[BOOK 2] "𝙞 '𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙡𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝."
As Junior Year begins, lies are unravelled, truths are revealed, and no one ever expects an angel to set the world on fire.
A...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
STILES' JAW HUNG OPEN SLIGHTLY, his brain wracking the words he had just heard strung together by the man on the speaker. It didn't make sense, that had to be her motorcycle, right? She was here—he was sure of it.
"What?" was the only word he could utter, his voice in a shocked whisper.
"You heard the man," his nurse told him with a dull tone, "you must have the wrong girl, or the wrong place."
"No, I know she's here—" Stiles replied adamantly, but then the nurse placed a hand on his back and briefly pushed him into his room, shortly after—throwing him a pair of sweats and a navy blue tee, much like every other patient in here wore.
"Would you like to go to sleep, Stiles, or would you like to be introduced to our five-point restraint system?"
"I would go with sleep..." a third voice piped up from inside the room, and Stiles turned his head over his shoulder to find another boy, looking roughly a similar age to him.
The nurse then slowly shut the door on Stiles, but not before he could plead "Hey, wait! Wait! Wait!"
But it was no use, the nurse closed the door and made sure to lock it from the outside, leaving Stiles officially trapped in his cell-like room with a new roommate. He let out a defeated sigh and then slowly walked over to his own bed, sitting on the edge of it with his elbows resting on his knees.
"I'm Oliver," the other boy introduced himself with a friendly smile, one that Stiles couldn't bring himself to mirror.
"Stiles," he replied monotonously.
"There was a suicide, right?" Oliver struck up a conversation.
"Yeah..." Stiles replied, even though, surprisingly, the suicide he watched play out in front of him was not the main thing disturbing him—it was that he knew Aspen was in here, but wasn't registered officially—or at least, not under the name he knew of.
"Is it Monday?" Oliver asked ponderingly, then causally adding, "There's a much higher suicide rate on Mondays..."
"Okay then..." Stiles muttered under his breath, and then in another attempt to get out of his damn cell, walked back up to the door and yelled, "Ummm, hey! Can someone—someone please let me out of here? Someone? Anyone?"
And while he thought his screams went unheard... they didn't. Little did he know, the very girl he was worrying about, who was locked away in her room one floor above him, had shot up in her bed at the sound of his voice. Her heightened hearing having allowed her to hear it.
He's not supposed to be here, she said to herself.
Stiles let out another sigh of defeat and returned to his bed, where his very talkative roommate decided to continue their conversation.
