Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf. I only own my OCs, and there will be a few that come around.

A word of warning: I edit this shit like crazy. Seriously. I edit it a lot. So don't be surprised if you come back a few weeks from now, or even tomorrow, and this first chapter is totally unrecognizable. I apologize, I'm just of the opinion that a story can never be edited/improved enough. (Partly why I write fanfiction...) So anyways, keep that in mind.

Rated M for language, adult themes, violence, etc, etc.

Also, my OC is a little rough around the edges. Just sayin'. Thank you for taking the time to read this note and my first chapter! All right, let's get started...

I was the perfect candidate.

In hindsight, I checked every one of Derek's boxes. I was entirely isolated. I had few friends, if you could call them that. No family to speak of. A physical hindrance: namely, a limp. My home consisted of an abandoned mattress in a vacant apartment building on a ghost street. No one would miss me. I would seemingly gain everything from taking the bite, and lose nothing. Most importantly though, I had shut all my feelings down. Swallowed them up with pills. Destroyed everything that made me human and liable in any fashion. So if I'm already dead, what did either of us have to risk?

Perhaps in a way he might have felt like he was saving me, along with Isaac and Erica and Boyd. Or maybe not—I may be giving him too much credit. I can respect a smart business move when I see one, and that's what I was to him. What we all were. A safe, smart, gainful product that he could use at his discretion.

I was the perfect candidate. And I never saw it coming.

"You can expect some sunshine for most of today, so make sure to take advantage of it while you still can because those Pacific winds will be blowing in a cold front in the next couple of days. That means: plan for rain! The forecast for…"

One of the waitresses reached up to switch off the television. A few patrons at the counter protested, saying they hadn't even gotten to the news yet.

"You want the news?" The older woman snapped, her hair frizzing out of its ponytail as she untied her apron. "I'll give you the news: Karl's Diner Loses Employee of Twenty Years Because He Can't Keep His Filthy Hands Off Her Daughter—"

A man from the back poked his head out rowdily, waving at the woman, and it was difficult to make out exactly what was said between their yelling and cussing.

I pulled a pill bottle out of my vest pocket and popped it open, shaking three tablets out. Then I held them each over the top of my coffee and dropped them in. Giving it a quick stir, I tapped off the excess and then reached down to my waffles and plucked up the dollop of whipped cream between the spoon and my thumb, transferring it over to the full mug of coffee with a wet plop.

I sucked the whipped cream off my thumb and watched as a younger waitress nearly passed out in anxiety when her older coworker stormed through the kitchen door and noises of dishes and pans clattering to the ground cut over the diner.

Most patrons waved it off and turned back to their own conversations. One of them got up to turn the television back on, and I took a sip of my coffee and pursed my lips when I realized it was tepid, at best. A grumpy old man snapped at the younger waitress that his coffee tasted burnt.

I smirked when she looked ready to burst into tears and immediately began apologizing, which he was unreceptive to. He told her to go get some more if she's so sorry.

I could see the fear clear as day when she glanced back to the kitchen and imagined going in there. As if to echo the thought, a platter of eggs and grits smacked the door of the kitchen and it popped open just long enough for us to catch a glimpse some of the destruction before it swung shut again.

She squeaked something at the man and scurried away. As she passed me, the door of the diner opened. I began to cut into my waffles and was just taking a large bite when a boy around my age approached my booth. He held his hat between his hands, ever the gentleman, and briefly greeted me.

"Please," I said, waving my hand to the seat opposite me. "Join me."

His eyes were trained on all the noise coming from the kitchen, and he seemed hesitative as he gripped his hat.

I snapped my fingers. "Jimmy," I said, and he whipped his gaze back to me. "Sit down."

"Oh, yeah," He shook his head to himself and slid into the booth, placing his hat to the side of the table. He watched me finally take a bite of my waffles as we sat in silence and I waited for him to speak. He just stared at me like we were already having a conversation—one that was clearly happening in his mind. Almost as if he was rehearsing. I'm crippled; not stupid, I can see his nerves have frayed him.

I raised my eyebrows, chewing the slightly bland waffle as I waited for him to finally say something. He just stared at me and then looked over my meal, shifting uneasily. I pursed my lips and shook my head. "Speak."

"Oh—sorry—I, uh, got a lot on my mind."

"All right, that's great, Jim," I patronized, scratching at my nose but then twirling my finger impatiently through the air. "Tell me you have good news."

"I can't do it anymore," He blurted.

The noises of the diner filled our ensuing silence. Knives and forks scraped plates, men took slurps of coffee, women cackled and the television was advertising for a nearby car lot. Jimmy looked afraid but resolute, as he stared at me with his chin up and his fingers nervously twitching.

I breathed out a forced laugh. "Excuse me?"

"I—I can't push those pills anymore, Savannah. I'm not getting anything out of it; things have changed."

I set my fork down and pushed away the plate, leaning back in the booth. "Okay… So what? This is one of those conversations? You trying to ask for a bigger cut? Because that's not gonna happen, Jimmy, it's just not there. Now, if you'd start selling to the lacrosse team, like we discussed, maybe we—"

"No, Savannah, you're not listening to me. You aren't hearing me. I. Can't. Do it."

I opened my mouth and he cut his hand through the air with a firm shake of his head.

"No, no," He amended, finger raised. "I won't do it."

"Wha—" I scoffed, shaking my head with an agitated shrug. I looked him over for the first time since he'd entered the diner. He wasn't as skinny as before. At first, I thought he'd looked like shit, because he smelled like last week's take out and he looked like a strung out junkie. But his face was fuller and his teeth were the cleanest I'd seen since we met. I squinted an eye and sat back, my chin up. "Did you kick it?"

He seemed sort of proud, growing less flighty and more still as he gave a slight nod. "Yeah… yeah, I did."

I sighed heavily and pressed my fingers into the top of my eyes, rubbing my face.

"My life is—I mean, I feel good again, for the first time in a really long time, Savannah, and I can't—" He clenched his fist and knocked it against the table top, as if articulating his feelings was difficult to do. Or maybe he was just afraid of my reaction. "I can't push that crap to those guys anymore. It's fucking with my head again, and—and I don't want that anymore! Can you understand that? I mean, do you see where I'm coming from?"

"Fine," I said through clenched teeth, smacking my hand onto the table to shock him into silence. I drew in a breath through my nose and tried to rein my temper in as I lifted my hand and tightened it into a fist. "Fine. Stay clean. Whoever said you have to use the product you sell? You think those models on the Viagra commercials are having performance issues?"

Jimmy blinked and shook his head, slightly confused. "I think the implication is actually that her partner—"

"Jimmy." I leaned forward to catch his eye and he abruptly stopped talking. I shook my head. "I don't give a shit. We had a deal. We had a system. You can't back out on me."

"Okay, fine, you know what? It's not even really about me being around it! It's what it's doing to the guys I'm selling it to! Okay? They are—they are changing, Savannah. They aren't doing it for fun anymore! It's not like I'm passing around a joint! This is—" He broke off because his voice had raised too much, glancing around with a tight sigh. He looked back at me and leaned in. "This is getting too real for me. Some of them are starting to depend on it."

I shook my head and shrugged. "Good!"

Jimmy sat back with a frustrated sigh and seemed slightly disgusted, shaking his head at me.

"Jimmy that's good! We'll have regulars, so what? What's the big deal?"

"I can't do it," Jimmy shook his head and grabbed his hat and I scoffed and threw my hands up.

"What?" I cried, and as he started to leave, I reached up to stop him. "Wait! Wait, wait, wait."

He looked back at me and I muttered to myself, tilting my head back and forth as I settled into my booth and mulled it over. Interest piqued, Jimmy slowly lowered back down to see what I had to say. I tapped my fingers together and touched them to my nose.

"Okay…" I said. "Okay. I can respect your boundaries. We won't sell to them anymore, okay?"

Jimmy seemed relieved as he nodded and set his hat back down, relaxing into the booth. "I'm glad to hear you say that." He paused as I ran a hand through my tangled hair and shifted. "I have to admit, I thought I was going to have to fight you a little more on this. You know, maybe you should—"

"What about this," I interrupted, my hands splayed. Jimmy's mouth hung open and he seemed unsurprised as I continued. "Your job."

He raised an eyebrow and I waved him off.

"No, no, your other job. The one at the ice rink." I waved my hands and he looked unimpressed as I tried to play it up. "Huh? We could—"

"No," He shook his head and shifted in frustration. "No, Savannah, that wouldn't work anyway."

"Well why not? Just—hold on a minute—"

"I was fired, okay?"

My mouth hung open as I processed this, and I stared at him as he sighed through his nose.

"I went to work fucked up and I left the machines running all night. I left everything on in the café, I passed out on the ice. I left the Zamboni on in one place for so long that there's a ditch in the middle of it now!"

I snorted and then immediately schooled my features when Jimmy glared at me. I reached up and rubbed my nose, tilting my head for him to continue. "I—I mean, I didn't realize that. That blows."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm lucky my dad talked the owner out of any charges. My point is," He sighed. "Savannah, I'm done. I can't keep going this way. I lost my job, my dad found out about—everything. Do you get it yet?"

I let my hand drop to the table and scratched at my head. "Yeah," I shrugged, and Jimmy seemed relieved. "Yeah, I get it. That sucks."

A beat passed and I tapped my fingers on the table until I couldn't stand it.

"So you probably need some cash though, right?"

Jimmy stood from the booth.

I threw my arm out but he just shook my hand off. "Wait! Wait I don't mean like that! I mean, I could loan you some and then you could just work it off and—"

"Goodbye, Savannah." Jimmy pulled his red baseball cap over his head and shoved around me to start down the aisle.

"Jimmy!" I whisper-screamed, as people had started to turn around and see what all the fuss was about. I glanced between them and Jimmy and swayed slightly in my spot as my knee started to give. "Jimmy," I hissed, and he didn't even pretend not to hear me as he shoved out the door and let it slam behind him, the little bells tinkling loudly.

Everyone was staring at me. I shuffled unsteadily on my feet and coughed awkwardly, turning back to my booth.

Shit. I grabbed the top of the table and lowered myself back into the seat with a loud sigh. "Son of a bitch," I whispered aloud.

What am I gonna do now? Jimmy was my sure thing. He was the face that people trusted. He was the one who brought in new buyers. He could use his status in school to convince people in an effortless way that I simply don't have.

Before him, I had to make it seem like I was doing it with them. Like we were just some friends who were partying a little. And then once I got them high out of their minds, I would spout some shit about being low on funds, and nine times out of ten they'd offer me at least some cash to cover their cost. Sometimes I could even squeeze out a little more than necessary. But that takes a long time—it takes networking and making nice, something which uses a lot of my time, and a lot of my money, and more charm than I typically possess on a given day.

I started to feel sick to my stomach as the reality of my situation changed again. Jimmy and I had a good thing going. I was pushing more than ever through him. I had more cash than I knew what to do with. I'd even been thinking of trying to find a real apartment, somewhere I could pay under the table. But still, illegally paying for an apartment would mean power and utilities; luxuries that I don't have where I'm squatting now.

Jimmy thinks he has problems. I snorted bitterly and picked up my coffee to drink it all in one go, and the skittish waitress from before approached me.

"Hi, my name is Brenda. I know that—that um, Samantha was serving you earlier, but," She gestured over her shoulder with her pen. "She, um, had to step out. So that means I'll be taking your order. Or, you have your order, what I mean to say is if you need anything—"

I stared up at her as she fumbled with her notepad and almost dropped it. Suddenly, things might be looking up for me. I cleared my throat and brushed my hair back, plastering a large smile on my face, and the aftertaste of my coffee felt thick on my tongue. "Brenda," I smiled, and she relaxed slightly. "Nice to meet you, I'm Carly, and I come here a lot. This is the seventh time I've seen Samantha step out. She'll probably be back by tomorrow morning, at the latest." (Lie. Never been here in my life. I was just trying to get her to trust me.)

The girl sighed and beamed at me, tapping her pen against her notepad. "Oh, that's great to hear." She paused and then leaned in. "This is my first day."

I raised my eyebrows and pretended to be surprised. "Really? You're a natural!"

She nodded and then looked over at my table, shaking her head. "Thank you, that's nice to say, but I know it's not true." She breathed out a laugh and I grinned and squinted my eyes with a shrug. "Oh! I'm supposed to ask—" She smacked her head. "Do you need anything?"

I touched my plate and nodded. "A to-go box for these would be perfect, thanks," I grinned, scrunching my nose. She told me she'd be right back with my check, and I tried not to twitch as she left.

I plotted what I was going to do for the rest of day, watching the street out the window. By the time she returned, the man in the back had yelled at her for something and I'd reached my decision. She dropped the to-go box on my table and then she suddenly recalled that she didn't have my check. I laughed at her and told her not to worry; take her time.

As soon as she went to go wait on another customer, I was out of there. I limped as calmly as possible and then let the door shut behind me.

Slinging on the streets is easy. Slinging in school? That's a whole different game. It takes patience, and charisma, and a lot of jokes. I didn't have time to butter people up or pretend we were just a bunch of pals having a good time. In this case, I would have to do it the old fashioned way: trying to people think they're getting the deal.

"Listen to me, Gretch." I grabbed the volleyball player by her shoulder and pretended we were old pals discussing a secret, leaning in conspiringly. "This kind of product goes for five, easy."

"Five what?" She asked, and I fixed her with a grim stare that didn't actually mean anything to let her fill the blank for me. She gasped and her eyes grew wide as saucers. "Five hundred?"

I shrugged.

"Oh, well, I mean… I don't have that kind of cash, Savannah."

"Yeah, I know that," I snorted, flicking her shoulder in good humor. "Who do you think I am? I'm cutting you a deal, here. This stuff will make you happier than a kid going to Disneyland. Let's say… thirty bucks."

"For the whole thing?" She exclaimed, and I snorted loudly.

"No! You idiot, I just said—" I broke off when she seemed to take offense. Rolling my jaw, I stepped away, a little awkwardly due to my limp. "Okay, forget it," and she reached after me.

"Wait!"

I grinned, my back still to her.

She sighed loudly. "You said that this stuff is good, right? I can use it for Dom's Pharm Party?"

I turned back, letting her see my smile. "So you want two, then?"

She shook her head. "Four."

I tried not to fall over. Idiot.

I sighed tensely, counting out my cash against the windowsill I perched on, cigarette hanging from my lips. It was just after lunch. When kids come out here to the courtyard, they come here for one thing: to score. They know when I'm here that I'm slinging. Gretchen had spread the word through the hallways, bragging about her deal she'd gotten, and she was so happy about it I wondered if she decided to keep all those pills for herself after all.

The kids trickled through the doors after that. Most of them, I could tell it was their first time. They had no idea what to expect. I was able to make a little more than usual off of them. Others wanted to know why Jimmy wasn't in it anymore, and I made the point of asking whether they were interested in any or not. They took the hint.

No teachers noticed. Or maybe they just didn't care. I don't think they really paid much attention to us kids, actually. Beacon Hills isn't exactly known for its attentive authority figures. People can get away with things shockingly easily—especially high schoolers, and I don't think anyone wanted the school to find out what was going on.

The courtyard wasn't technically school property anyways. Due to the fountain, benches, and tables that had been bought and paid for by the Parks & Rec department, it sort of made the courtyard the city's property. Strange, right? I dunno if it's true, actually. It's something I heard once from the principal while he was smoking in the parking lot and talking on the phone. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I wrapped a rubber band around the roll of cash with a satisfying snap and shoved it into my pocket. Then, I flicked my cigarette into the dirt and heaved my good leg over to stomp it out. Limping across the courtyard, I looked around to be sure no one was watching as I approached the hedges.

I ducked through the part where the hedges and chain link fence had been cut away and emerged on the other side. This sidewalk spanned the side of the school. It went up the road to where another sidewalk crossed it, and would eventually lead to the entrance and parking lot. The other direction, however, led deeper into the seedy underbelly of Beacon Hills. Once you get past the thicket of trees, of course.

I didn't get past the thicket of trees. There was a man standing in them, watching me from across the ditch. I frowned at him and turned to keep walking on, trying to cover my limp as best I could.

He started following me. So instead of heading back to my usual spot, like I had intended, I kept going straight and told myself that he was just heading to town like the rest of us.

I had hoped to feel better about being tailed when I got into some traffic, but it turns out that being shadowed didn't leave much room for comfort. It really freaked me out when he disappeared after I passed the CVS. I should have been relieved. He'd probably gone inside.

But something about him… he was so determined. You know the feeling when you can definitely tell that someone is watching you? The way the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you can feel their eyes following you no matter where you go in the room? That feeling gripped me as soon as I laid eyes on him, and it wouldn't let go, even after he'd disappeared.

I decided to be safer than sorry and headed down an alley. He emerged at the opposite end, and I turned to bolt.

I couldn't run fast, you know? It's one of those things about having a bad leg. It makes fleeing danger pretty fucking tough.

I cut across traffic, my heart beating wildly in my chest as horns blared at me. He just kept coming. My feet almost got caught over the edge of the sidewalk as I decided to jump on it and follow it down to the main strip of down town, and he shouted at me.

A moving van was backed up to a restaurant that I was quickly approaching, but the man was gaining on me faster than I'd hoped for. Panic set in and gave me a little more speed as I burst through the men who pushed cases and boxes of meat into the nearby alley, and they hollered at me as I frantically hobbled.

The man followed closely behind, accidentally knocking some cases down and drawing a lot of attention. But he just kept coming. His legs pumped furiously, his arms moving in tandem, and he breathed like a professional sprinter.

Or… a cop.

The thought spurred me on. With a surge of adrenaline, I doubled my speed, and then quickly hung a right down an alley. It was rather short, and I followed it to the end just as he popped in the entrance. He yelled at me as I disappeared around another corner, fear gripping me at how close he was. My leg was screaming in pain. No matter how hard I pushed it, the tendons and muscles just wouldn't cooperate.

Soon, it would lock up. I burst out the end of some other alley just as a pedestrian was crossing, and I tumbled after tripping over their feet. They called out in surprise and worry as I tumbled across the pavement and rolled to a stop in a crumpled heap, the styrofoam box of waffles spilling onto the dirty asphalt below me. Figures.

The man hung back in the alley, having stopped when the pedestrian quickly joined my side to help me to my feet. He looked straight at me, and as he turned away, I realized who he was.

The last time I'd seen him, I was drugged out of my mind. I barely knew what my own name was—let alone how to keep track of new faces, but I remembered his scar. It cut his eyebrow, and I thought it was attractive. His name was—

It was… it started with a K, anyways. I think. I watched him, glaring at me as he retreated down the alley and the pedestrian helped me stand on my own two feet. My dealer must have sent him. Somehow, they know that I'm slinging their shit.

I sighed heavily and blinked when the pedestrian pushed something at me. I looked down and immediately snatched my pill bottle from his hands.

"Wouldn't want to lose that," He said, and I blinked at his face, actually taking the moment to look him over for once. "Why was he chasing you?"

I know him. I squinted at his dark features—dark hair, dark leather jacket, dark facial hair… light green eyes, young. Not as young as me, but not old. College-aged.

"Derek Hale," I blurted, my mind a bit slippery in all the excitement. He immediately frowned and stepped away from me, his face hardening.

"How do you know my name?"

I blinked and shook my head, my mouth open. "You—used to go to school, right?"

He raised an eyebrow as if that was a stupid question, and I know to most it probably seemed that way. But Derek had dropped out. I remember hearing about his family dying in a fire or something. It had been one of those horror stories that kids my age traded around campfires, or late at night in the dark when we wanted to freak each other out. People made jokes in poor taste about still being able to hear their screams at night if you went near their house out in the woods. And now they tell similar stories about my family, I'd bet. Kids suck.

And during the subsequent silence following my question, Derek had backed away from me about five paces. He stared at me with a troubled expression. "How do you know me?"

"Stories," I shrugged, shaking my head. "Kids. You know how it is…" Also, he'd been sniffing around the school last year—particularly McCall and Stilinski. I remember noticing him sneaking about during one of my rare visits to class. It takes one to know one, and all that, right?

"Should I listen to the stories about you?"

That shocked me. "You know who I am?" I asked, this time a little more bitter and a little less casual.

"Aren't you going to thank me?"

I scowled. He's one of those. "Thanks," I blandly said, and then turned to limp away. Everybody wants to be a hero…

He followed me. "Where are you going?"

"Away," I dodged, and he easily caught up to me.

"Aren't you hungry?"

I frowned at him. "Excuse me?"

"You dropped your breakfast." He pointed behind us to where my waffles were still splattered across the pavement. I stared at them for a moment and then turned back to Derek.

"Karma," I simply said. "They were shit anyways. Go away."

He blinked at my frank tone. "What's your issue with me?"

"You're bothering me," I said. He just stood there. I shifted, my temper flaring. "Are you serious? Thank you for scaring away the baddie. Now stop following me, it's weird."

He scowled. "You're welcome," He said, equally as annoyed. I scowled back.

"Fine!" I snapped.

He rolled his eyes and turned away, and I watched him stalk down the sidewalk. I didn't turn my back until I was satisfied he'd left for good. Then, sighing heavily, I started the long trek home.

I was so exhausted, and my knee hurt so much, it didn't occur to me that this was a stupid plan until I was already at the mouth of the alley. I tossed back another two pills with a grimace, and then I grew still.

The place I'm squatting is an abandoned apartment building. Most of the windows were boarded up. There was a dumpster near one window that hadn't been boarded up, though. So, I smashed the glass out and laid down a blanket to prevent any unnecessary damage, and climbed through by using the dumpster as a lift.

That's my spot. Inside there's a thick pad of abused cotton with springs jutting out that passes for a mattress, and a nice stash of canned food. But right now, the same man who had followed me from school was leaning against my dumpster.

He flicked his cigarette on the pavement when he saw me. Fuck. Why did I come here?!

"That wasn't very smart, alley-cat," He taunted as he away from the dumpster, as if reading my thoughts. In his hand, a knife flicked out of its cover.

Panic gripped me and I exhaled roughly, gearing up to scream as I turned to run. A hand clamped over my mouth and someone grabbed me, sealing my arms against their chest with their iron-tight grip. I thrashed furiously, but the stranger just whispered in my ear and laughed. I think he said something about having a little fun, and the whole thing felt so much like a scene from a movie that I felt sick to my stomach.

If he would just let up a little, I could reach my pocket. I pushed against him and stamped his feet as hard as I could manage, my knee cracking in pain that made my vision tinge black for a moment. I felt the cool, sharp tip of a blade biting at the back of my neck and immediately froze. One of them laughed in sick amusement.

The one holding me cursed at me and started to turn me around—but then he stopped.

"What the fuck—"

I couldn't see anything behind me since I was still trapped against this one's chest, but I heard the distinct sound of someone getting punched in the throat and losing their breath. Then a brief fight ensued—if you could call it that—and something hit the ground. The knife, maybe, it was just happening so fast—and suddenly the man who'd been stalking me all morning was thrown into the wall in front of me.

His limp body sagged down to the ground and I drew in a ragged, confused, terrified breath. The man holding me was babbling almost incoherently with fear, and he immediately let me go and pushed me away with his hands up.

"T-Take her!" He cried, and I fell to my knees as my leg finally gave out. I turned to see who it was, but he moved fast.

Too fast. The other guy turned to run, but he was stopped as the man easily caught up with him. He made it look natural as he grabbed the man by the back of the shirt and swung him around into the wall.

The pair of my assailants lay at my feet in an unconscious heap. I stared at them, my chest heaving, unable to look away. My eyes saw what was happening, but my mind couldn't quite translate. I looked up and I didn't feel like anything was cleared up as Derek Hale stood over me with his hand offered out to me.

I stared at it with a confused, overwhelmed scowl on my face. He shook it impatiently. "Come on," He said. "It isn't safe for you to stay here."

"Who are you?" I demanded, and his face remained stoic as he retracted his hand and lifted his chin.

"Derek Hale."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I know that. I mean… are you a cop?"

This amused him greatly. He minutely smirked and shook his head. "Not exactly."

Frustrated, I had to stifle a growl. "What does that even mean?"

"Can't you just be grateful and thank me?" He snapped, his mood abruptly shifting to that of anger. He gestured at the two men who lay before me like he was presenting evidence to a court. "I saved you!"

"Look around you," I angrily exclaimed, gesturing to the abandoned building, and the trash-covered alley, and then to myself. Skinny, tangled and dirty—a druggie. "People don't do shit like this for free."

Derek watched me, his face still annoyed, but something about the way his posture changed told me that he was beginning to understand. If only a little bit.

I shook my head at him, not moving an inch from my spot on the ground. "Not around here, they don't. Not without expecting something in return. So why did you do this? What do you want from me?"

He stared at me, the glower frozen on his face. But he offered nothing. He just stared. It made me furious.

And I finally snapped. I was overwhelmed with terror that still stuck in the back of my throat—and adrenaline from running—and pain from my knee—and frustration from Jimmy—and the overwhelming feeling that I'm about to crash and burn, and this dude—Derek—keeps popping up and demanding that I kiss his feet for butting into my shit, and I just started turning out my pants pockets.

Change fell out with a lighter, and lint and a bobby pin fell out of the other. I started with my jacket and pulled out a taser, tossing that to the ground and ignoring Derek when he shifted in surprise at the sight of it. I didn't stop; I kept patting myself down, reaching into my vest and tossing down my pills, then to the other pocket that held my wad of cash, and I threw that down, too.

"What?" I shouted, and he stayed very still as he watched me have a break down right in front of him. "That's all I've got. You want it? How about this? You want some of these? What? What do you want?" I threw some of the change and my lighter at him, but he easily sidestepped them and they sailed across the alley behind him.

He shook his head, and I cut him off.

"You think I'm gonna do anything to you?" I seethed, snatching up the taser as I got my feet under me to stand. "You think I'm gonna stay right here on my knees and give you a proper thank—"

"No!" He seemed outraged that I would even insinuate such a thing, actually taking a step back in disgust, and I just laughed bitterly.

"I won't!" I continued, because I didn't believe him. "I'm never going to sink that low!" At this point, I'd become somewhat feral, and Derek didn't seem to quite know how to react. "You can go fuck yourself!"

"Savannah!" He finally cracked, his voice loud and sharp like a whip that broke through my hysteria and froze me in place. "Stop."

I panted, having gotten to my feet at some point. The taser was held between us like it was my shield, and I watched him with my chin tucked and mouth parted as I huffed and my hands shook. Quietly, almost inaudibly, I whispered, "I won't."

Derek's eyes were on the taser. "Why didn't you use that on them?"

My eye twitched. "I was going to," I angrily defended. "I was."

He sighed then, losing all tension in his stance. It was such an abrupt change that I hesitated, my fingers tightening briefly on the taser. I didn't move an inch and kept my gaze trained on him as he tossed something around in his head before speaking.

"You don't belong out here."

"What?" I scrunched my face. Is he serious?

"It's too dangerous."

"I knew it." I immediately backed away, lifting the taser like a gun instead of a shield even though he didn't move a step towards me. "You're a fucking cop!"

Surprisingly, he seemed frustrated and tired as he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not a cop."

I was about to comment, but he looked back up at me and his eyes were glowing bright red, and his face was shifted unnaturally as he bore his teeth at me, and I shot the taser on instinct. The little metal darts whizzed out and pierced his chest before he could so much as breathe, and he immediately seized as the electricity clicked through his body. I had about thirty seconds, so I dropped the gun and turned to run. Again.

I ran until I couldn't anymore. And then I kept limping. Derek didn't follow me, and I don't know if that's because my taser knocked him on his ass, or because he was sick of me altogether.

The reality of my situation sank in slowly. I threw everything at Derek. Which means I have no money, not even pocket change, because I threw it all away. I have no pills, except for the ones I've already taken today. I have no weapon, because I left that stuck in Derek's chest. My safe spot has been compromised. Which of course means I have nowhere to sleep tonight, no food to eat, no roof over my head. The ones my dealer sent after me won't stay unconscious forever, and now they have every reason to come after me.

I don't even have those shitty waffles anymore! In the span of five hours, my life has completely hit rock bottom. Except I refuse to fold. This isn't rock bottom. I've been to rock bottom, gotten personal with it, made friends with it. Let it change me into someone who can survive down there, until I was finally able to drag myself out of it. This is just a set back. This is not rock bottom.

I still have a meal today. See? That's the good news. I moved through the cafeteria at school with my hood up and my head ducked, not looking anyone in the face. My hands shook; from what, I can't say, but they shook as I picked up a tray and let the lunch lady pour me a bowl of hot soup. Tomato soup and grilled cheese was on the menu today. On any other day, I'd say I hate tomato soup and grilled cheese. But today I love it. I grabbed six packets of crackers, scowling at the lunch lady when she hesitated as if to try and stop me. She just watched as I stuffed them in my pockets and didn't say another word as I turned away.

I grabbed a banana and stuffed an apple in my other pocket. I felt people's gazes on me, but I ignored them. When I went to check out, the lunch lady told me I'd have to put back either the apple or the banana.

"Why?" I frowned.

"Your account is overdrawn."

"So just charge it," I said, my temper rising.

She shook her head. "It's been charged past five dollars. I can't charge anymore until it's paid."

People were starting to notice. I shifted uncomfortably, my fingers tightening on the blue tray until my knuckles turned white. "Seriously?" I asked through clenched teeth.

She shrugged unapologetically. "I'm just following the rules."

I grumbled under my breath exactly what I thought of her rules as I made a show of picking up the banana and smacking it against the counter. The temptation to just shove it in the pocket of her apron was almost too much to resist. Almost.

I snatched my tray and stalked to the silverware, spilling part of my tomato soup. When I went to finally grab a table, I didn't pay attention to which one I chose. Not that it mattered. No sooner did I sit down, the one or two people who had been seated there got up and left.

I let it roll right down my back like water to a duck, furiously slurping at the salty red broth. As I tried not to think about where I was going to sleep tonight, a hand placed a banana on the table by my elbow. I jerked my elbow back defensively, glaring up at whoever placed it there on instinct.

Stiles Stilinski stood over me. I looked him over—his brown t-shirt that had a witty one liner sprawled across the front tucked under his grey jacket, and clean white adidas shoes—and kept quiet as he looked down at me.

He didn't say a word as I looked back down at the yellow fruit, slowly swallowing my soup with a thick throat. "Thanks," I muttered, snatching it up.

"You should try being nicer to the lunch ladies," He suggested, barely even squirming under my intense gaze. Stiles glanced back at his friend Scott, who was watching with an almost proud expression as Stiles cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. "They'll let you take whatever you want next time."

"Yeah?" I said, looking him over again. This time he did squirm. "I'll keep that in mind."

He visibly waited for the other shoe to drop. I simply turned away from him and continued to sip at the vile tomato juice in my bowl. Stiles muttered something and then turned away.

"Oh, Stilinski!" I called, and he turned back to look at me. "Happy birthday. Right?" He blinked at me and I cleared my throat as the stunned silence stretched between us. Growing uncomfortable, I muttered, "Okay, well see you in English. Or whatever." I felt his gaze on the side of my face as I picked up the greasy grilled cheese and ripped a corner off. Apparently he decided that commenting beyond a disbelieving thank you was unnecessary, because he turned away and finally went to join an equally surprised Scott.

I didn't make it to English.

Or, well, technically I did. I made it into the class and sat down long enough for my stomach to turn over. My forehead was coated with a cold sweat. I felt overheated, and the nausea in my stomach was so intense, you'd think I had been on a boat for the past hour.

I barely made it to a toilet in time. All of the tomato soup and greasy grilled cheese I'd stuffed in my throat came back up. As if things couldn't get worse, I couldn't stop thinking about where the hell I was supposed to go tonight, and whether or not this was truly an illness (which I couldn't afford right now) or if it had just been the tomato soup. Or if maybe all those pills I'd taken finally kicked back. Or if it was simply a result from the run of bad luck I'd been hit with today.

I knew I'd need meds again soon, but there were other sources for that type of drug. Plenty of them, in fact. I prayed that I wouldn't have to see those men again. I prayed that Derek had scared them off. I also prayed that I wouldn't have to see Derek again, and for a brief moment, I felt thankful that he'd shown up when he did. Whatever his reasons were, he saved me. I squashed those feelings of gratuity just as quickly as they came.

I don't need to owe anyone anything. That's the fastest way to getting yourself arrested on the streets—or worse. I took solace in the fact that I wouldn't have to see Derek again. And that comfort lasted for about ten hours, until I saw him again.