Chapter Eleven

[A/N] I will apologize in advance. Sorry boo.

My sleep did not last long, and that was normal for me. After sex I was mostly restless and the most sleep I got was about two hours before I woke up. Especially because I had a well ingrained habit of sneaking out once the deeds were done.

For a while I just laid there, watching Roy pout and mutter undecipherable things in his sleep. He had this little thing where he puckered his lips a little and then bit the bottom one and frowned deeply. It was so cute. I wondered briefly if he was thinking of his mate.

I sighed.

I tucked the blanket over his sides before lifting myself out of the mattress. It was slightly moist and uncomfortable. I walked over to one of the old stacks of newspapers in the middle. There it was, the stack at the back with the Merinwale Times on the top.

I'll let you guys in on a little secret, no one else is allowed to know it so you'd better keep your fucking mouth shut about it.

Don't give me advice. Don't give me shitty bits of sympathy. And don't call me a retard for doing it.

I cut.

If I ever thought to tell anyone about it I'd say I used to cut, but it's current, it's now. And no one needs to know. No one will find out. Because when I cut, the wounds heal. When I cut all that's left is a thin white line that no one but me sees or recognizes.

I'm not depressed. I'm not. Just sometimes I get in these moods when I can't imagine my life getting any better, when all I see is a bleak future where it is me and me alone.

I don't sleep when I cut. I don't need to sleep. Not unless I've been crying too much. That makes me sleepy. But I'm a werewolf and sleep is no requirement unless manage to exhaust all my energy and require means to reproduce some of it.

It stings as it heals and the blood sticks to everything it touches. Sleeping is just going to be a night full of discomfort. So I just sit there watching it heal.

You know, most people think werewolves don't have any scars, that our healing means we should have none. I will be the first to tell you that this is incorrect and bloody stupid.

Scars like mine come from the new skin over the healed wound. When you heal as fast as me that makes it three times more likely for a werewolf like me to scar, even small cuts. Healing wounds does not mean recreating skin the same shade and roughness as your old skin, it's fresh soft skin.

So how did looking at a pile of newspapers spark this entire rant?

I leaned in and pulled off the top four newspapers, everything underneath was a hollowed out. The newspapers were stuck together to make a so called camouflage basket. This was were I kept some of my valuables. Money, watches and little bits of men's accessories I'd stolen from the pack house before running away.

Within it there also resided a little plastic bag full of sharpeners. We stole more stationary than that but these were useful. In the corner there was a screwdriver. I used it to unscrew the screw holding the sharpener together and remove the blade.

I looked inside. There was a box of tissues, a plastic sheet, a bottle of water. God I even had white cooking chocolate.

It depressed me to see such things every time. It reminded me how mechanical it had become. Once I had only thought of doing such things in a moment of desperation, as a call for help when I was in a depressive mood. However it became so routine. Now I looked out for such things even in my average long lot mood.

I remembered how I used to use the shaving razors I took from my dad. That was an evolvement from using just about anything that would cut. I used to use the bread knife, those things don't cut, the just shred, those where the cuts that left scars because I had to practically keep sawing my arm off. Then I used a the crafting knife in the drawer room my mom occupied.

Remembered like it was yesterday every fearful thought and painful event that led to each and every scar littering my wrist. I didn't look at my wrists anymore.

I shook this from my head. Literally shaking my head to keep those thoughts at the back of my mind.

Thinking about it would... I couldn't do anything like this... Not while Roy was here with me.

I pulled out a packet of cigs and folded over the newspapers back on top, from the corner of the room I took a handful of soil and sprayed it back over. Yeah. I'm hygienic like that.

Lighting the cigarette off the last rolling flames in the fireplace I breathed in as I watched the end light until it was a poker red.

I could breath a little better as the toxins calmed me and I inhaled a few more generous gulps of the burnt vanilla before moving back to the bed and collapsing beside Roy who was curled up on the edge, all the blankets the other side of him but not covering him.

He rose slowly from the bed and turned to look at me with bleary eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

I gave him a little surprised look. Why would he ask that?

"Course I am." I muttered.

"Okay." He said, and seemed to leave it be for a second. "Then why are you sad looking? Like Rupert the bear when he can't save his friends."

Rupert the bear? What? He must still be half a sleep I couldn't make out what anything from that sentence was supposed to mean apart from why am I sad.

"I'm good." I nodded. My voice said it was settled and his nod seemed to dictate that he understood.

He remained silent for a while but did not return to sleep. I just propped my head up on my hand as I continued to smoke. Yeah like most people I don't just start the cigarette to have my needs fulfilled from the first couple drags then stamp it out. I planned on fully burning this one out.

"I was reading some stuff." Roy said after a while.

I nodded and signaled for him to continue. "Yeah?"

"You know, stuff about werewolves on the internet..."

"Oh right, romance?"

He nodded. "Yeah the romance."

I chuckled. "Generally if it's not romance it's bullshit because they need to make up so much stuff to keep people happy. And if it's romance it's all about how much they fuck so no one even notices they're wolves."

He laughed. "Actually I just wanted to ask."

"What of the things they say are true?"

He nodded again.

"Well depends on what books, they all like to invent their own little bits."

"The thing with the voice... Is that true? I mean where you can speak to your wolf and stuff."

I burst out laughing. Yep, it made me laugh. "No. Fuck no. We aren't schizophrenic!" I forced back a little more laughter. "No I know where they got that from. See the thing is our wolf form has its own wants and needs, it's own animal instinct. Sometimes, with regard to things such as mating, it has a pull that's almost as strong and convincing as someone screaming at you to do as they say. But it's not a voice. No way is it a fucking voice. We are the wolves and we don't talk to ourselves."

"Oh so you don't name your wolf then?" He asked, I could see a little blush on his cheeks.

I snorted. "No not for any other reason than a joke. You know, like naming your dick."

He laughed a little at that and allowed me to snake an arm around his back as he sat up.

"What about the fur color?" He asked. "Do omega's or females have like white fur or something like that?"

I shook my head. "That's not right either. Your fur color comes from where you live and the climate you come from, it's from genes and family." I laughed a little before taking another drag. "I think I can guess where that came from too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, most wolves are white, white with a mix of black mostly I think, we city wolves are generally grey. Not my mate, he was one with black fur." I gritted my teeth remembering Castus.

"Do you bark?"

I stared at him. "No? They have books were wolves bark?" I asked.

He nodded, his face reddening.

"Well okay that's weird. I guess they have pet dogs and just decided to base it on them but that's not right. We don't bark. I mean. Normal wolves sometimes make this sound, like a human shout, that's to get your attention, we were's don't do that though.

"Then there's the howl which we can do but generally choose not to, that's a calling for the pack to assemble. It's dangerous for city wolves to do. Doesn't sound like a bark though."

I smiled feeling him lean into my side, it was nice feeling someone so honest with their emotions and so easy to figure out so close to my side.

"Umm... Think that's all... Oh what about being called a dog or a mutt or something, is it offensive? They use it as an offensive word in most of the stories."

I scratched my chin." Yeah... I know... Hmm." I had to think this one through. "Never really thought about it but I guess if a human or something called me a dog I might get offended, but by another wolf I don't think so. Thing is when we're kids if our parents are busy they'll get us dogs to play with, they might be stink but they are awesome playmates... Well... When your young at least, you grow tired of the same games over and ov-"

I was interrupted.

Not by Roy. And not by thunder like my first thought had been.

There was a crack and a whip as something slammed into the metal grate, the make shift door of the garage.

I jumped. Rogues?

"OPEN UP." The resounding voice, even blocked by the heavy metal and thick walls, it was not just a shout it was an order and it shocked me right to my bones.

I turned to see Roy clutching me close to him, his eyes wide with fear and his arms shaking slightly.

"Stiles?" He asked me. His tone desperate.

"Shit." Was my only reply.

What? I couldn't lie to him or give him false hope and I sure as hell couldn't tell him what was going on.

There was more banging, each thump making us jump a little further back up the mattress.

"SVEN!" Came the familiar shout."You better get the fuck out of here NOW!" He screamed.

Why was Castus here? Why was he here? All I could do was freeze at the sound as his command slowly filled my mind with dread. He found me. I was dead. I could have buried my face in my hands right there and wept if I hadn't a frightened little Roy to deal with. I had to get him out of the way.

"Stiles?! Wh-"

I took no time in gathering our strewn pieces of clothing off the floor and throwing Roy a couple pieces of the first material I could find.

"Get dressed!" I hissed. "Now!"

He jumped in fright, he was only wearing boxers I had pulled on him after we had finished, I didn't like sleeping with people naked. I watched as his skinny form untangled himself from the blankets and scrambled desperately for the clothes I'd thrown at him.

I searched for a set of clothes to wear as well. I was wearing only a pair of boxers and socks. But I wasn't desperate, I had to get Roy dressed first, if worst came to worse I could transform but he could not.

"These are two shirts!" He gasped.

I growled and found a pair of trousers and threw them in his direction, they landed further away but he jumped and ran to pull them on.

The door banged so loudly I jumped a few feat in the air and when I looked around I could see the massive dent in the metal.

My fucking gods.

He must be crazy.

I couldn't hold back a small scream as there was a second such hit at the door with equal or more force.

"I-I-I-I'm getting dressed!" I screamed.

Please don't judge me.

I had no idea what do do.

Roy was scared out of his mind too. Even more so being influenced by how much my character had changed from suave to fucking scared to pieces in a matter of seconds.

"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN!" I heard Castus's gravelly shout. "You better open this damn door fucking right this damn minute!" He screamed.

And then the world seemed to explode as the garage door slammed inwards and a startled Roy screamed as he made his way over to me.

I screamed myself, I was shaking almost as much as he, but I pulled him behind me and tried to walk backwards as fast as I could manage.

[A/N] evil smirk