  really  fucking  terrifying  to  be  so  known  like  this  when  you’ve  been  trying  to  make  people  see  anything  else  but  the  real  you  since  you’ve  learned  to  talk.   “   i  think  what  you’re  supposed  to  to  say  is  ‘no  stiles  you’re  not  fucked  up.   you’re  such  a  delight  and  being  with  you  is  like  being  in  paradise.’  ”      like  that.

“  yeah,  you  were  there.  you  saw  it  but  you  don’t  get  it.   when  allison  was  killed  i  felt  everything  that  he  felt  even  though  we  were  separated  by  then.  ”     fuck  fuck  fuck.      “  so  i’ve  felt  that  then  and  every  single  day  of  my  life  since.   every  day  i  relive  that.   and  the  real  kick  to  the  balls  is  that  i  remember  everything  else  he  did  too  and  i didn’t  completely  hate  all  of  it  because  even  though  i  actually  had  no  fucking  control  i  still  felt  like  what  it  would  be  like  to  have  some  and  i  liked  it.   and  i’m  scared  i’m  just  going  to  snap  one  day  because  of  it.   so  when  i  say  it’s  me  not  you,   it’s  really  not  about  you.   ”   

hands  shake  and  that  familiar  panic  hits  you  like  a  train.  you  shove  your  hands  inside  your  pockets  like  if  you  do  then  the  panic  will  stop.   like  you  can  store  it  in  there  for  later.   you  keep  talking  because  you  can’t  stop.   once  you  get  going  you  can  never  stop.     “   i  don’t  look  at  you  and  see  everything  that’s  happened  to  you.   i  look  at  you  and  i  mostly  just  see  a  pain  in  the  ass.  ”   trying  to  lighten  the  mood  despite  feeling  every  part  of  you  is  on  fire.   “   you  got  through  a  lot  of  shit  and  that  makes  you  pretty  fucking  badass.   that’s  what  i  see.   i  don’t  see  anything  else.  ”  

him  threatening  to  break  your  hand  shouldn’t  be  that  hot  right  ?  like  there’s  something  so  fundamentally  wrong  with  you  for  that  being  one  of  the  hottest  things  you’ve  ever  heard,  right ?    but  it’s  hot  that  he’s  standing  up  for  himself,   even  if  it  is  to  you.   especially  because  it’s  to  you.    “  oh  yeah,  you  promise  ?   ”    you  wink  at  him  even  though  you’re  still  panicking.   even  though  you  feel  so  raw,  open  and  vulnerable.  

you  haven’t  felt  like  you’ve  needed  a  hug  like  this  since  your  mom  died.   and  just  like  back  then  you’re  too  scared  to  ask  for  one.   would  he  really  want  to  touch  you  after  all  that  ?   is  he  going  to  leave  ?   “  i  just  —   can  you.    please.   ”   hoping  and  begging  that  he  knows  what  you’re  asking  for.   hoping  that  this  isn’t  the  end.

ALLISON.   

the name catches you in your place.   suddenly,   you’re seventeen again.   you’re on your knees and she’s dying in scott’s arms.    you’re bleeding,   and you’ve been sliced open but you can’t even feel it anymore   (maybe the wounds are healing,   maybe you’re bleeding out).    you’re watching her die and you think you’d give anything to trade places.   it takes longer than you’d like to admit to drag yourself back to this moment,   back to him.   you think maybe a part of you will always be there,   with her,   watching her die.   you know that a piece of you was buried with her,   a piece you can never get back.    

her name hangs so heavy in the air even as stiles keeps talking.   stiles has always been good at using words to slice through skin,   and then continue on.   it’s not meant to be a dig at you,  though.   you can tell   (you know what he looks like when he wants to hurt someone).   you know he carries that guilt with him everywhere he goes.   maybe a part of you did blame him at the time,  it’s hard not to when the nogitsune was wearing his face,   when stiles was the one whose body was a puppet for the monster that ordered her killed.     

“    you didn’t kill her.  ”     your anger fades,   almost as quickly as it came.   it blows away in the wind like ash.    “    we all crave control.   you’re not a monster.   ”    you’ve been weak before,   you’ve been desperate to have any kind of control before.   you let derek turn you,   you let him change your entire life for it.   everything else he says falls on mostly deaf ears   (he’ll bring up the horny tone later in response to isaac threatening violence,   but for now he ignores it).    you step closer to him,  and for a brief moment you can’t even remember what you were mad about.

here he stands,   shaking,   trembling,   begging.   you look deep into him,   and you see a reflection that makes your heart ache.    he looks like you.   you’re both so different,   in the way you speak,  in the way you carry yourselves,  in the way you dress.   but past all of that,   deep,  deep inside there sits something else.    just a kid,   even now,   terrified out of their mind trying to clutch at any form of control.   a kid that’s drowning.   a kid that doesn’t know how to swim.  you exhale,   slowly.    

you simultaneously have no idea what he’s asking for and at the same time know exactly what he needs.   your hand reaches his cheek,   and your thumb strokes along it,   like he’s something precious and valuable.    “   you’re a pain in my ass.   and you’re an idiot.   ”   the amount of tenderness that is in your words should be impossible considering what you’re saying.    “   but you’re not a monster.   not because of what happened to her   ---  ”   you hope that he doesn’t note that you can’t say her name.   not even now,   not even after all this time.  it’s hard everytime you have to.   her name feels like a loaded hung resting on your tongue,   like if you move even a muscle to say it then you’ll be dead.