beyond the grave
allisonlydia
—
It's not what you expected.
(You're dead, Allison. What did you expect?).
—
It's not hell and it's not heaven, and for a while you had tricked herself into believing that there was nothing beyond death.
Turns out there is, there's empty white space and nothing but your thoughts.
It consumes you, all of it does because it's just you and endless stretch of nothing and regret and remorse. You live a long life and then you're stuck living an even longer one, having it stretch on and on and on— but babe, you never even lived a long life.
—
Spends nights and days by floating around, nothing happens, it's all the same and you wonder when it will ever end. It's not hell and it's not heaven, but actually, yes it is. It's hell, in the cruelest form.
It's spent thinking about everything you could of done better, could of tried harder, the ways you could of saved others and saved yourself. It's the thoughts of how you should of written that letter to Kyle when you were fourteen, but you moved and moved and moved, and you met more people and Kyle became who?
And how you should of called Isabella, but you moved and you moved and you moved and suddenly the calls seemed to dwindle out.
And how you should of kept in touch, with a thousand other friends, but your life consumed you and new friends were made and then you were caught up fighting evil and, and, and.
Well, there's nothing you can do about it now aside from think about it. Endlessly.
—
You hear something, something other than your own voice.
(And god, it's a familiar voice, isn't it?).
"I'm sorry," don't be sorry, Lydia.
Excitement courses through you, or whatever is left of you. That's Lydia's voice, trying to reach out to you. Confused and muddled and unsure if it works.
Lydia, you think. It's what hurts the most about being dead, that though you have left the wreckage and entered a new world, that you've left people behind, people you won't be able to see again, people who are probably still dealing with the hurt.
Lydia's voice is gone as soon as it's appeared.
—
Time isn't measured here, wherever here is, so you spend every minute drifting. After a while, you start to conduct ways of measuring time but each time you try, it never works.
Sometime after the first sounds of Lydia's voice reaching your ears, it happens again.
Ally, I miss you, Lydia sobs. First, your heart breaks even more than it is already broken. Splitting straight down the middle and gushing right open. I miss you, too, is your second thought. God, you miss Lydia more than anyone, you suppose. Sometimes you think even more than you miss your dad, or your mother, or Aunt Kate — (the latter two you expected to meet in where ever you are, reunite and forget about the worries of being dead but it turns out being dead is more lonely than being alive). But it's the third thought that you keep thinking about: where is her voice coming from.
You're unsure of how much time passes before her voice reaches you, once again. It's the third time and the only thing keeping you even remotely sane, not that you're sure that you can go insane once you're dead. It's still a little tricky, working out the whole being dead business. It's nothing like you ever imagined, or what anybody ever imagined, really.
Allison, can you hear me? Lydia's voice breaks through the barrier of where you are. I'm in trouble, we're all in trouble and I think you're the only one who can help. Lydia rambles, her voice breaking into sobs as she struggles to get the words out. It's no use, Ally. It's not worth it with you gone. And then the voice is gone again, and you're stuck worrying for what feels like years on end (and could be since you're unsure of the time and all).
—
Shortly after the third time you hear Lydia's voice, things begin to change.
First of all, walls start appearing in your white space, confining you to a room. There's a door with a gold chain wrapped around it, with the number 2 pressed against it. Inside of the confines of the room you can't get out of, there's a clock, a calendar, a bed, a stack of books and magazines and a T.V.
Gasping in shock, your hands pick up a piece of paper that has been left by the bed. Allison, it reads. Happy anniversary of being dead for 1 year, since you've been here for a year, a few gifts have been granted to you. A bed, so you may sleep comfortably, sleep is now a thing you're able to do. A clock, for telling the time. A calendar, to keep track of the days. A stack of books and magazines, to keep you entertained until the next year clocks around and a T.V. Now, this last gift is the most important as it's a T.V. that allows you to view the living world. Allison, you are only able to choose to view people you know and only three times before the T.V. disappears forever. Use it wisely. Once your 2nd year of being dead clocks around, more gifts will be granted to you.
One year of being dead. Fuck, you think, cursing silently. Looking around the room, you collapse onto the top of your new bed. The piece of paper is still crumpled up in your hands, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, you look at the T.V. To use it, or to not use it.
But then that god damn voice pops up again, do it, Lydia whispers, tauntingly. Maybe it's not even her, maybe you're just making it all up — you know her voice well enough to imagine her saying anything.
Fuck it, you think. Eyes flicker up towards the clock. 6:00 P.M.
Leaning forward, your finger switches on the T.V. It asks you for a name, you type in Lydia Martin. It turns black, then goes fuzzy before turning black again. Patiently, you tap your fingers on your legs as you watch colours start to burst along the screen. You almost choke when Lydia appears on the screen, sitting atop a clean bed, staring at herself in the mirror. It's not the Lydia you remember. This Lydia's hair isn't strawberry blonde, or fiery red, as it sometimes is. It's dark brown, almost black. Eyes still the same startling shade of green, but gone is the vibrance you remember admiring from them. This Lydia looks lost, unsure, just like she did when you caught her at her weakest moments.
It's hard to tear your eyes away from her, but it's all you want to do. Lydia is still in mourning, it's evident as you watch her. You'd like to chalk it up to the fact that this is the one year anniversary, but something tells you that's not it. Lydia's head flickers up, eyes staring right at you. Her lips turn downwards, eyes showing shock and confusion. Allison? She asks, and you stumble back on the bed a little in terror. She can see you? Fumbling for the piece of paper, you don't find anything about those you choose to view being able to see you!
Allison! Lydia says again, this time with more enthusiasm. Eyes meet hers again, and it's like the Lydia you saw before had vanished, replaced with the girl you remember. Her lips are pulled upwards in a smile, she's waving towards you and — she looks fucking insane, delirious with joy. It's in that moment you realise this is the only kind of Lydia you ever want to see. She's radiating happiness.
"Lydia," Slips out of your own lips, and Lydia grins even wider. Fingers reach out to the screen, touching her the only way you can. But you'd do anything to be able to wrap your arms around her body, to hold her close to you, to never let go.
"Allison, I can see you! You can see me!" Lydia screams, and it feels like she's standing in front of you. Grinning, you nod your head, tucking your hair behind your ear after it falls out of place.
"I'm — I don't know where I am, but it's weird, I'm allowed to see you through this screen. Only three times though," You trail off, voice getting softer as you tell her the harsh conditions. Lydia pouts, and you wonder how she's able to see you, too. It must be a Banshee thing. "I've heard you before," You admit to her, and see her face light up with joy.
"You have?" She asks, sounding like a little girl who's wish has just been granted. Nodding your head, you prepare to launch into a speech about how much you've missed her but the screen fizzles to black and you're left with nothing.
You didn't even get to ask about her hair.
—
Days tick by. Months tick by. It's four months after you see Lydia for the first time that you decide to try it out again.
Who do you want to see? It asks you. Lydia Martin. You enter in. There's no one else, plus, you can talk to Lydia. It shows you colour straight away, this time. Lydia coming into vision. Her hair is it's natural colour again, and she's grinning. Sitting at a table with … Scott?
He's laughing at something she said, and Melissa is entering the room, shooting the both of them loving smiles and explaining she has a shift now. Lydia laughs, bids her goodbye and turns her attention back on Scott.
"I miss her," She blurts out, and you let out a shaky laugh. You, she must be talking about you, right? That's when you wonder about everyone else, are the rest still alive? Do they have new pack members? Millions of questions run through your mind. Have you been replaced? By the looks of Scott and Lydia, it looks like you have. That thought should hurt you, but instead it makes you feel happy — it's such a good feeling, one you haven't felt in forever.
"Me too," Scott responds and then the screen turns black again. Giving you less time than the last. Frowning, you decide maybe it isn't worth it watching them when you only crave their presence more.
—
One day to go, sighing you look up at the clock and calendar that was gifted to you almost a year ago. Two years since you died. The thought blows you away, in two years you could of done so much — in two years you had done so much. Had only known Lydia and Scott and the rest of them for two years, anyway.
Looking at the screen, you wonder if you should test it out one last time. You haven't since you saw Lydia and Scott and it fizzled out on you.
It flicks on for you, without you doing a thing. Lydia Martin is entered for you, even though you haven't said a word.
Then there's Lydia on your screen, strawberry blonde hair and startling green eyes. Marching through a University campus, books hooked under one arm and a coffee in the other. A brunette strolls next to her, you catch the easy bicker flowing between the two of them and grin. Looks like Lydia has found a new best friend — the thought makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside, and only the tiniest bit jealous, but all you want is for Lyds to be happy. Except, the two girls pause and the brunette rolls her eyes as she takes the coffee away from Lydia and presses her lips to Lydia's lips for a split of a second, before twisting on her heel and walking off in the other direction.
"I want more," Lydia yells after her, causing a few people to turn and look and for the girl to ignore her. Jealousy grows within Allison, because how many times had she thought about kissing Lydia only to feel like she would be rejected? But, another part, the stronger part is so immensely happy for her.
And then the screen fizzles black again.
—
If you can hear me, Allison. Wake Up.
And then Allison opens her eyes and finds herself in the middle of a forest, next to an old stump of a tree and a strawberry blonde looking down at her with an all too familiar grin.
"It worked," Lydia says happily, helping Allison up off of the ground.
—
(a/n: and the brunette Lydia was dating is Blair Waldorf, because not a day goes by where I don't ship Blair/Lydia)