[ allison's problems are all fairly new. her life before beacon hills had been difficult in its own ways, sure, but not that could compare to this. nothing that could compare to watching kate's neck get ripped out, learning about her mother dying after being basically drugged, after nearly killing isaac and erica and boyd and now, now she has this. all of this.
she closes her eyes and scott's just gone. she closes her eyes and isaac's dead on that bed (that didn't happen he's okay). she closes her eyes and it's hell and she opens them and everything is okay again. allison doesn't have coping mechanisms because she hasn't had the time to build them up. so instead, she just pretends. she harbors those visions and that knowledge and those feelings, compounds them into a ball and lets them fall somewhere in the back of her mind, the depth of her chest.
sometimes it takes minutes, sometimes seconds, and then it dissolves into the darkness that has grown so much, expanded so much, she's not even sure how she can breathe.
but she gets up, because she has to. she stands and she walks, she checks in and checks on and wanders between her room and the game room, between the game room and isaac and scott and stiles'. between these rooms and the halls and back again because the smaller the space, the less she has to check, the less corners there are and less darkness she has to sit in.
but then there's stiles. stiles, who just keeps going, keeps walking and talking and manages to hold it all together. allison knows he's got the same darkness, the same weight. he say just as much as she did and experienced just as much and yet when she sees him now, he looks...fine. tired - they're all tired - but better than she feels. than she has to look, judging from the way isaac looks at her. like every ounce of what she feels is written in the lines on her face.
for part of a moment, she's jealous, but then it's gone because when you feel so guilty and carry so much hatred for everything you do, it's hard to feel much else. allison tries for the smile when stiles greets her with one, but it ends up being a sort of nod, a ghost of an upturn to one corner of her lips. ]
Sure. [ her hands are hanging at her sides, and they twitch when they start walking. like she should be carrying something, anything. but what if- she ends up shaking her head, not that she had any reason to, and keeps quiet as they head out through the front doors, down the stairs and outside. it's a little off-putting to her, at first, that stiles doesn't immediately launch off into some kind of conversation. but at the same time, the silence is nice. is shared, rather than awkward, like the understood exactly what the other was thinking, feeling, without having to say much at all.
no subject
she closes her eyes and scott's just gone. she closes her eyes and isaac's dead on that bed (that didn't happen he's okay). she closes her eyes and it's hell and she opens them and everything is okay again. allison doesn't have coping mechanisms because she hasn't had the time to build them up. so instead, she just pretends. she harbors those visions and that knowledge and those feelings, compounds them into a ball and lets them fall somewhere in the back of her mind, the depth of her chest.
sometimes it takes minutes, sometimes seconds, and then it dissolves into the darkness that has grown so much, expanded so much, she's not even sure how she can breathe.
but she gets up, because she has to. she stands and she walks, she checks in and checks on and wanders between her room and the game room, between the game room and isaac and scott and stiles'. between these rooms and the halls and back again because the smaller the space, the less she has to check, the less corners there are and less darkness she has to sit in.
but then there's stiles. stiles, who just keeps going, keeps walking and talking and manages to hold it all together. allison knows he's got the same darkness, the same weight. he say just as much as she did and experienced just as much and yet when she sees him now, he looks...fine. tired - they're all tired - but better than she feels. than she has to look, judging from the way isaac looks at her. like every ounce of what she feels is written in the lines on her face.
for part of a moment, she's jealous, but then it's gone because when you feel so guilty and carry so much hatred for everything you do, it's hard to feel much else. allison tries for the smile when stiles greets her with one, but it ends up being a sort of nod, a ghost of an upturn to one corner of her lips. ]
Sure. [ her hands are hanging at her sides, and they twitch when they start walking. like she should be carrying something, anything. but what if- she ends up shaking her head, not that she had any reason to, and keeps quiet as they head out through the front doors, down the stairs and outside. it's a little off-putting to her, at first, that stiles doesn't immediately launch off into some kind of conversation. but at the same time, the silence is nice. is shared, rather than awkward, like the understood exactly what the other was thinking, feeling, without having to say much at all.
it was nice. ]