Calamity

The place we end up at makes the thought that he might use this opportunity to kill me flare back up. The realization is paralyzing as it slams into me and for a second I feel like my heart is going to beat through my chest. My hands fumble clumsily as I stretch them over to the passenger door handle, the idea that I could, maybe, make a hasty retreat bubbling lamely underneath all the terror flowing through my system. I’ve almost got the door open when a big hand shoots out from the left and jerks it closed again.

“Would you stop?” Derek says, his tone full of irritation.

“What’re we doing here?”

I sound hysterical, like someone is squeezing my vocal cords, but I can’t manage to fix my voice. I don’t care too, either. I’ve fallen into Derek’s trap. I’d abandoned rationality in favor of his pretty olive colored eyes and warm skin, and now he was probably going to drag me out of his nice car before tearing my throat open.

All these thoughts cause the fingers of a panic attack to slowly start to creep up. I can feel them sliding over my midsection, preparing to slip into my ribcage so they could grab my heart and crush it.

“We’re talking, Rosalie. For Christ sake, I’m not going to hurt you!”

A strong hand grips my chin and forces my head to the left, where Derek is resting in the driver’s seat. His gaze is steady as he peers over at me and he even holds up his free hand in mock surrender. I think he’s trying to ease me, but I don’t understand why he chose a decrepit building to talk in. Somewhere public would’ve been just fine—but, then again, it wouldn’t have.

I just remember Sheriff Stilinski and his band of deputies that are currently combing Beacon Hills in search of Derek, but I’m not sure if that’s why he’s drug me so far into the empty part of town.

“Rosalie,” Derek says, interrupting my train of thought. He grips my chin a little harder and leans in close, so I can see the fine lines indented into his lips. “I swear, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk, okay?”

He arches his eyebrows, prompting me to cutout this wave of panic and just trust him. But he already knows that he no longer has my trust.

If I was to get out of this car, then it was going to take more than his puppy dog eyes.

“I…” I stammer for a bit because I can’t think of what to say. Pulling away from Derek, I tuck pieces of hair behind my ears and stare out the windshield. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

He sighs, but answers me. “What you did for me… Not many people would’ve after the way I treated you.”

“Did you expect me to just leave you in the hallway?” I ask.

“Yes.”

My head snaps over to look at him then because I can’t believe he would anticipate me regarding him in such a way. I would never claim to be the nicest or bravest person, but I would rather go through hell than see someone I cared about hurt.

And Derek was hurting. I could see it in the way he kept his body tense and feel it with everyone I’d seen him interact with. He was cold because he was scared, probably dealing with trying to figure out how to truly be alone and what to do about Laura’s death. He’d always been so easy going when were younger and I knew that he wasn’t equipped to deal with everything balancing on his broad shoulders. Derek was strong, but he wasn’t a monster; he felt things just like everyone else.

I couldn’t help him, though. For some reason he didn’t trust me and he’d made me so frightened of him that I questioned every single move he made. I want to breach that gap we’d positioned between ourselves, but I don’t know how. I doubt he does, either.

The sound of a car door shutting jerks me out of my thoughts and alerts me to the fact that Derek had gotten out. I watch him for a second to see where he’s going, what his plan is, and only get out when he pauses in front of the sleek Camaro.

“I’d never do that,” I say, coming to stand beside him. “I’d never leave you like that, no matter what you’d done to me. I care too much about you.”

The last part spills out before I can hide the true meaning with other words. Immediately, my cheeks flame and I scowl a little down at the dirt resting underneath my shoes.

“You’re a better person than I am, Rosalie. I would’ve left you to die,” he says.

“Why?”

The honesty in his words has pushed the fingers of panic further into my chest and now they’re fighting with lashes of anger that had formed at hearing Derek’s words. But he doesn’t answer me, he just motions for me to follow him. When I don’t, he quickly snatches up my hand and starts to lead me into the building.

I try to pretend like his hand isn’t that warm and that I don’t really like the way it could fit two times over my smaller one. I try to ignore the way he scales the pad of his thumb over my knuckles and not pay attention to how easily he can slide his fingers through mine. I try to blame all the heat rolling over all my previous emotions on the fact that I can’t think rationally anymore—that I’ve officially lost my mind.

Derek leads me into a large piece of a vacant building, which I realize isn’t just a building, but an apartment complex. The space he pauses in looks to be an empty loft.

“I know I said I’d… That I’d hurt you, Rosalie, but I promise I’d never. You know that, don’t you?” he murmurs.

He has let go of my hand and walked a few paces in front of where I’ve stopped. His back is to me, his shoulder blades pushing through the green top he’s wearing. I swallow and try to focus more on his words.

“What?” I ask.

He sighs. “I’m going to show you something, alright? And you don’t have to be afraid. Just… Let me explain before you run out. Please.”

“Derek, what’re you—“

But I can’t finish my sentence because my words jumble up in my throat and lodge there, threatening to choke me as my eyes widen at the sight of my friend’s face, which has now transformed into that of some kind of monster. A scream manages to push up through all the jumbled mess, though, and it rings out so loudly that I wonder how my throat isn’t bleeding.

When I go to sprint for the door, an arm ending with a set of five claws wraps around my waist and jerks me into a hard chest.

“P-please,” I stutter. “Derek, let m-me go.”

“I said I wasn’t going to hurt you, Rosie. Trust me,” he whispers.

His cool breath pushes over the skin of my neck, causing me to squirm more and tears to start to trickle down my cheeks.

Again, the realization that he might be seconds away from killing me makes me wish I’d stuck with my first instinct and declined coming along with him. But it’s too late for that because Derek, with this sharp nails and glistening teeth, has got me trapped in this room with no way out. My heart stammers and I think I might pass out.

“I can’t! Please! Let me go!” I scream.

I manage to whirl out of his clutches, but suspect it’s only because he let me go. The door is a couple of feet from where we were standing and I start to sprint towards it again, hoping he hadn’t locked it because it was definitely my only way out.

“Rosalie!” he yells.

“Get away from me!”

“I’ve never hurt you before, have I? All those times you slept in my house, you were fine, weren’t you? No one laid a hand on you, did they? You were fine.”

That stops me. Confusion rakes through my entire system. What?

I want to turn and face him, but I’m too afraid to. I’m scared to see the face of something that is supposed to be nothing but an urban legend.

“Your family were one of those too?” I ask in disbelief.

“They were. Even Laura.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Derek sighs; it seems to vibrate throughout the entire space and almost knocks me down—or I think it does, but come to think that it was probably the fact that suddenly everything was turned upside down now.

“Turn around, Rosie.”

“I can’t,” I gasp out.

And I really can’t. The idea that I’m going to have to come to terms with the fact that my world really wasn’t what I thought it was had become disorientating. I could handle Laura leaving after losing her entire family and maybe even deal with her death, but her being a supernatural being? No, that was too much for someone to deal with in the span of a few weeks.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs.

Then his big hands—they’re back to hands!—grip my shoulders and help me get my body turned around and facing his. He sticks a finger underneath my chin before tilting it up. Relief courses through me at seeing that his handsome face had returned and that he was human again. The image of the contortions it had taken on, though, don’t leave my mind.

“What are you?” I ask desperately.

A few beats later, with his hands in fists at his sides and his eyes flickering a vibrant blue, he answers, “I''m a werewolf.”