Prompt for twweek (Tumblr): Pick your favorite minor character (anyone exempting stiles, derek, allison, lydia, scott, and jackson), and create a plot line where they are the protagonist. Favorite minor character: Isaac Lahey.

Sometimes I wake up at night to the feel of hands wrapped around my throat, or the sharp sting of a palm making contact with my cheek. Sometimes I can feel the blood drip down my torso. Sometimes, after a particularly rough session, I limp to the bathroom and pour a bottle of peroxide down my naked body just to feel the pain that reminds me that I'm alive.

I remember the worst punishment of my life—the day my father locked me in a freezer chest.

-(flashback)-

The burning ache of a hundred tiny wounds makes me shake—knees quaking, hands quivering, swaying side to side, and exerting all my strength to remain standing. Little rivulets of red twist their way down my legs and onto the pure white tiles, staining them with blood and alcohol. Better remember to clean that up or he'll punish me again. I close my eyes and shudder, the pain is overwhelming. He went too far this time. I wouldn't be able to go to school tomorrow, which, conveniently, meant that he would punish me for missing classes. I'm such a failure. I can't even make first line in lacrosse or pass chemistry. What use am I? I remember seeing the lights flicker, and my eyelids began to droop. The last thing I saw before I hit the floor was a spider inching its way down the mirror.

I woke up to shouting and stomping feet; the banging on the bathroom door reminding me of the mess on the floor and my shameful nudity. I struggled to pull myself to my feet. The towels were only a few feet away, but my body was numb from the pain. I couldn't move. I couldn't move! If he came in and saw me, he wouldn't be happy. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through my body, maybe it was a simple case of mind over matter, but I managed to pull myself closer to the cabinets. Just as my fingers brushed up against the terrycloth, he shoved his way into the room. There was nothing but dead silence. The minutes ticked by as he studied the room. I watched his eyes come to a stop as he took in the small ocean of blood and chemicals beneath my legs. Attempting to remain invisible, I pulled my arm back from the cabinet, but he saw me.

"What did you do, Isaac? What if someone sees? You're pathetic! Get up!" He stalked across the floor and attempted to lift me, but I couldn't stand. My body was still too weak from the blood loss and the intense bruising. With a snarl, he grabbed my hand and pulled me to my room, dragging me across the wood floors, adding the occasional splinter to my battered form. Just before we reached the landing, I passed out again.

It was quiet when I woke up. I couldn't hear anything, I couldn't see anything and, most importantly, I couldn't stretch. My heart began beating erratically and I felt a cold sweat gather on my forehead as I felt along the walls with my hands. Where was I? There wasn't enough oxygen! Something tells me that my prison hadn't been washed in months; I might get an infection! Was this the end? Was this how he planned on killing me?

I started screaming.

Really, it was more of a bone-shaking wail. I let it all out in the hopes that someone, anyone, would hear me. I screamed until my throat gave out and I could taste fresh blood. Even then, I continued beating my fists upon the cover, pounding and scraping the lid with my fingernails—a deep red liquid building around my cuticles. I remember the agonizing feeling of my nails ripping and tearing along the ribbed surface of the lid. When I couldn't scrape or scream, I started crying.

"Dad? Daddy, please. Please don't leave me here! I'll work harder; I'll make first line! I won't be bad! Please, let me out!" I started choking on my tears, but I didn't care. Everything hurt.

It felt like he left me there for hours, but in reality, it was only around twenty minutes. When I finally heard him stomp down the stairs, I held my breath. He stepped up to the chest and started fiddling with something—chains. He had me chained in here! After a few minutes, he pried the lid open and I cringed. The lights were so bright and my eyes were sensitive. I was startled out of my adjustment by a hug.

"Oh, Isaac, you know I don't like to do this, but you can't keep disappointing me! You're a freshman now, but you need to work hard and succeed! I won't have any son of mine failing classes or sports. You're a Lahey—you should prove it. Now, get up, go upstairs, get dressed and run to the convenience store; we need milk."

He stood up and left me.

It was the worst day of my life, but it would only get worse if I didn't do what he asked. I gripped the edges of the chest and pulled myself up onto my feet. I nearly fell. My legs were shaking and I could barely support my aching body, but I had to do this. Every step opened the slowly healing wounds and I could feel fresh blood dripping, but I ignored it. I limped to the staircase, naked, bloody, bruised, and humbled. I would try not to fail him again.

Sometimes I ask myself why I never gave in and ripped my pocket knife through the delicate flesh of my wrists, but, in retrospect, I'm glad I didn't. I never would have met Derek Hale, the man who saved me from my hell.

When I met him in the cemetery, he didn't pity me or judge me. I never asked him, but I'm sure he could smell the iron-rich tang of blood coating my arms and legs. He could probably see the edges of the bruises along my collarbone, and the slight limp in my right leg. He didn't treat me like a kid or a frightened rabbit. He didn't threaten me or lie to me. He was, in fact, brutally honest. He told me that he could potentially give me the strength to escape my father, but it would come at a price. I would have to become a part of his pack. I would have to submit…again. He promised me a safe-house if I needed one, but I was reluctant.

I gave in when he promised to teach me how to defend myself.

I wasn't going to be the victim anymore.

Like the sun we will live and die and then ignite again. I would die a weak child, and be reborn a powerful beast.