(Bad) Habits
P1
"I was forced to wander, having no one, forced by my nature to keep wandering because wandering was the only thing that I believed in, and the only thing that believed in me." ― Roman Payne, The Wanderess
Her head is pounding. Thats what she feels first. And although painful, the feeling is not uncommon. And just by touch, she knows she's not in her bed. Her eyes slowly peel open to take in her unfamiliar surroundings. The room is dimly lit and reeking of alcohol. The sun just peaking through the large window of the messy room. There are piles of clothes and empty bottles lying around the floor, and for some reason they don't look out of place in her perspective, which certainly wasn't answering the question of why she was so bothered by them.
She brings herself to sit on the edge of the mattress running her fingers through her misplaced hair trying to remember what exactly happened the night before, and how she got there.
In the living room the sight was no different. Random people, some she even recognized as her friends, laying about, half naked and passed out, an endless wave of trash surrounding them.
This wasn't an unfamiliar sight for the strawberry blond, though. Most days it's what she woke up to. It's what helped her move on and get through her life. The partying, the drinking, the smoking. Stiles would be so disappointed, she reminded herself as she walked through the rest of the apartment trying to find her coat.
But that doesn't matter. Stiles isn't here.
She spots a half empty can of Monster and without hesitation. She drinks up the rest, hoping the sugar high will give her enough energy to get home. She feels lightheaded and disgusted by her surroundings, but in a way, the feelings place themselves into that all familiar space in her heart. Almost like a habit.
It's not hard to remember where she was once she completely comes to her senses. And by the time she grabs her coat and figures out the best route home, her phone rings. Scott, the caller ID identifies. She can almost see him standing outside her apartment door, coffee in hand, bag of bagels in the other. But he's the last person she'd want to face right now. So she ignores the call and walks out the front door. She figures by the time she gets home he'd give up and leave.
Its a bitter, blue, winter morning when she steps outside. Her choice of clothing; a short metallic, strapless fitting dress with thin pantyhose and high heels underneath her coat were far from appropriate for the weather. But it only took about twenty minutes to haul a cab back to her place so it wasn't too long before she was back in the comfort of warmth. She closes her eyes and tries to push the memories that come to mind. Why does she do this to herself?
There he is, right beside her, smiling up at her in awe. Those widespread shaped lips of his sending tingles down her spine as an echo of laughter vibrate through them.
She opens her eyes as she feels the tears run down her ruined face.
Stop crying, Lydia. He's just a guy.
But she can't stop, and Stiles is not just a guy. He's so much more than that, that she can't find a proper word to describe him. She closes her eyes once more, and this time when she opens them, she's back in that old Jeep. Same stupid grin plastered to his face.
"Put that thing away!" Stiles laughed, his eyes fixated on the road. "Oh, so now that the tables have turned, you don't like the camera, humm…" Lydia chuckled, nearly sticking the small handheld closer to his face. Stiles rolled his eyes in amusement and continued driving. "No, there just isn't anything interesting about my driving babe." "Well, we'll make our kid be the judge of that." Lydia commented referring to the video diaries they were making for their unborn child. "And if he's anything like his daddy, he'll find anything that moves interesting—"
"Hey, do not make a fool of me in front of the child Lydia—a-and if she's, anything like her mother she'll pick your brains out!"
"Hey! I don't do that!" Lydia pouted with a playful glare. That common smug expression crept up Stiles' face as he glanced at her. "Oh really? So what exactly are you doing now?" The strawberry blond parted her lips as if she was about to say something but nothing came out. "Oh oh oh, fresh out of comebacks Martin?"
"Oo, you know what you'll be 'fresh-out-of 'when we get home!" Lydia nearly laughed at her own retort by just watching her husbands face drop. "Wha-what?" But she just rolls her eyes and turns the camera back to herself. "As you see, daddy is a little strange—"
"Hey I heard tha—!" Stiles turned his head in her direction for only a quick second before there was the sudden screeching of wheels and a quick struggle control over the car and her vision failed her.
Lydia stops the running shower abruptly. She's holding herself with only the support of her hands by her side pushed against the shower wall, her head dipped, trails of water droplets running down her face, down the curve of her nose and into the tub below.
She steps outside once she's done washing clean of all the nightmares from last night. Flashes from that day cross her mind and she shuts her eyes tight, hoping to get away from reality of it all.
After she's done, she heads to the kitchen where she knows she'll find piece of mind. She grabs a cup of water and drops a relaxative inside, drinking the contents dry before returning to her bed and closing her eyes once more.
This is the way it is. This is the way it works.
When her eyes finally open, it takes only a minute to recall what had happened. Car crash, she was in a car crash. Stiles was laughing, she was filming, and then it was all a blur. Everyone comes in soon after; the news they bring holding heavy on their tongues.
She lost the baby.
At first she's calm. Because she's a banshee and shouldn't she have known that? Shouldn't she have screamed? Shouldn't she have felt it? She thinks they're wrong. And its only after Melissa brings Scott in the room she starts to panic. Nobody wants to tell her how Stiles is. She asks and asks, but it's as if they're trying to avoid the question. "He's my husband, I have a right to know!" She shouts bitterly, the news finally getting to her. Scott swallows the bile building against the back of his throat. He sits by and staring into her broken but demanding eyes.
"He's not doing so good Lyds." He barely whispers.
She remains quiet, having lost any effort to voice out her opinion. Her hands shake, her breathing lags as her heart falls in disbelief. Out of everything they've faced—a car crash could do this.
"Lydia?" Scott presses, giving her hand a small squeeze. Her glazed eyes search her surroundings in confusion, in frustration trying to understand the reality of it all.
When she wakes up its four in the afternoon and her phone is ringing. She gets out of bed, the relaxatives making her a bit drowsy but stable enough to swing her legs to the side of the bed and reach for her phone, hoping to stop the horrible noise piercing through her head.
She reminds herself to keep her cellphone on silent from now on.
But one look at the caller and her sense of urgency fades. It was Scott, once again. She ignored the call knowing all he'd ask was if she was okay. It was the same stupid crap everyday.
Doesn't he understand I don't want him around? Lydia thinks in frustration getting out of bed. She knows Stiles asked him to hang around and keep an eye on her, but Scott wasn't who she needed.
Lydia sighs and pulls herself off the bed making her way into the bathroom. Her hair was a mess, her face smeared with black from her running mascara and day old makeup. But the tight knot in her stomach growled aimlessly against her abdomen sending waves of nausea to counter her system.
"He's not responding well to medication, his vitals are all over the place. We're doing everything we can but it's just not working." The doctor informed them. Scott stood protectively beside her, eyes flushed and strained red.
"C-can I see him?" Lydia's faint voice sprung off her lips. The doctor looked hesitant and unsure, glancing to Melissa and her mother for guidance. "Let her see him." Melissa states quietly, making eye contact with Scott. Instantly, he knows its bad. "Melissa are you sure—?" Lydia's mother commented, her voice laced with worry.
Melissa nods breaking the eye contact with her son and turning to Natalie. "Let her see him." She repeats without any hesitation.
Scott tries to control his emotions as he turns to Lydia. On normal terms he knew his mother would usually object to such a thing. But nothing about this was normal, her reaction, her attitude only spelled out how dire the situation remained.
But of course, Lydia heard the whole thing, and like pretty much everyone she too was aware how bad this was. The doctor nodded understanding but still hesitant to allow it not wanting her to move around and cause more damage then was already present.
"I'll keep an eye on her." Scott volunteers, setting ease to them all.
The shops are darker than she remembers. The winter leaves paint their walls like an ever ending burning flare of haze. As she passes each identical shop her eyes are trained, watching the people.
They're laughing, smiling, and she finds herself envying them. The way their happiness seemed to sit right above their heads as of in a perfect bubble tangled her nerves, nearly bringing frustrating tears to her eyes.
Now that she thinks about it, it wasn't long ago that she was one of them. Dopey, doe-eyed and in love: she had everything.
She could almost see herself and Stiles in the faces of these people. Smiling, laughing.
Really living.
She and Stiles often walked along this path, it's lively atmosphere along with the clanging of silverware against dishes, dimmed voices of interesting conversation, and way the lights seemed to beam and bounce around created the perfect ambiance.
Looking back at it now it felt like a lifetime ago.
"Alright, I'll have a nurse escort you to his room in a minute. But I actually would like to discuss your treatment first." One of Lydia's eyes brows proposed up in confusion. "How you would like to proceed with the uh…" He didn't need to finish the sentence for her to understand, and as he trailed off she seemed to relax into panic. The sounds coming out of his mouth felt like a slur of meaningless words to her.
He was talking about her baby, their baby.
"would you like to schedule a D&C? I know this might be a touchy subject for you right now, but as your doctor I strongly recommend—"
"No." Lydia swallows not meeting him in the eye. "No, I-uh—not yet. I'm gonna take a little more time." She pressed. "Of course. I apologize of that seemed curt or rushed—" "It didn't." Lydia offered a small smile of compassion to please the man. "I understand Dr. Wilson."
She finds herself staring into the glass walls of the ICU trying to allow herself to recognize the figure laying in the bed. She knew it was Stiles. She knew it. But her brain simply refused to accept what was right in front of her. She felt a soft hand grab her shoulder in support. Scott.
"Hey." Was all he said. "Hi." Her voice weakened on the one simple word.
"Come on, you've been standing out here too long… it's just Stiles." He seemed to whisper the last part, as if he were barely believing it himself. "The doctor is saying he's been in and out of consciousness." Lydia nods. At least he's awake.
Scott grabs her hand and gently escorts her through the sliding doors and into the small of the ICU room.
He was asleep, eyes closed, lips parted, various medical equipment lay plugged into his skin. IV's, electrodes, nasal canal, chest tube, things she knew were vital to him from her vast medical knowledge. He looked weak and feeble. Dark black circles plagued the under layer of his eyes contrasting the paleness of his skin color from all the blood loss.
He was worse than she expected.
She sat down beside him intertwining their hands. "Is he in pain?" Lydia asked, looking up at the alpha. Scott nods. "Yes, but the morphine's helping mask it."
For some reason she can't stand being there. Something was wrong, something was off. The air around him, the aura, it was as if she could feel him slowly fading from reality. "Scott do you feel that?" She whispering it so faintly that only the ears of a werewolf can pick it up. Scott stands still for a moment before shaking his head in confusion. "Lydia what?"
"He's going to die." Lydia whispers subconsciously in realization. She didn't mean to say it. She didn't know where it came from honestly. It just slipped out.
Scott gives her a look she hasn't quiet gotten used to, he's never looked so petrified in his years. Their eyes meet. "Lydia?" He questions, but he knows better. A banshee is always right.
"I can feel it." She swallows, tears falling down her face.
And Scott simply can't bring himself to say anything. He just sits there, gaunt expression on his face, heartbeat racing in anxiety. He remained silent, his brain desperately trying to comprehend the words coming out of her mouth.
Lydia spots him across the playground in the park. He's tall, dark and brooding. And now that she thinks about it, he has a strong resemblance to Derek.
She watches him carefully and with enough interest to spike his attention. He smiles back at her, his attention half on the little boy she assumes is his son as he helps him across the monkey bars. She smiles back, giving off her unresistible flair of charm she knows men find hard to resist.
He approaches her first, eyes set clearly on his target, playful grin on the tip of his lips. He's perfect. She decides. And it only takes a few short words of flattering exchange before she finds herself in his apartment, naked and stretched across his bed.
This is exciting.
She loves this, but she hates this.
She closes her eyes as she feels his looming presence cast a shadow from above, letting the alcohol take a toll on her mind indulging her in the fantasy. The way he touches her reminds her of the endless nights (and days) she's spent with Stiles. She misses the highs—the addiction. She misses his touch.
The Derek look-alike, she couldn't remember anything about his name other than the fact that it started with the letter 'J', flips her on her side and pulling her closer in his embrace, his huffy hot breath lining the side of her neck in rhythm.
"St-i-i-les." She faintly lets out. But the man doesn't notice, he's to focused, too into it to do so. But still, its not the same. She knows she can fantasize and dream all she wants, but the touch is never the same, the feel is never satisfactory enough, the fit of their bodies is never quiet right.
This is exciting. She reminds herself closing her eyes once more.
You love this.
That is, until the guilt hits her.
"That was fun." The man exhales with a smile after they're done. Jake. She remembers; his name is Jake.
"Yeah." She smiles almost wickedly, though theres no need for further flirtation. "What'd you say your name was again?" He asks without any embarrassment.
"Lydia," She answers, the reality of the situation slowly seeping in. She doesn't understand why that hurts. But she still gets up, not bothering to cover herself as she picks her clothes off the floor.
"Nice to meet you Lydia." Jake's eyes don't leave the curves of her exposed body as he relaxes in the bed. The strawberry blond turns around and gives him her sweetest little grin. "You too." Its immoral and it's wrong, but she loves it—she feeds off it. "We should do this more often." He suggests casually.
Lydia stops in her tracks and considers it. It's a quick thoughtless decision. "Tomorrow, same time, here."
"Sure thing."
She leaves fulfilled, but completely drained.
She doesn't go home though. She hates home, what is stands for and all that crap. Its just constant reminder of what she's lost. So she just wanders around attempting to avoid the familiar places. She gets the call about half an hour later, her buddy James talking about getting together with the usual group tonight. She agreed meet him at the bar in fifteen with no enthusiasm what so ever.
They meet at their usual pub near market street and wait for them all to round up. They drink as they wait, telling stories, making jokes. It's nothing too heavy, not as of right now.
Lydia's on her second beer as Scott walks in, he greets their group, then goes straight for her. "Hey you didn't answer my calls today." Lydia nods, taking another swing of her drink. "Yeah I know." It's rude, but it doesn't bother her anymore than it does him. "Lydia you—" "Save it McCall. If I wanted a lecture I'd be talking to my mother." And with that she gets up, taking a new seat beside James. Nobody really notices though, they're too busy mingled in their own conversations.
Cigarettes aren't something Lydia's ever really given much thought to. She knows they don't do anything but kill the her need for performance yet, she doesn't care. She loves the feeling the smoke leaves after it rises from her lungs and escapes into the air. She loves the high it feeds her with.
Scott watches her from across the booth table recalling her giving him and Stiles a talk about smoking one time in their teens when she caught them even talking about the subject.
And as he watches her socialize and pull that cigarette between her soft plumped lips, his heart sinks.
"I don't care what you were planning or even discussing, if I catch you—either of you," She looks between the two goof balls in front of her, their smirks so priceless. "with one of those things anywhere near your mouth I personally draw back monsters to kill your asses." She glares at them, eyes peered. "Uh, ye-yeah." Stiles scorches the back of his head trying to contain his laugher. The boys then eye each other. They weren't even actually smoking, or had any passion of the thing really. The topic just seemed to spur out one day.
He watches her closely, smoking that cigarette so fast like she's just waiting for it to kill her. She's laughing endlessly with their friends, who were so oblivious to what was going on.
He sighs in disappointment and takes a sip of his beer watching as she exhales the smoke from her lungs, and takes a faction of a second just to watch it dance and vanish through the air. The sparkle in her eye dims then she quickly turns back to her friends.
They're ordering a round of shots which she gracefully accepts. It helps with forgetting.
"They're flying the stent in from Seattle," Melissa explained. "it's gonna be awhile." Lydia shook her head in frustration. "No, no." The strawberry blond refused to accept the news. "I'm gonna call the best doctors—I-I have connections—I know people in the field Melissa, I-I could—" She insisted rummaging through her bag to find her phone. But Melissa stopped her short and offered a small smile of compassion. "Honey, what he needs is time," She swallowed uneasily, their eyes meeting.
"And no doctor can buy him that."
Lydia laughs at the crude joke James expresses, just letting the bitterness of the alcohol drown down her emotions.
She's feeling better, its helping.
"Hey, Mark's telling me this about this new underground club on 59th and 6th he's at: all black light. Guys wanna go?" One of the girls suggests looking up from her phone in excitement. Scott is the first to voice his opinion. "I-I don't know, I mean, we just got here an—" "Oh don't be a party pooper McCall—your mother would be ashamed!" Lydia nearly explodes as everyone joins her laughter. She was already at the point where she wasn't making any sense.
"You used to be so fun, Scott!"
"Lydia you have a—" But the look she gives him stops his sentence short. She staring at him, her eyes eye wide and dilated lips teased with amusement. She doesn't take anything he had to take seriously.
"I know. It'll be fine Scott jeez, chill. Come on guys." She replies.
Everyone gathers their belongings and makes their way out of the pub. Scott swallows but remained voiceless. Sometimes silence was the best answer. And he knew Lydia. In her state, there was no changing her mind.
He misses the old Lydia, the utterly independent, poised, put together, manipulative, genius Lydia Martin who was the youngest woman to ever win the Fields Medal. This is not the Lydia he grew up with, this is not the Lydia he fought battles and wars and lost Alison with. This was merely an image of who she once was.
The music vibrating through her body helps mix the toxic poison from the various alcoholic drinks she's had that night.
At random points of the night she finds herself lip-locked with two other girls, letting the buzz of her addiction drive her through the night without a care.
"To and endless night! One, two three!" James led the group as they circled around the round of shots, on three they chugged them down and cheered. "Aw, sweetie you have a little something here." Lydia chuckled whipping the side of James' mouth with her thumb and whispering in his ear. They laughed. "Another round on me!" Lydia hollered.
"Ly-ds?" His voice scrapes along the rugged sides of his throat. and air fills her lungs, as she comes to the realization he's awake. She quickly sits up and stares at him with a welcoming smile. "Hey." She lets out giving his hand a quick squeeze. He's weak, and drained of energy, but he still manages to frown in confusion. "Y-you're in the hospital Stiles, there was a car crash." Lydia explained. "I'm alright, and you're alright." She lied not wanting to set panic through him. He took a moment to process as he nodded. Then it simply came back to him. "A-and the…"
Lydia swallowed and glanced at the bulge in her stomach for a moment before locking on his eyes. She watched as the expression on his face fell into horror. Tears fell down her face as she presented a small smile and shook her head. His eyes shut tight forcing the tears out.
It was one of the rare times she's seen him cry.
She never thought this would happen. It felt like watching a car crash in slow motion right before her eyes, being able to predict the casualties, but not being able help what so-ever. She can't remember a time when she's felt so helpless. "But it's okay." She whispers even though its not. "Its okay. B-Because I'm okay, a-and you're gonna be okay. A-and everything will be okay." She mumbles softly trying to instill some hope although her belief in them is awry.
Stiles doesn't know how to respond. He's so wrapped in the emotion, he hardly remembers he's the one at risk anymore. "Oh god I'm so sorry—I—"
"No, Stiles this wasn't your fault, these things... they happen…" But one look at him and she knew it was going to be hard to convince him otherwise.
"I'm gonna die aren't I?" Stiles mumbles once Lydia's gone. Scott instantly eyes his mother across the bed in alarm, then turns to his best friend. "Stiles, no—"
"I heard you guys outside the door… you're lying." He eyes his best friend. "I can tell something's wrong—everyone's so cautious around me… L-Lydia's crying every time she comes in 'ere." His eyes droop. "I'm not getting better, in fact I can feel I'm getting worse."
Scott swallows his adman apple bobs nervously. "Stiles, that's crazy you aren't—" Melissa tries to comment, but Scott cuts her off. "Lydia felt it the first time she came in here." He explained his head was spinning, he was tried of lying. Melissa tightened the grip on his arm in support.
"So its true." Stiles tries to confirm.
"We're not exactly sure."
"But we still have some options here, uh they have you scheduled for surgery as soon as the stent arrives, and that could change everything." Stiles nods, though he doesn't believe anything she's saying. If Lydia felt it. It was true.
She was never wrong.
"There is another option…" Scott suggested hesitantly. "If you're dying, we'll do something—I'll do something." They've been there before. Stiles nods feeling a little deja vu on the whole situation.
It probably one or two am, she couldn't tell the time anymore, when the mixture of alcohol and music pumping through her ears excites her to the point she finds herself making out with James. They're dancing, he's shirtless they're grinding and smearing the glow in the dark paint all around their bodes carelessly. Alcohol lingers her hot breath as he gets up and leads her to the bathroom where they both know they'll be alone.
She's trembling, out of fear, excitement, or maybe from the shock her body was going through trying to digest all that alcohol.
James moves fast. It's not their first time together. They're a casual thing, no feelings, no emotions. She just tries not to think about it because before she knows it she's half naked and he's pulling his pants down, the hot of this breath moans against the skin on her neck. She closes her eyes and lets her mind wander the rhythm of their movement lulling her into a world of fantasy as her hands search the slope of his back in desperation.
They don't take long to finish, and when they do James feeds her a smile. Her eyes never leaving the trail of lipstick that stain the side of his neck. He then plants a kiss on her cheek, giving her a thanks before he stumbles off back to the party, leaving her to sit alone in the bathroom stall.
She questions her actions sometime. They're wreckless and destructive but it's the only thing she knows.
And it's in these moments, when she's all alone she can feel the loneliness fill her core like a void: ever present and always lingering.
And not even the alcohol and help with that.
That's when it all comes crashing down. Thats when she can't take it any longer and longs for an escape. That's when she finds herself balling her eyes out, staining her face with the black smears of her makeup, and the glow in the dark pink paint. She asks herself how she got here. How she got to such a point that she can't turn back.
She's too far gone.
And of course, all reason, all blame points to that stupid car crash, and that stupid boy with that stupid smirk. But for some reason Lydia can't find it in herself to inflict hatred with the memory of him. She tries of course, knowing it'll be easier if she does. But it always fails.
She cries, letting her emotions get the best of her. And no one can hear her, the music is so loud it pumps through the walls of enclosed bathroom. So its just her and the black graffiti markings in the old wooden bathroom stall. And the ruined memories that remain. This is where the alcohol turns against her.
"He's unstable. His vitals are all over the place Lydia—" "O-okay." The strawberry blond tries to swallow down. "H-how long out is that stent?"
"Hours Lydia—"
"Okay… well, we have to do something—" "There's not much we can do Lydia." Ms. McCall urgently explains, bringing more frustration into the strawberry blond girl. "Then get Scott. I'm not watching my husband die."