Work Text:
Entry 1 - Afternoon, June 17:
Dad bought me a new journal. He thinks it will help me with my nightmares– night terrors, the shrink says– but I don’t really see what writing about them will do to help. At least he’s promised not to read it. Though, I’ll still hide it just in case. There are people out there in this town who are strange. Stranger than strange. And it’s only gotten weirder since sophomore year.
I just want them gone. The night terrors. I want to forget I ever had them in the first place. Then Dad will stop looking at me with that pathetic look Then, I may finally get some peace and fucking quiet. I’ll be able to go to school and not feel exhausted to my core. Maybe I’ll finally get the courage to talk to her make new friends. Not like I have any real ones now anyway.
Entry 2 - Afternoon, June 20:
Beacon Hills isn’t strange for no reason. Other people have their theories (aliens being the more popular and the most boring) and I have mine. Dad says it’s a load of “hogwash” or whatever— I wish he would just swear, it’s not like I'm a child anymore. After these two semesters, I’ll be out of here and finally make something of myself. Maybe the nightmares will stay in Beacon Hills too. Dr. Martin says that sometimes a new environment is the cure, and boy do I fucking need it. I can’t wait to get out of this forsaken town.
College applications could not come any sooner. And the second I hear from any of them, I’ll start packing my bags. I won’t need to pack much. Most of my room is full of old mementos and will only hold me down. If I want a fresh start, I shouldn’t need any of that stuff holding me back.
I just need to survive two more semesters. I have gotten through the strangest of school years and lived. I can do one more and be free of this place. I won’t have to be scared. I won’t have to worry about what every dark corner holds. I won’t have to worry about every visit to the hospital or new teacher who turns out to be some serial killer. I’ll be free.
Entry 3 - Evening, June 21:
Maybe I will miss one thing. Or person, rather. Malia Tate, the missing daughter of the old man Tate who lost his family in a car accident all those years ago. She had transferred to Beacon High last school year. She was… strange, but I guess that’s what happens when a child is forced to survive on her own after being missing for ten or so years. There are people who like to compare her to Mogli from The Jungle Book and I can’t deny the resemblance. She behaves sometimes like a person raised by wolves, and it’s only fair that she found herself welcomed into MaCall and Stilinski’s clique given their weird fixation on wolves whenever they fail to keep their whispers to themselves. Who would have thought those two nerds would end up forming a friend group with jocks and It Girls.
But she’s interesting. Pretty, of course. That seems like a requirement to join their group. Lydia, Kira, Allison, and now Malia. But she’s also different. Brash and outspoken. Blunt and unafraid of what anyone thinks of her because why should she. Malia doesn’t seem to let it get under her skin. Unlike me. I envy her, but different from the way I envy, say, Lydia or Kira. It’s like Malia can hear every insult or whispered sneer and throws back a scathing insult that leaves them too gobsmacked to respond.
What I wouldn’t give to be her. To take every bully and haughty bitch who tales glee in my fragility and show them just how shallow and insecure they are.
Would Malia look at me then? Maybe even give an approved nod like she had when Kira stood her ground?
Her eyes always pass me. Bored and annoyed in our shared classes and seeing through me every time.
It would be nice. If she looked at me at least once and not through me.
[a good chunk of paper have been ripped out]
Entry 4 - Night, August 15: [written large over the whole page]
WHY CAN’T I BE NORMAL?
Entry 5 - Afternoon, August 19:
I think it’s only fair if I remember my night terrors and not wake up with a fuck ton of fear yet with no ground to place it. None of the shrinks can help me. Eichen is looking like Dad’s last resort. He can barely afford the shrink appointed to me and all they have been saying is that everything is inside my head.
Yeah, no shit. If they could just help me find a way to get it out or lessen it…
I feel better after journaling but none of it has unearthed the nightmares. Just, “had one tonight…don’t remember it,” over and over again!
This last shrink prescribed new sleeping pills, though, so here’s to maybe that helping.
Entry 6 - Undisclosed Time, August 21:
On
The
Roof
[scribbled gibberish and symbols cover most of the next pages]
Masks
Theater
They’re everywhere
Everywhere
[ink spills and scratched out lines but these next words were recovered]
Make
Make anew
I’ll be
Strong?
Make me
Strong?
Don’t blink. Don’t scream
Pain means it’s working
[at least 3 pages have been ripped off]
Entry 7 - Morning, August 23:
The sleeping pills aren’t working.
Why can I hear so many voices?
[more pages are ripped out]
Entry 8 - Afternoon, August 31:
School begins tomorrow. I saw Dr. Martin this morning. She’s…different from the other shrinks. It could be because I remember what my nightmare was this time. It was like I was having an out of body experience. The roof above me was covered in ravens or crows. They were all dead and covered the skylight. Then it unlocked and–
I don’t think I can write more. My body shakes from the memory of it.
It’s not a memory though. Just a really vivid nightmare. Dad deadbolted that skylight. Nothing could open it. And all my insides are still inside me.
I need to get ready for classes.
Entry 9 - Morning, September 1:
Malia looked at me. She looked at me. Not passed, not through, looked straight at me. And talked to me.
“Are you okay?” is what she said. Just three words, but without the superficial niceties of insincerity. It was genuine and objective. Not even a shred of pity.
How pathetic am I? To take such joy in a simple, stupid thing. How pathetic am I, to be so hung up on a question? Am I that broken? Have I been so beaten down? There I was, coughing up blood? silver? it tasted metallic some gunk out of my system and washed myself up from it, and then there she was. Looking at me. I looked like a complete mess, I am sure. Unwashed hair and dirtied clothes with silver hands.
Malia tilted her head as she looked at me and all I could muster was a “I have a weak stomach.”
I’m so pathetic. Why did she have to see my like that? I left as quickly as I could.
I don’t know whether to hope she continues ignoring me or finally begin to notice me. I don’t know which would be worse. I hate the uncertainty. I hate that she saw the lowest of me.
Entry 10 - Afternoon, September 1:
Lydia. Malia had come because of Lydia. Of course she would. Lydia is Malia’s friend, and Lydia only worries because I’m her mother’s new client. It didn’t mean anything. It was chance or happenstance either. Malia still sees through me.
I should know better by now. I am nothing to her. Why would I be anything more?
Entry 11 - Evening, September 1:
I have been writing a lot today. Am I that scared?
I can’t even lie to myself. Here I am in my bed, the skylight with new deadbolts, my windows more secure than they ever could be, and I am shaking like a leaf. I would be a wonder if anyone could read my handwriting right now.
I’m more scared of myself.
The night terrors, the nightmares, they all center around me and this Thing. I can feel it. It festers and all the shrinks say it’s not real. That it’s only a figment of my fears. One of the early ones even theorized that this Thing was a defense mechanism I built to save my sanity. A way to cope and why I never remember the nightmares.
I think it’s more than that.
It’s one that falls into my theories of this town, and why I’m so keen on moving away. This Thing is connected to Beacon Hills just like how every murder is. And at some point, it began to fester inside me.
I fear I’m being eaten alive.
I fear I will die tonight.
Entry 12 - Some time in the night, September 1:
Surgeon
Pathologist
Genetisist
are coming for me
I am not to their design
[blacked out]
Entry 13 - September 1:
The crows aren’t enough
I’m so hungry
I can’t swallow
[mercury stains the pages]
Entry 14 - September 1:
They will confine me
I cannot let it happen
Dad
My dad could help me
Entry 15 - Morning, October 18:
Theo tells me my dad is dead. That I killed him. I can’t even remember it happening. I can’t remember much, but I have never felt so powerful. Who would have thought he was the one holding me back! He loved and feared me, so it is only fitting that for me to find my strength is to cut it from him.
My incessant fears and insecurity…none of that matters. I am reborn. I am more than I ever thought I could be. Nobody can look down on me anymore, bully me, push me around, see past me like I’m nothing. I will never be nothing.
Entry 16 - Evening, October 18:
So there was something more to the rumors and theories of Beacon Hills than people gave it credit. I was close in my theory. I knew it was something supernatural but never did I imagine this. Never did I imagine I would be involved in it, too.
And that at the center of it all was Scott MaCall’s clique, or pack would be the better word. I can hardly be surprised, but that also means Malia is involved, too. Has been involved. A “were-coyote” is what Theo said. More prone to be standoffish and wild. Yet, she was able to find a pack so easily.
Josh calls it pity, and he may be right…but maybe it was something else. Did they seek to tame her wild nature? To tone down the brazen confidence and flippant attitude?
Malia would fit better in our pack anyway. We’re not trying to keep up a front of being passifists. I’ve been a coward long enough in my life, and I’ll be damned if I let that consume me when I have the power to hold everyone’s life in my hands.
Entry 17 [Last entry]- Night, October 21:
Years I have dreamed of not being looked past, and here she was, looking right at me. There was no pity or cool indifference. There was no sense of obligation to look because someone told her to. Malia’s eyes stayed on mine and acknowledged me.
I feel drunk off it.
Even when we fought, every hit and wrestle made my blood sing. Maybe there is something wrong with me, with how I take delight in a fight, how I enjoy every drop of blood I scar and cause. Especially if it’s hers. It kept her eyes on me. She saw me as a challenge. Someone worth paying attention to.
I don’t want this feeling to end.
So long as I have these new powers, Theo’s help, and her eyes on me, I could take down the whole world.
