𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃 .

#heatherfahy.          ——          HEATHER FAHY OF TEEN WOLF.          independent     ,     selective     ,     heavily   headcanon   based.     mutually   exclusive.     est.  sept  2018.     as   sacrificed   by   macy.

how   could   he   hate   her?         the   mere   question   dumbfounds   him.         he   grew   up   with   her,      taking   bubble   baths   while   his   mom   took   pictures   as   keepsakes,      having   sleepovers,      going   to   kindergarten   hand   in   hand.         pushing   tommy   porter   down   in   second   grade   because   he   pulled   her   hair   on   the   slide,      studying   for   seventh   grade   geometry,      crying   in   her   arms   after   his   mother   had   died.         he   was   made   up   of   two   halves      ──      scott      &      heather.         when   heather   started   silently   fading   away   with   the   gusts   of   the   wind,      he   was   left   half   -   empty,      forced   to   fill   that   void   with   other   people.         how   could   he   hate   her?            ❝      i   couldn’t.      [   …   ]      i’m   just   angry.         at   myself,      at   the   world.         maybe   a   little   bit   at   you.      ❞            the   admission   scrapes   by   his   teeth,      honeyed   gaze   fixated   on   his   hands   that   fidget   anxiously   in   his   lap.         he   has   the   staggering   urge   to   reach   out   uneasy   hands      &      touch   her,      but   he   balls   his   fingers   into   fists      &      resists.         what   if   she   isn’t   real?

❝      don’t   you   think   i   deserved   to   know   that   you   were   okay?      ❞            words   are   tainted   with   an   aching   hurt   that   he   tries   to   swallow,      amber   hues   glimmering   with   moisture.            ❝      i   blamed   myself,      heather.         i   never   stopped   blaming   myself      ──      or   thinking   of   you.      ❞

               ❝    angry at me for dying ?    ❞          look at that !    a poor attempt at a joke !    and yet laughter spilled from her lips,   of course   the worst timing would push her morbid humor towards the surface.    her fingers played with the sleeves of her massive hoodie,   the fabric dated and faded from its previously vibrant colors.    it hit her          —          this used to belong to him.    summer before freshman year,    beacon hills weather was nothing short of predictable,   and yet one wild summer night resorted to hailing and a ten - minute spurt of cold winds.    of course she was clad in nothing but the scampiest of fits she knew her mother would chastise her for,   skin revealed and ready for the kiss of the sun,   now filled with goosebumps and shivering that didn’t escape her for the rest of the night.    he gave her warmth.   and she couldn’t let go of it,   hadn’t been able to.    in a way,   it marked the end of an era.          ❝    you deserved to know,   you deserved to know so much more,   and i wish i could change how everything happened.    ❞

the   corner   of   his   mouth   twitches,      the   twisted   expression   of   sympathy   daring   its   way   onto   his   face.         was   it   sympathy   or   guilt?         maybe   a   cruel   concoction   of   both.         his   hesitance   to   meet   her   eyes   stems   only   from   his   own   culpability.         the   way   he   abandoned   her   for   his   new   clique,      the   way   he   dragged   her   back   into   his   life   just   to   have   the   demons   of   his   reality   strike   once   again.            ❝      i   don’t   hate   you,      ❞            he   sighs   without   any   hint   of   certainty.         why   didn’t   you   come   back?         the   selfish   question   echoes   in   his   head      ──      why   didn’t   you   take   away   my   guilt?         feet   hesitantly   shuffle   against   the   carpet,      the   once   familiar   room   seeming   so   strange   now,      like   a   distant   memory.         he   carefully   sinks   into   the   soft   mattress,      the   few   feet   of   distance   between   them   nothing   short   of   agonizing.            ❝      i   didn’t   sleep      ──      didn’t   eat.         for   weeks.         why   wouldn’t   you   come   see   me,      heather?      ❞

                you should hate me,   she wanted to say.    he should hate her because it would be easier to hate herself,   then.    shoulders bunched as a chill ran up her spine,   her body had never returned to its core temperature,   and now the world just felt like   death.    a constant reminder of the nothingness,   the emptiness,   the loss.    or perhaps she feared making him feel worse should he catch a glimpse of her grotesque marks adorned around her throat.         ❝    i don’t know what i’d do if you did.   thank you for not hating me.    ❞          she wanted to laugh,   her own words didn’t sound like hers          —          how had their last conversation been about a rushed pact in the cellar,   and now she was apologizing all prim and proper.    old heather would have   laughed.    muscles tensed as he took a seat beside her,   grateful for the unspoken distance he left them.          ❝    i don’t know.    ❞          stupid girl,   he’s there for you and you can’t even give him answers ?    

COMING   HERE   WAS   A   BAD   IDEA.   something  that   he   decided  once   he   was   in   the   confines   of   her   bedroom  &   suddenly   the   area   seemed  too   small.      (      was  he   claustrophobic   ?     )      the   walls  threatened   to   close  in   on   him   &   swallow  him   ,   his   heart   pounding  &   palms   sweating.  he   wipes   them  against   his   pants  ,   not   realizing  the   way   his   fingers   are   shaking   until  they   make   contact  with   his   leg.  heather   is   standing  right   in   front  of   him   ,   as   though  she   was   never  once   laying   on   the   ground  with   evidence   of   death   riddling  her   body.   yet   ,   HE  STILL   FEELS   GUILTY.  at   fault   for   being   the   one   that  left   her   there  to   begin   with     ———      guilty   for   not   being  there.   not   only  that   night   ,   but   every  other   night   leading  up   to   it.     ❝   were   you   ?   ❞      he  doesn’t   recognize   his   own   voice  as   he   tried  to   call   her   bluff   ,   DISTANT   &  COLD.   as   if   it’s   her   fault   that  she   was   killed.     ❝   how’d   i   take  it   ?   i’d   like   the   rundown.   ❞

                            . . .          @heroicis​   ,       stiles .