20: The Rift deepens

The house was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning. Melissa had left early for a double shift at the hospital, leaving Scott and me alone. Normally, we'd spend the day catching up on homework or goofing around with Stiles. But lately, things between us hadn't felt normal at all.

I stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of oatmeal, when Scott walked in. His hair was a mess, and he still wore the same clothes from yesterday.

"Morning," I greeted him.

"Morning," he replied curtly, grabbing a glass of water and leaning against the counter.

The silence was thick. I decided to break it.

"Rough night?"

He shrugged. "Same as usual. You?"

"Same," I lied. In truth, I'd spent most of the night experimenting with my new agility, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the neighborhood. But telling Scott that felt like rubbing salt in a wound.

Scott stared into his glass, his fingers tapping against the counter. "You know, I've been thinking about what Derek said."

I stopped stirring. "About the Alpha?"

"About how this bite is supposed to make us stronger," he said, his voice edged with bitterness. "If that's true, why do I feel so out of control? Why is it so easy for you?"

His words caught me off guard. "Scott, it's not easy—"

"Don't," he snapped, his voice rising. "Don't tell me it's not easy. You're stronger, faster, and completely in control of your transformations. Meanwhile, I'm barely holding it together."

I set the spoon down, turning to face him. "I'm not saying I don't have struggles too, but—"

"Struggles?" he interrupted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What struggles? You're out there doing... whatever it is you do, while I'm stuck trying not to tear someone's head off every time I get angry."

"That's not fair," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "You're not the only one dealing with this, Scott. We're both trying to figure it out."

Scott's hands clenched into fists. "Yeah, but you're figuring it out faster. You don't get it, do you? You're always better. At everything. Lacrosse, school, now this... How am I supposed to keep up with you?"

I took a deep breath, trying to choose my words carefully. "Scott, this isn't a competition. I'm your brother. We're supposed to help each other, not tear each other down."

He laughed bitterly. "Easy for you to say when you're the one always ahead."

The words stung, but I forced myself to stay calm. "I didn't ask for this, Scott. None of this was my choice. I'm just trying to make the best of it."

"And what about me?" he shot back. "What am I supposed to do? Watch you keep getting stronger while I'm stuck feeling like a monster?"

"You're not a monster," I said firmly.

"Then why do I feel like one?" Scott's voice cracked, and for a moment, I saw the fear and frustration behind his anger.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Scott, I know this is hard. Believe me, I do. But we have to stick together. Whatever's coming, we can't face it alone."

He looked at me, his eyes filled with doubt. "It's easy to say that now, but what happens when you don't need me anymore? When you're strong enough to handle everything on your own?"

"I'll always need you," I said, my voice unwavering. "You're my brother. That's never going to change."

Scott didn't respond. He turned away, staring out the window.

The tension lingered throughout the day. Even when Stiles came over, his usual jokes and antics couldn't lift the heavy mood between us.

"Okay, what's the deal?" Stiles asked as we sat in the living room, pretending to watch TV. "You two have been acting like someone canceled lacrosse season. Spill."

"It's nothing," I said quickly.

"It's not nothing," Scott muttered, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Stiles looked between us, his brow furrowed. "Did you guys have another fight or something?"

"No," I said.

"Yes," Scott said at the same time.

Stiles threw up his hands. "Great. Love the clarity."

Scott finally turned to face me, his frustration boiling over. "You know what? Maybe it's better if we don't talk about it. Clearly, you've got everything under control, so why bother?"

"Scott—"

"Don't," he said, standing up. "I need some air."

He grabbed his jacket and stormed out, leaving me and Stiles in an awkward silence.

"Well, that went well," Stiles said, leaning back on the couch. "You wanna tell me what's going on, or should I start guessing?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Scott's struggling with the bite. He thinks I'm handling it better than he is."

"Well, you kinda are," Stiles said bluntly.

"Not helping," I muttered.

"Okay, okay," Stiles said, holding up his hands. "Look, Scott's... sensitive. He's always been the underdog, you know? And now, with this whole werewolf thing, he probably thought it would level the playing field. Instead, it's just making him feel more left behind."

I nodded, though Stiles' words didn't make me feel any better. "I don't know how to fix this."

"You can't fix it," Stiles said. "But you can try to be there for him. Even if he pushes you away, don't stop trying. He'll come around eventually."

I wanted to believe that, but the growing rift between us felt like a chasm I wasn't sure how to cross.

Later that night, I stood on the porch, staring out into the darkness. The woods seemed to stretch endlessly, their shadows deeper than usual.

A chill ran down my spine. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching me.

I scanned the tree line, my heightened senses straining to pick up any sign of movement.

Nothing.

But the unease didn't fade.

As I turned to go back inside, a low growl echoed from the forest.

My heart raced, and I froze, every instinct screaming at me to run.

Then I saw them. Two glowing red eyes staring back at me from the shadows.

The Alpha.

He didn't move, didn't attack—just watched.

The message was clear.

He was waiting.

And he wasn't going anywhere.