In exactly eleven minutes Lydia Martin would know the date of her death; the exact moment that her breath would leave her. She had eleven minutes of childhood left before she had the second date on her tombstone, her expiration date, the date everything would come to a grinding halt. Eleven minutes to be kid. Eleven minutes to dream about what her life could be, because the second she read out her expiration date, it would be real. Life, and what it was destined to be, or rather, what it wasn't, would be laid at her feet like a rug.
The sun was setting low in the sky, and she silently cursed her mother for giving birth to her so late in the day. She wanted this over with already. She just wanted to know. She wanted to plan, or not plan if that's what her death date told her. She wanted to be free of this sinking feeling in her chest.
She sat on the back porch steps and absentmindedly rubbed her right wrist where her skin would tear, scab over, and scar in the matter of a minute. There was a strange haze in Beacon Hills tonight. Her backyard looked like the opening scene of a horror film with it's eerie fog and low light. That annoyed her more than anything. She hated the night because she hated the darkness. Things crawled out of the darkness.
"Hey," a smooth voice said from behind her. A boy of almost eighteen with dark brown hair and honey eyes lowered himself onto the stairs next to her. "How're you doing?"
"I'm fine, Stiles, really," she said with a forced smile. He'd asked her how she was doing no less that fifty times that day at school. "I just want this over with." She sighed and ran her hand through her long strawberry blonde hair before looking over to her best friend. "How's it going in there?" She nodded towards the backdoor. "I'm surprised my mother hasn't worn a hole in the kitchen floor with all of her pacing."
"She's just nervous, Lyds," Stiles said soothingly. "Her only daughter finds out when she dies today. Cut her some slack." He tucked a loose lock of hair behind his best friend's ear and lingered a little too long. Lydia pretended not to notice.
Her left hand went to her right wrist again, only to be intercepted by Stiles' hand. He intertwined her fingers with his and rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand. "I didn't want a party for this. I didn't want to celebrate this." She said quietly.
"You love parties," Stiles laughed. Lydia's birthday parties were famous in Beacon Hills. Everyone wanted an invitation every year. When the school found out this year that she wouldn't be having a huge party like usual, speculation ran rampant.
"I didn't want one this year." She shrugged and used the hand that Stiles wasn't holding to fix the cuff of his flannel.
"What do you call what's going on in there?" He nodded his head towards the back door. Through the glass the two could see people laughing through tension, eating food, and looking over the table in the corner with the wrapped gifts piled neatly.
Lydia snorted. "A wake."
Stiles laughed. "You are the only one wearing black," he reminded her. "Not much of a wake." He pulled a little of the sleeve of her black dress and she playfully slapped him away.
"A pre-wake then." Lydia leaned into his shoulder and sighed. "Are you nervous? You're birthday is next month."
"Nope," the boy said quickly and with an air of truthfulness. "What happens happens. There's not anything I can do about it now."
"What if my date is tomorrow?" she asked. They had a friend, Alison, from school whose date had been the next day. It was weird, and sad, and unexpected. It was the most unexpected death Lydia had ever known. Every adult she'd ever met had the same scar on their dominate wrist. The same strange handwriting that told them the exact moment, down the the minute, that they would die. She always knew her grandmother would die November 3rd, 2013 at 2:13am. She knew that her mother would die May 22nd, 2046 at 4:13 in the afternoon. Her dad, her teachers, her older friends, the lady at the supermarket, the usher at the movies: all had their dates. She would too; in exactly seven minutes.
"If it's your last day, I will make it the best day of your life," Stiles promised lightly. His neck tensed though, in a way that betrayed his air of lightness was a complete facade.
The two sat there in the dark for a few more minutes before Lydia's mother, Natalie, popped her head out of the back door. "Lydia, Stiles, it's time." She gave the two a forced, tight smile as she held the door open for them.
"Come sit by me, baby girl," Lydia's father said as he patted the couch between him and where her mother lowered herself uncomfortably. Lydia was grateful that her parents could put away their differences for tonight, even if it still was incredibly uncomfortable.
Stiles gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it and letting her sit between her parents. He joined his father, friend Scott, and Scott's mother Melissa in the corner of the room.
"Two minutes," Natalie said with a look at the clock on the mantle. Natalie's hands shook, so Lydia took her mother's hand in her own and clutched it. Lydia's father put him hand on Lydia's back and rubbed soothing circles into her black dress.
The room was silent apart from the ticking of the clock. Lydia wanted that stupid, incessant ticking to stop. With each deafening tick she felt her life drain out of her in a strange way; like she was already dying. But, Lydia guessed that was true. No one was actually living, not really. Everyone was dying. She was already eating through what was left of her life and she didn't even have an end date yet.
As the seconds dripped by, she slyly looked around the room and saw her Aunt and Uncle sitting in rocking chairs by the fireplace. Her aunt wrung her hands idly while her uncle looked unamused. Lydia's eyes fell onto Stiles' father, the Sheriff, who looked just as nervous as Lydia's parents did. He'd be facing this same nightmare in just a months time himself when Stiles turned eighteen.
The clock continued ticking, but the hands never seemed to move. Lydia's heart felt like it was skipping beats and missing time. This was was what she'd been dreading for eighteen years.
The alarm clock Natalie had set on the kitchen counter went off, breaking the tense silence in the room. Lydia would have jumped in surprise if her arm hadn't started burning. The pain rose, and billowed into a truly blinding pain. She looked down in horror as the skin on her wrist spilt unevenly, like someone was carving into it with a hot razor blade.
She whimpered, and her father pulled her tight to his side in a vain attempt to protect her from the pain. Lydia's eyes went up to meet Stiles', who looked horrified. She didn't miss the fact that his father was holding him back from rushing towards her with a strong hand on his arm.
"It's ok, baby," her father whispered. "Just thirty more seconds. It's almost done." He rubbed her arm and her mother laid her hand on her daughter's knee with a terse smile of encouragement.
The cuts scabbed over quickly, like a fast forward video of moss growing over a rock. Moments later the pain dulled and then ceased completely. All she was left with was the scab and her heart on the hardwood floor at her feet.
"Pull it off," her dad demanded quietly. He looked towards the thick, wide scab that covered her entire inner wrist. When she hesitated, her father squeezed her shoulder. "It's okay, honey. Just do it. Get it over with." Natalie patted her knee in support, but if Natalie was being completely honest, she'd rather Lydia not peel it off at all. Maybe it would stay there forever and her daughter would never have to know. People did that, she'd read. People would go to tattoo shops on their eighteenth birthday and have the scar covered as best as they could. Scars don't make the best canvas' though, so they'd always find out.
Lydia took a deep breath and looked up for Stiles, who nodded his support.
"You can do it," he said with a worried smile.
Stiles wanted nothing more than to rush to her, and take away whatever fear she was feeling. He knew that in less than a month, that's exactly what she would be doing. His father had agreed to a small get together for Stiles' birthday. Just the Sherriff, Scott, Melissa, Natalie, and Lydia. Just them, because truth was, as much as he claimed that he didn't care and that there was nothing he could do about the date that was already decided somewhere out in the universe, he was terrified to know what it was. But, not nearly as terrified as he was now.
Lydia pried away the scab slowly and not without pain. She would have gagged at the sight of the scab ripping away from skin if her heart hadn't been in her throat.
The pale white scar underneath the pried off scab was already perfectly formed and very clear. It only took a second for her to do the math.
Her mother sighed dramatically and wiped her nervous sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand as a wide, relieved smile spread across her face. Lydia's father whooped loudly, hugged his daughter and kissed the side of her head happily. He even squeezed Natalie's shoulder, a gesture that in her sheer happiness, Natalie didn't reject. The high from the relief washed over the group in waves of happiness.
"June 23rd, 2096." Lydia breathed as if in a daze. She looked up at Stiles whose smile was so wide she feared his face might break. "I'm going to be so old," she laughed with tears in her eyes.
"So old," Stiles joked with the same expression. He walked to the couch and she met him for a tight hug. "See, nothing to worry about." He whispered to her and patted the back of her head.
"Lyds," Scott said sweetly as he pulled her into his own hug after Stiles finally let her go. "I guess I'm going to be stuck with you forever." He laughed. His own date revealed that he'd live to the ripe age of 88.
Lydia was passed around from person to person in the room, each person giving her their congratulations in their own way.
"Can we have cake now?" Scott asked suddenly, after all of the hugging became a little maudlin for him. Stiles nodded in fervent agreement.
"Yes!" Natalie said through more happy tears. "Cake, and then presents. Sit down," she said to her daughter quietly. "Relax. I'll get you a piece."
"So, you've got some planning to do," Lydia's Aunt said from a rocking chair next to the couch. "Have you thought about what you are going to do with the rest of your life?"
"I got into the University in the city. I'll go there and become," she paused for a moment. "I'll become something. A mathematician, and physicist. Something. I'll get a little apartment, and bring Prada." She smiled at the vision of her whole life laid before her with pure possibility and potential. She could do whatever she wanted.
"That's awesome," her uncle said.
The party continued for a couple more hours. They ate cake and ice cream, and discussed he potential of Lydia's future. She opened her presents and at once put on the gold necklace Stiles had gotten for her. It was a thin chain with a little clock on it. He gave her time when that was yearned for. A silent thank you was exchanged between the two that did not go unnoticed by everyone else in the room.
"I'll see you at school tomorrow," Stiles said quietly to Lydia after everyone had left besides his father and him. The sheriff was in the kitchen saying his goodbyes to Lydia's parents while Lydia and Stiles stood by the front door alone.
"Yes!" She said excitedly. "You will. For sure now." She held up her wrist and his eyes darted to it again for the hundredth time that night. He'd run he finger over the jagged words and done the math time and time again in his head, just for confirmation that Lydia wasn't leaving him anytime soon.
If anyone would ask Lydia why she did what she did next, she'd blame the high of a renewed life. She thought that her days of making snap decisions fueled by adrenaline were over. That was the old, shallow, young her. She'd grown so much in the last four years. She was more calculating and held more back for the sake of others. The world did not revolve around her, she'd found. So she stopped asking like it.
Nonetheless, her head felt light and fuzzy. Her muscles buzzed like she had too much energy coursing through her veins. Her heart was beating so fast she would be worried if she hadn't just found out that today was not the day she'd die. If it hadn't been for all of that, she would have never kissed Stiles quickly on the lips. Never in a million years. Never ever ever would she have pressed her perfectly glossed lips onto the chapped ones of the boy who'd been by her side since the third grade. Kissing wasn't a thing they did; ever. She thought about it, sure. But thoughts in the middle of math class or while watching a sappy movie were entirely different beasts than actions in her house with her parents down the hall.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. She covered her mouth with her hand and met his blown out pupils. "I don't know why I did that." She breathed. "I'm an idiot. That's why. I'm just- I don't know what I am. Stupid." She bantered. Lydia Marin did not banter. She was poised, beautiful, and put together. She didn't kiss her best friend. She didn't threaten to ruin the best parts of her life by acting on stupid impulses.
It wasn't a mystery that Stiles had had feeling for her for much of their childhood. He'd asked her to marry him in the third grade under the big tree on the edge of the school yard. She respectfully declined the proposal, but agreed to eat lunch with him instead. That snowballed into the friendship that they shared now, that was in her opinion, much like a marriage in many ways. They went to dinner, they did homework, Lydia let Stiles cook for her and then did the dishes afterwards under his watchful eye. As much as Stiles had once liked Lydia, Lydia wasn't sure about in anymore. He'd dated a girl that transferred from another school named Malia. He kissed her, and took her out to dinner on the days that had previously been Scott, Stiles, and Lydia's bowling nights. They went to prom together, and held hands in class.
But then they broke up. It was unexpected when he showed up at Lydia's window at 2am with the story and a request to sleep on her floor because he didn't want to be by himself. His dad was on duty that night, and how could Lydia deny him. Stiles had ended it because it just wasn't what they wanted, he had said. The next day at school Malia slapped Lydia in the face, but Lydia chose not to read much into it. Malia had a hot temper, and was a touch animalistic at times. Lydia had told Stiles she'd been hurt in PE but there was no way he believed her.
Afterwards, Lydia noticed a change in the way Stiles looked at her. Even after the break up they were different. She had no doubt that he had love for her, but it had morphed into something new and different than the reverent crush he'd tried his best to hide from her. He didn't look like he worshiped her anymore. That relieved her and broke her hear a little at the same time. Mostly because while he was busy falling in love with someone else, she'd finally caught up with his feelings for her. Now, she didn't know what sort of love he had for her, and she didn't feel like ruining everything by asking. She had eighty more years to live, and she surely wasn't about to ruin those by loosing Stiles.
"You are not an idiot. Far from it." Stiles reached over and tussled her hair a little. "It's ok. I still love you." He returned her kiss with a chaste one on the crown of her head. "I'll see you in the morning."
Lydia nodded and tried to soothe the red in her face as her parents and the Sheriff came into the entryway, oblivious to whatever had happened between their children only moments before.