10 Things I Hate About You [Part 7] - Theo Raeken Imagine
A/N: hey, guys! this was going to be the final part of my 10 Things series, but I got carried away and wrote eleven pages of dialogue and soul crushing stuff lmao. I know it’s been a long, excruciating wait, but thank you so much for bearing with me. I hope it’s everything you were hoping for (and more). I will try to finish this series with the eighth part being posted by tomorrow night or Sunday night.
PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX
Your stomach did a magnificent flip as the truck sped around the sharp corner with ease. Trying to focus your eyes on the road and your thoughts on anything but your destination, you became hyper-aware of everything around you. The radio was merely a hum of a song you weren’t familiar with. The volume was a bit too low to make out any of the words, but the music was soft and sweet. It was soothing, though only slightly.
Your ears were much more attuned to the drumming of Theo’s fingers against the steering wheel. Some people shake their legs when nervous. Others bite their nails. Theo’s habit was tapping his fingers against any surface. It was his one giveaway – otherwise, he would have been an infallible poker player.
In all honesty, you were anxious, too. The last several minutes of the car ride had been spent in complete silence, you lost in your thoughts and Theo lost in his.
Finally, he paused the rhythmic motion of his fingers to break the stillness.
“Do you trust me?”
It was a simple question. Four words. The answer, however, was complex.
Though his head was still upright, facing the direction of the road, you knew that he was watching you from the corner of his eye.
“Theo,” you began, and you saw him frown at the apologetic way you spoke his name, “honestly, if you had asked me this question just last week, there would have been no doubt in my mind.”
“So there’s a doubt in your mind now?”
Electing not to speak for fear of what the underlying tones in your voice may give away, you simply nodded.
His frown did not disappear, but the drumming of his fingers resumed. The beat he was thumping against the wheel seemed to be a signal of sorts, indicating he was done talking for the time being.
Happy to oblige, you turned your head to look out the window. The sky was a hue of purple that hinted at the possibility of a thunderstorm. Gazing into the side view mirror, you saw the familiar blue of Stiles’ car trailing behind Theo’s truck. You could only just barely see Stiles in the driver’s seat, his own fingers gripping the jeep’s steering wheel so tightly that you could picture the ashen white of his knuckles. His eyes were unwavering, set on the back of the car in front of him, seemingly alert to spot any sign of trouble.
Allowing your mind to wander, you began to fidget with the leather of your seat. The material was cool and smooth between the pad of your thumb and tip of your index finger. You studied the dark brown – almost black – leather and instantly remembered your dream of strawberry fields.
Her eyes, Allison’s eyes, were nearly the same color.
Gently tracing your finger over the seams, you thought about how she had flitted so quickly in and out of your unconsciousness last night.
Apart from a few photographs, you had never actually seen Allison Argent before. You knew she had dark hair and eyes, and from the pictures Scott kept on his desk at home, you also knew she had been a beautiful girl. Until last night, you weren’t sure you could have even accurately described her to a sketch artist had they asked. In the dream, though, you were sure it was her that had drawn you to her only to run away moments later.
How could your mind have so perfectly depicted her?
The freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and the dimples at either side of her smile were never evident in the pictures you had seen before, but sure enough, your mind had not blundered those details in your dream. When you peaked at the framed photograph of Allison and Lydia on top of a dresser at the lake house this morning, there was no mistaking that Allison Argent had been the elusive beauty lurking in the strawberry fields.
It was almost as if, you suddenly thought, instead of being just a figment constructed by the subconscious, the ghost of the girl had found a way to haunt your dreams. The idea caused you to involuntarily shudder.
Theo must have noticed the shiver rip through your frame.
“Cold?” He asked, automatically reaching out to adjust the air control.
You shook your head.
“Just a nervous twitch, I guess,” you explained away.
You couldn’t tell him that you were dreaming about a dead girl – not when you may very well have been on the way to your own death, and especially not when you weren’t sure if you even trusted him with your dreams anymore.
The drumming continued again, his fingers picking up a much quicker pace. The thumping was rapid, and you knew this meant he was mulling over something.
Then, just as suddenly as the quick rhythm had begun, he ceased the movement. He used his now still right hand to reach out and lay it atop your own hand.
“Y/N, you have to trust me,” he said. “It’s the only way we survive this.”
You removed your hand from underneath his, placing it firmly in your lap, and scoffed.
“The only way we survive this?” you repeated scathingly. “I’m the one in mortal peril, remember?”
Reaching out to grab your hand again, his voice so low, he nearly whispered, “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Theo –,” you started.
He interrupted to practically beg, “No, listen to me. I love you, Y/N. Before you, I only ever thought of myself. I didn’t know how to care for someone else. You taught me what love is, and you can correct me if I’m wrong, but I know you love me, too.”
You met hit eyes for the first time all night.
His own eyes left the road for once, venturing to search your own for some validation of what he had said. Not quite trusting your own voice for the second time this trip, you nodded.
Of course you loved him, but was that enough?
Seemingly mirroring your thoughts, he continued, “And that’s – that’s great, but what are we without trust?”
A bubble rose in your throat, and against your own will, a giggle escaped your mouth.
Theo was taken aback. He hadn’t expected this reaction, and honestly, neither had you. Yet, here you were: now tipping your head backwards as wild laughter ripped through you. It had been over a week since you had really, truly laughed. It felt light. It felt good.
Several seconds passed of this – you in a hysterical fit of laughter and Theo in a state of silent shock.
Finally, wiping tears from beneath your waterline, you chuckled out, “It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“What’s funny?”
“I’ve been asking myself that question for the past week,” you spoke through the remnants of the laugh attack. “Well, not that question exactly. All week, I’ve been wondering ‘what are we?’ and the answer – it’s just so obvious, isn’t it?”
He didn’t dare ask you to explain, and it was lucky that he hadn’t because you paused only for a second before continuing in a tone of voice that he had never heard from you before.
“We’re nothing, Theo,” the revelation came out as if a punch line to another of Stiles’ god-awful jokes. “We are nothing without trust, and I don’t – I can’t – trust you anymore. This isn’t healthy. This is not a healthy relationship, so there’s your answer. We’re not going to survive this.”
His hand, no longer gripping your own, was now rubbing the shadow of stubble on his jaw. A frown deepened, causing lines of displeasure to blemish his otherwise perfect face.
“If that’s what you want.”
The words came out as if you had wrapped your hands around his throat and choked them right out of him.
This was Theo as you had never seen him. He was defeated, deflated.
In this moment, he was so unlike the Theo who had plunged a needle into your flesh and relished in your agony. Your hand absentmindedly crept up your blouse and caressed the jagged scar on your stomach. In this moment, he was the one lying helpless on the hospital bed. You were the one with the needle in your hand this time, and in this moment, you wanted him to feel every searing wave of pain you had felt.
“Don’t you dare pretend that this is something I want,” you seethed, your voice growing louder. “This – all of this – is on you! You pushed me into this corner. You lied to me for months. You threatened my friends. You tortured me. And you just – you expect me to trust you? And hold your hand and tell you we’ll be okay? To just go back to the way things were before all of this?”
Silence.
“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” you spat, your voice lowering, “but I’m not okay, and I will never be able to go back to the way I was before. I might have changed you, but you’ve changed me, too.”
His jaw twitched.
“I’m sorry -,” he croaked, but you cut him off quickly.
“For what?” you scoffed. “For making me into this monstrous version of myself? Literally, tonight – again, all thanks to you – I will become a thousands-of-years-old monster.”
He slammed an open fist against the steering wheel, and your body was thrown harshly into the door as the truck veered slightly off the road.
“Dammit, Y/N!” he shouted. “What do you want me to say? Just tell me – just tell me, and I’ll say it. Tell me what to do! Anything. Just tell me what you want me to do!”
Biting the inside of your cheek so hard that the metallic taste of blood swirled in your mouth, you took a deep breath.
Calmly and slowly, you said, “I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to listen.”
Theo opened his mouth but shut it again just as quickly.
“In the span of a week, you’ve managed to turn me into someone that I don’t even recognize anymore. I mean, for Christ’s sake, I’m – I’m practically Lady Macbeth!”
He cocked an eyebrow up in curiosity at the reference but did not push it.
“This is a damn Shakespearian tragedy, Theo,” you almost cried out, “and we’re living it. The goddamn dread doctors have prophesized the rise of the Beast, just like the witches. And you, of course – you’re Macbeth. Corey was just a causality of prophecy and greed, right? Sounds like Duncan to me. But here’s the best part: I’m Lady Macbeth. I’ve been trying so hard to scrub Corey’s blood off my hands. ‘Out damned spot!’ Well, that damned spot? It’s not coming out. It’s never coming out. I’m forever stained with his blood – all of it is on me.”
Laughing out coldly, you finished, “And neither of us make it out of the final act alive.”
You laid your head back against the cool, leather headrest and closed your eyes. It felt as if you had just let all of the helium out of a balloon, letting it whiz and zip across the room until it lands, perfectly deflated, on the floor.
The air blowing from the vents rushed across your flushed face. For the first time in a week, you felt refreshed and light. The cab of the truck was completely silent, except for the low hum of the radio and the occasional rattle of the air conditioning, for what felt like eons.
Theo broke the stillness first.
“You’re not Lady Macbeth,” he stated resolutely, “and this isn’t your final act.”
Choosing not to respond, you simply opened your eyes and slightly turned your head to watch his expressions.
“Look, I know you don’t trust me. So, you know what? Don’t trust me, that’s fine – but you need to trust Scott. You need to trust your friends,” he urged. “Trust Liam.”
He had said Liam’s name so unusually. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it made your eyes widen in surprise.
Theo looked at you out the corner of his eye again, assessing your reaction as he announced, “He loves you.”
For several moments, you remained silent before sighing, “I know.”
“You what?” he asked, failing to hide his incredulousness. He was still watching you intently.
A light, tired laugh carried itself into the air.
“I only just figured it out this morning, actually,” you admitted, smiling a bit. “But I guess it’s always been pretty obvious, huh?”
Theo grunted, though still unable to completely shake the surprise from his features, and agreed, “Yeah, no kidding. The kid can never take his eyes off you. I hear his heart rate speed up every time you so much as brush past him. It’s pathetic.”
You just shook your head, chuckling softly at the fact that you had never even fully realized what was going on until just today. Thinking back to only this morning, you remembered how it had all suddenly just clicked. He had stuffed his mouth full of pancakes. Syrup dripped down his chin, threatening to leave the sticky, brown evidence of his breakfast on his t-shirt.
“Come here,” you motioned for him to scoot his chair closer to your own.
You crumpled up your napkin, getting up from the table and running it under a stream of water in the sink.
Liam continued eating vigorously as you wrung out the excess water.
Walking back over to the table, you warned him, “You should slow down before you choke.”
He shrugged and, through a mouth full of food, simply said, “Hungry.”
Rolling your eyes, you grabbed his face with your hand and drew him closer to you.
Taking a great swallow that you were sure would result in him needing the Heimlich, his cheeks instantly collapsed back to their normal size as his blue eyes only grew wider. He jumped back a bit at the connection of your hand to his cheek.
“Sorry,” you muttered, raising the napkin to his chin. “Are my hands cold?”
“Uh-uhm, no, they’re fine,” he mumbled.
He let you wipe the sticky syrup from his chin, and you were very aware of the fact that his eyes had not left your face since you had first turned his head to face you.
Setting the napkin down, you let go of him, but Liam had not yet removed his gaze from your face, or more specifically, your lips.
Trying to draw his attention back to anything but your mouth, you explained, “You, uh, had syrup dripping down your chin.”
With your faces still only a hand’s length apart, he rubbed at his now clean face absentmindedly and muttered, “Oh, yeah… thanks.”
Just then, you both snapped your heads in the direction of the doorway where you heard a soft gasp.
“Oh, um,” Kira stood in at the door with a shocked expression painted on her face. She fumbled over her words. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt – whatever you guys were, uh, doing.”
You laughed easily but noticed Liam let out only a forced decibel of a chuckle.
“Oh, no,” you dismissed her misunderstanding with a snort and wave of your hand, “I was just helping him out. He had something on his face.”
Kira looked from you to Liam, who refused to meet her eyes.
“Oh, okay,” she said slowly, eyeing Liam carefully. “I thought maybe you guys had been... kissing.”
She said the last word almost regretfully, and as soon as you had let the laughter out of your mouth in response to her suggestion, you had immediately regretted it, too.
Liam abruptly stood up, pushing his chair from under the table and seizing up both of your plates from the table. He dropped the plates into the sink with a clatter, turning on the faucet and pouring dish soap onto a sponge.
This was especially odd considering you had never once known him do the dishes in his life.
Kira, seemingly assessing a tense situation in the midst, likely due in part to her misjudgment, mumbled something resembling a ‘see you later,’ and slipped out of the room.
Liam kept his head low, bent down over the scalding hot water and suds now filling the sink. He was scrubbing a plate so harshly that you thought it might shatter beneath the sponge he was using.
Very cautiously, you called out, “Liam?”
He didn’t answer but rather just grunted in acknowledgement.
“Did I-,” you treaded nervously, getting up to stand next to him at the counter, “-did I do something wrong?”
He shook his head, still bent over the pile of dishes. “No, you didn’t do anything.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
You turned off the water, seizing his hand to stop it from the constant scrubbing. His arm shuddered beneath you.
“Liam,” you spoke softly. “You’re washing the dishes. Something’s clearly not right here.”
Setting the sponge down in the sink, he folded his arms across his chest and faced you. He still, though, would not allow his eyes to meet your own.
Looking at his shoe laces as if more interesting that the conversation at hand, he admitted, “I don’t know – it’s just that you – you laughed.”
Giving him a puzzled expression, you urged him to give a better explanation.
“When Kira said that she thought that we had been, uh,” he searched for the right wording, “kissing, or whatever, you laughed.”
“Oh,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he grunted, attempting to return to his task of dish washing.
Reaching out to rest your hand atop his arm again, you approached the subject gently.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Li.”
He rushed to reassure you, “No, no, really. It’s fine. It’s just that… is the thought of kissing me really so funny?”
For the first time since the discussion had started, Liam looked you directly in the eye.
“No, of course not!” You felt your heart constrict at the evident hurt in his voice. “I just had never really considered it, you know? I mean, you’re my best friend. I guess the idea of someone thinking that I would be kissing my best friend – I don’t know, it’s just so foreign to me, that’s all. It caught me off guard.”
“Yeah, I get it,” he mumbled, but he didn’t seem satisfied with your clarification.
You sighed out, “Come on. Don’t be like that, Liam! The two of us, kissing at the kitchen table? You’ve got to see the humor in that. Seriously, it’s not like you’ve even considered the both of us before, either, right?”
His jaw jolted only slightly as he said, “Right.”
He turned back to the dishes, running the water again. This time, you didn’t reach out to stop him. Instead, you walked away, leaving Liam to the dishes and you to your thoughts.
You hadn’t needed supernatural abilities to know that when he had spoken that single word, as simple though it was, that Liam had been lying straight through his teeth.
“He’s a good guy.”
Theo snapped you out of your thoughts.
“I know,” you affirmed again.
No sooner had you said it, he had put the car in park. Looking out of the window, you realized that you had arrived at your destination without even noticing.
Theo hesitated to open the door, his hand hovering over the handle.
He looked into your eyes, his irises seemingly searching for something within the hues of your own, as he said, “I’ve hated him all this time because I knew he loved you in a way I never could. Y/N, you taught me what love is, but I still have a lot to learn. Unconditional love – I’ll never be capable of that, and that’s what you deserve. As much as I hate to admit it, Liam’s plenty capable of it. I still hate him, but not as much as I hate myself for all the things I’ve done and all the things I can’t be to you.”
Your mouth hung open but no words manifested.
“If you do anything tonight,” he advised sternly, “just trust him.”
With that, he climbed out of the car and shut the door, leaving you to attempt to gather your thoughts.
Your head was spinning as you managed to get out of the truck and join the others as they huddled around the hood of Stiles’ jeep.
“Hey, guys,” you squeaked. Your voice sounded very unlike itself, which was understandable considering the circumstances that had brought all of you together.
Each of your friends turned to greet you with grimaces.
Great. They were all just as scared as you were.
‘Trust your friends.’
You looked to all of them.
Lydia, intently skimming through a book that looked to be written in French, was talking in a hushed voice to Stiles. Undoubtedly, the two were working a theory about the Beast of Gêvaudan. Malia was talking animatedly to Scott and Theo, her hip jutted out in a way that suggested she was particularly unhappy about something. Kira was sharping the blades of her katana, an expression of peace on her face. Liam was studying you.
‘If you do anything tonight, trust him.’
When your eyes met, he gave you a weak smile.
“Nervous?” he asked, rocking on his heels.
You nodded.
“I feel like I might throw up.”
Liam scrunched up his nose, “Ergh, please don’t.”
You teased, “You’ve always had a weak stomach.”
“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes. “I just don’t like gross stuff.”
Both of you let out ghosts of laughter, allowing them to float and fade into the quiet night. Besides your friends’ chatter, the only sound was the rustle of tree leaves against the wind. The two of you stood against the side of Stiles’ jeep in comfortable silence, shoulder against shoulder, looking up at the stars littering the atmosphere.
After a few moments, you felt Liam’s eyes boring into the side of your face.
You turned your head in his direction, catching him off guard as he quickly tilted his head upward, pretending as though he hadn’t just been looking at you.
“What if you guys can’t separate me from Sebastien?”
He finally looked at you. His eyes were scanning your entire face, as if he was only really looking at you for the first time.
“Y/N,” he promised, “that’s not going to happen.”
You were insistent.
“But what if it does?”
He pursed his lips, eyes still roaming the planes of your face. He was at a loss, and you knew it.
Still, you pressed on, despite the trembling of your voice, “What if I become a monster?”
Adamantly, he shook his head.
“No, that’s not even possible. You could never be a monster.”
Your voice was barely above a whisper as you wondered, “How do you know that?”
“You swerved into a ditch trying to avoid hitting a squirrel.”
Both of you laughed together, remembering that night all too well. Tears threatened to spill over as you secretly suspected that there would never be another late night road trip with Liam again after tonight.
Though he wouldn’t admit it, you knew Liam was scared, too.
“Hey,” he cooed. You have never heard his voice this gentle, and as the words rattled in his throat, you noted that you had also never heard him choke back tears before. “You’re gonna be alright, okay?”
You nodded, hot tears splashing down the slopes of your cheeks.
His blue eyes were frantically gliding across every inch of your features, and you realized that he was trying to remember every detail of your face in case he never saw it again.
“Yeah, okay,” you nodded, and you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself of it.
Pressing your back up against the cool metal of the jeep, you screwed your eyes shut and willed the tears to stop flowing. You didn’t want the others to see you crying and know how scared you really were. They would be more worried than they needed to be.
Leaning your head into the nook of Liam’s shoulder, you allowed him to support a bit of your weight. You felt incredibly heavy all of a sudden.
“You’re my best friend, and I love you.”
You had whispered it, but you knew he had heard you.
“I know,” and you heard the smile in his voice.
The two of you stayed like that for some time, you leaning on him, eyes shut against the world, and his head titled skyward.
You left the comfort of your best friend’s shoulder only when Scott rounded the corner and asked, “You ready?”
You looked to Liam, who nodded.
“Yeah,” you grimaced. “I’m ready.”
Scott put a hand on your shoulder in a brotherly way and reiterated what you had already been told for the hundredth time, “Look, you’re going to be –,”
“Fine, I know,” you laughed out. “So I’ve been told.”
He smiled, though much less brightly than usual, and you followed him to where the others were positioned now on the outskirts of the woods.
“Just remember,” Lydia reminded you tenderly, “we’ll be right out here.”
You nodded, giving her a grateful look.
“This will all be over by tomorrow,” Theo offered. Then, in a much lower tone, he said, “Remember what I told you.”
He looked from you to Liam as the rest of the group shared a perplexed look but did not question further. You squeezed his hand briefly. It was the first physical contact you had initiated in what felt like ages. Theo squeezed back, his thumb grazing against the back of your hand, before releasing his grip.
“Thanks,” you said, your voice beginning to go hoarse. “I will.”
You began walking backwards from the group, towards the decrepit building a few hundred feet behind you.
The all watched you with solemn faces as the distance between you grew.
Turning your back after a few steps, you squared your shoulders, tilted your chin upward, and began your march to an unknown fate.
You made it several more steps before you turned on your heels and shouted to the group, “Hey!”
They were listening.
“If I don’t come back,” you yelled out across the violent purple night, “get the letters out of my locker!”
With that, you continued to walk. The grass, wet with dew, was slick beneath your feet. Praying that your friends would never need to read the letters you had written in case of your death, you imagined each of the envelopes sitting in your locker. Their names were written on the front of each one in pink glitter gel. Inside, there was a letter for each of them in which you had poured your heart out. A picture of all of you, minus Theo, at your birthday party last year was taped to the letters.
All you wished for was one more birthday with your friends.
Remembering what lay in your locker next to the letters just as you reached the entrance to the building, you pulled your hair into the tightest ponytail you could manage, faced your friends for very well could have been the last time, and shouted what very well may have been your last words:
“And please turn in my Hamlet essay by Wednesday morning at nine, please!”
You could have sworn you saw Stiles roll his eyes even from the doorway of the Dread Doctors’ lair.
TO BE CONTINUED