There are nights I cry so hard that my body aches, and I shake. And I have to put my head in my pillow so no one hears me. There are also nights I'm happy that you're happy, and I think everything happens for a reason.
And there are also nights where I feel nothing at all. But there is never a night that you don't cross my mind.
Seeing him with her literally breaks my heart in two.
And I know it's all my fault that I feel this way. I had my chance. I had it a long time ago, and I blew it. And for what? For the popularity? For the embarrassment I thought I would feel from dating a boy like him?
Looking back on it now, I find it absolutely pathetic.
If there was one thing I would've done differently in my life, it would be dating Stiles Stilinski instead of Jackson. That It would've definitely saved me the loads of heartbreak I would've felt when Jackson tossed me to the curb like I was nothing.
But now I don't have an option, because he's with her. He's with her and there's nothing I can do about it.
Maybe if I were the same girl I was two years ago, I would kiss him to draw his attention to me instead of the other girl he's come to have feelings for. But I'm not that girl anymore. And I wouldn't want to be.
At night, I find myself dreaming about what could have been between Stiles and me. What it would've been like to kiss and hold hands without our friends looking at us like we were crazy. Like it was a normal occurrence.
When I look at Stiles and Malia together, I can't help but think of how wrong they look together. And it's not just because of my growing feelings for Stiles. It's because they genuinely don't look right for each other. And anyone can see it.
I know for sure that Scott sees it. You can tell that he's happy that his best friend has finally found someone who makes him, quote, happy. But the way he looks at Stiles when he talks to him about Malia, I can tell that he wishes Stiles was with someone different.
Don't get me wrong. I like Malia. She's on the road to becoming more human than coyote, but there are still plenty of things she can work on.
So, as I look at Stiles and Malia sitting across from me at the lunch table, his arm wrapped around her shoulder as she plays with his fingers on his opposite hand, I can't help but imagine that it was me under his arm instead of her.
Pain. Excruciating pain. That's what I feel in this moment.
The cold, cement floor sends an ice cold chill through my body as it touches the pale, sweaty skin on my cheek. I try my best to apply pressure to the wound in my side as I feel the blood drip down my stomach and the small of my back onto the floor beneath me.
Kira sits behind me, her hands applying pressure to the wound as well. From the corner of my eye, I can see the tears glazing over her eyes. She sends me a frightened look, to which I close my own eyes, groaning as another rush of pain flows through my body starting at the open hole in my side.
I can hear the doors to the sheriff station being opened, several pairs of footsteps being heard on the floor as they make their way to the back.
My eyes close again, more whimpers falling from my lips as I writhe on the ground in pain. I hear footsteps stop right outside the door of the office I've been dragged into by Kira. A belt can be heard slipping from someone's belt loops, their footsteps getting closer to me as they get on their knees behind me, much like Kira.
Opening my eyes, I look behind me to see Theo wrapping his black belt around my torso above my wound, creating a successful tourniquet. I send him a slight smile before I look back to the door, where none other than Stiles Stilinski stands, his eyes wide with fear, tears brimming the edges.
I try to send him a smile, but another shock of pain runs through my body, making me groan. I see my mother come up behind Stiles, gripping his shoulder for support as she sees me on the ground. She quickly rushes over to me, getting on her knees by my head, rubbing my forehead soothingly with her hand. I close my eyes, relishing in the feeling.
"Stiles," I can hear Scott's voice say from somewhere else in the sheriff station. Opening my eyes to look at Stiles, I see that he hasn't moved from his spot, his hand placed firmly on the doorframe, holding on firmly. I can see the look in his eyes. It's the same look when he had the panic attack back at the school several months ago.
"Stiles," I hear Scott say again. Hesitantly, Stiles swings his head around to look at Scott, not moving his body. "Stiles, come on."
The Stilinski boy turns his head to look at me again, his eyes showing more fear than last time. I give him a smile, one filled with pain, but a smile none the less, telling him to go.
"It's okay, she's alright," Theo says from behind me, pulling the tourniquet tighter around my torso.
"Tracy," I rasp out, talking to Stiles. "Stiles, find her. Help Tracy." When he still doesn't move from his spot, I whisper, "Go. I'm fine."
He looks back again, trying to decide if he should go or not. With one last look at me, I know he's not going anywhere.
"To hell I'm leaving you here," I hear him mumble, pulling his sleeves up to his elbows as he storms over to where Theo sits, silently telling him to move out of the way as he walks over. Theo does as he's silently commanded, holding out the belt for Stiles to continue pulling tighter around my torso.
Stiles gets on his knees in the spot that Theo occupied behind me, holding the belt with one hand while the other places itself over mine on my side. I send him another smile, just having the touch of him be relieving to my pain.
"You're gonna be okay, Lydia," he whispers to me, looking at me with his head tilted. A tear comes out of his left eye, falling down his chin and onto our hands. "I promise."
My eyes flutter open, instantly well aware of how much white is in the room.
Slowly, I sit up in my bed, regretting it as I feel the splitting pain in my side. I let out a little whimper of pain, gaining the attention of my current visitor.
Officer Parrish.
He stands from the arm chair he was sitting in, watching TV, and comes over to me. Parrish places a hand on my left shoulder, pushing me back down on the bed softly.
"Woah, there, tiger. You might wanna slow down on the moving," he tells me with a small smile, crossing his arms over my chest.
"Where, where's Stiles?" I ask him, looking around the room as if he'll magically appear after the question falls from my lips.
"He's in school, Lydia. He would be here if he could, but you're in the ICU. They only allow family members in this unit," Parrish tells me, making me frown.
"Then what are you doing here?" I ask him, genuinely curious as to how he flew that.
He smirks, gesturing to his deputy uniform. "I just so happen to be a police officer, and you just so happened to be found on the scene of a crime. This entitles me to asking you very crucial questions to help the investigation on just how this all happened."
I roll my eyes, lifting my head off of the pillow to run my hand through my strawberry blonde hair. "Well, what questions to you have for me, deputy?" I ask him teasingly.
Now he roll his eyes, giving me a look. "I don't really have any. Stilinski told me everything that happened. Not exactly something I can put in a police report. But, I'm still required to come in here, you know, for show," he explains to me.
"Of course. Makes total sense." He only chuckles, surrounding us in a temporary silence that I break. "Do you think you could swing getting Stiles in here if he shows up?" I ask him, getting hopeful that he would be able to.
He shrugs his shoulders. "Probably. Why?"
"Because I need to talk to him."
He nods his head, giving me a small smile. "Of course I can, Lydia. He said something about coming in his free period, which is around one thirty. It's one twenty right now, so he should be here pretty soon. I'll just go tell the receptionist."
Parrish gives me a smile as he walks out of the room, the door closing softly behind him. I smile, thankful that I have police officers as friends so I can pull strings whenever I want.
I let my eyes close as I relax against the pillow, a smile still on my face at the thought of Stiles coming to see me soon.
I must've drifted off, because my eyes open, green meeting with brown. A smile breaks out on my face.
"Stiles," I breathe, glad that he's finally here.
He smiles at me, standing on the right of my hospital bed. "How are you?" Stiles asks me, obviously still worried.
"A lot better now," I say, to which he smiles. He leans down, wrapping his arms around me carefully in a hug. I return in gratefully, glad to be enveloped in the warmth that his arms possess.
We stay like that for what feels like forever, but it still seems as if we pull away too soon. He takes a seat on the arm chair to the right of my bed, opposite the one that Parrish had been sitting in.
"So, how do you like the hospital?" he asks me, obviously hiding what he really wants to say.
I roll my eyes, noticing his little game. "Stiles, I know that's not what you came here to talk about. Why don't you just talk about what you really want to talk about?" I ask him, my mind going back to the conversation in my room after I found the dead body at the pool.
He sighs, running his hand over his face before he props his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his folded hands.
"I was scared shitless, Lyds," he finally speaks, my eyebrows raising a bit. "When I saw you lying on that floor, blood pouring out of your stomach, I was scared that I was going to lose you, Lydia. And you know what would happen if that ever happened."
A small smile comes to my lips as I recall a conversation we had in his bedroom sophomore year. "You'd literally go out of your fricken' mind," I recite, my voice soft as I speak.
He nods his head, looking me in the eyes. "And even though I haven't been acting like it lately, that still applies. Lydia, I'm going out of my fricken' mind right now just watching you lie there in that hospital bed. It eats me alive to see you in pain. And after what happened with Peter all that time ago, I feel like this is just a wild case of de ja vu," Stiles tells me, finally saying everything he wanted to say.
I give him a sad smile, reaching my hand out to him. He takes it, resting it on the bed beside me. "I've sort of been feeling that, too," I tell him.
"I'm sorry, Lydia. I've been acting like such a complete an utter jerk these past, what, seven months? I feel terrible for pushing you away after Allison and Aiden died. I know you needed someone there for you when those two couldn't be, and I didn't give that to you when I should've. I'm so sorry, Lydia. And I definitely should've been there last night. Maybe if I had been there, you wouldn't be here."
I glare at him. "Stiles, you have got to stop thinking of the 'maybe's and the 'what if's. I don't blame you for any of this, and neither should you. But I am curious on one thing," I say after a slight pause.
He looks at me confused. "And what's that?"
"Where were you if you weren't at the sheriff station?"
"Tracy had paid us a little visit at the animal clinic, effectively poisoning us with venom. Malia was the first one to be able to move out of all of us. She was gone before we could even stand up," He tells me, looking down at our joined hands.
I look away from him, instead at the wall straight across from me. "You must've been worried for her."
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him smiling sadly at me. "Not as worried as I was when I saw you on that floor with blood staining your clothes."
My head snaps around so I can look at him, my eyes wide. "Really?" I ask, much like I did that night of the dance.
He nods his head. "Really, Lydia."
A moment of silence passes before he breaks it.
"Listen, Lydia. There's something I realized when I was just looking at you, lying on the floor of the sheriff station last night. While you were lying there on the ground, I had a million different thoughts running through my mind.
"What if I am with the wrong girl? What if Malia's not the girl for me? What if the girl that's right for me, is the one I've been saying is the one for me since the third grade?"
I look at him with wide eyes as I try to process all of what he's saying.
"I'm still in love with you, Lydia Martin. And I don't think I ever stopped."