Work Text:
My fingers tap against the steering wheel to the frantic beat of my heart. I stare at my long, thin fingers, which are covered in sticky, drying blood. The only sound in the Jeep is harsh breathing and the pounding of my pulse. A glance at the rearview mirror causes me to jump. I’m looking into vacant eyes - brown barely visible around the wide, dilated pupils. I’m hyperventilating, helpless to stop it. Sweat beads my forehead, sticking my hair to my skin. This thin face isn’t mine, despite the scattered moles and upturned nose. This is the face of a killer.
“What did I do?” My voice is high, unrecognizable.
My dad’s baritone is in my head. Stiles Stilinski, focus! Breathe in two three. Out two three.
I follow his instructions and it begins to work. With every inhale, I smell my own thick, acrid sweat. Next to me, my trigonometry notes wait. Grinding my teeth, I crush them in my fist and hurl them at the mirror. Then I laugh; the laughter turns into sobbing. I dry my eyes with my long, plaid sleeve. My reflection shows blood smeared on my face.
This isn’t me.
This isn’t me.