Author's Note: This is an AU. It starts at the end of Ep. 105. I'll be working some of the events of later episodes into this story, but they won't be exactly like they were in the show. Title is from the song Closer by Kings of Leon. Oh, and I own nothing. Not the song and not the characters. Except for Frank. And I don't really want him. I don't remember the show making it clear when Lydia's parents divorced, but for the purpose of this story, it's been a while. At least five years. And I've given her a step-father. There are hints of sexual abuse, but nothing graphic.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her make-up was perfectly applied... to both of her faces. She suppressed a giggle that wanted desperately to emerge.
The glass rippled and she pressed her hand against it. The waves were making her dizzy.
Her gaze caught on a flash of red... red. Wasn't there supposed to be something about red? Red and glowing and not possible. Not possible. Crazy. She wasn't crazy.
She leaned against her hand, looked into her own eyes, "You saw nothing." She stared back at herself and steadied her voice. "Nothing."
"They say talking to yourself is the first sign."
She stiffened at his voice. Hand falling from the mirror to clench in front of her. A fist to stop the tremor.
"Do you answer yourself, too?" he smiled at his own joke as she watched him warily from the mirror.
"I'm not crazy, Frank." Weak. Weak voice betraying her. Weak, weak, weak...
"And these," he picked up the pill bottles on her bedside table, "would suggest otherwise."
"Where's my mother?" she asked. Eyes still tracking him through the looking glass as he moved closer.
"Don't you remember?" he smiled at her. "Parent-teacher conference tonight. Your father's with her. It's too bad, really," he moved behind her, "that he can spare time for that, but not to come here. He just doesn't love you, Princess. Not like he should."
His hand reached out and landed on her shoulder.
Control. Control.
But she couldn't. And a wave of revulsion passed over her so strongly that she had to close her eyes. Bile rose in the back of her throat, but she swallowed down the reprieve. It would only be a short one.
Stop. Don't. I'll tell. I'll tell them –
Who would believe you? Who would care?
She couldn't. Couldn't take this anymore. Couldn't let him –
If she did... if she did, the next time would be one pill too many.
"Don't," she moved away from. Away from his touch and his eyes that flayed the clothing from her body and the sanity from her mind.
"Don't?" he mocked. His eyes flashed as he stepped forward and she didn't have to remember red. The monster was always under her own bed. Had always been there.
"You think you're too good for me, Princess?" he grabbed her arms and brought her closer.
She blinked up at him, brought him back into focus. Loose lips and too many pills. Her own form of liquid courage.
"Yes."
Stars had never looked so ugly as they burst behind her eyelids. She sagged against the wall. Reached up and gently felt near her hairline where she had connected with it. There would be blood.
But she didn't care. Didn't care. Because it wouldn't just be hers this time.
"Get away from me," she forced out. Tried to stand upright, but had to lean heavily against her desk. Pills and head trauma never mix well.
"And why would I do that?" he asked, hand closing around her arm once again.
She couldn't. Couldn't do this anymore.
The vase was cool in her hands. Pretty and white and she really did like it. Sorry, Daddy. But it was for a good cause.
She turned and swung at the same time. Knew it connected. Heard it shatter. But didn't stick around long enough to find out.
Both hands clutched at the bannister as she half ran, half stumbled her way down the stairs. The time it took her to fumble with the locks forced unwanted visions of red.
Better the devil you know, Lydia.
"No," she gasped out as she finally managed to free herself. "Not this time."
She ran. And ran. And ran.
Was he behind her? Was that pounding his footsteps or her heart?
She ran. For hours. For days. For years.
Please let it be years.
Leaves crunched beneath her feet and then she was falling. Falling until she caught herself on... steps.
She looked up. Knew this house. Knew she should keep running.
Heard a noise behind her. Not him. It couldn't be him.
She scrambled up the steps and fell against the door. Shoved it open with a strength born of desperation and fading adrenaline. Closing it quickly, she sagged against it, straining to hear any sound beyond her breathing and her heart.
There was nothing.
Quiet.
She had to be quiet. Knew she couldn't run anymore as the floor rose up to meet her. She scrambled backwards. Watching the door as she backed herself into a corner. Drawing her knees up to her chest and trying to stop the tremors that were shaking her bones and rattling her teeth.
Quiet.
Her foot was caught on something. Reaching down, her fingers curled around... leather?
She didn't care. Didn't care what it was. Just pulled it tightly to herself. She had to be quiet. Had to stop the shaking.
She stared at the door until it became two. Then three. Then nothing as her body finally stopped cooperating and her eyelids slid shut.
Someone was in his house.
He could smell them. Fear and blood and despair. It made his muscles bunch as he questioned his own sanity. There were ghosts in this house, but he'd never been able to smell them before.
He shook his head to clear it and relaxed only slightly when another sound reached him. A heartbeat. Beating like a hummingbird. Ghosts didn't have those.
He made his way cautiously forward. He didn't think there was a threat from the squatter, but his earlier meeting with that blond bitch had made him even more wary. A trap was never out of the question where that psycho cunt was involved.
He felt his fangs lengthen at the thought. Claws digging into the floor where he crouched as he forced himself to rein in the change.
Control it.
The hummingbird heart had slowed. It was almost at a normal pace. The breathing had evened out. Were they asleep?
He found the thought vaguely amusing. He couldn't even sleep in this house.
He made his way around the corner and... stopped. This was unexpected.
A girl. A girl, curled up in the corner and using his jacket, his jacket, as a blanket.
What the hell?
He remained crouched and moved forward slowly.
Her body was curled in on itself. Knees drawn up to her chin and she was slumped against the wall. Her hair covered most of her face and he reached out slowly and moved it back.
There was blood on her face. A thin line of it ran down the right side from a cut above her hairline. His gaze tracked the trail before moving on.
Familiar. She was familiar.
Not extremely so. A fleeting glimpse maybe. Where?
The puppy. A friend of the puppy's crush.
The muscles in his back knotted up and his claws returned. He strained to hear anything that might signal some kind of trap. But there was nothing. No other heartbeats. No other smells. Just the girl.
What was she doing here? She didn't belong here. He fought to control the rage, but it was a losing battle. Just because he couldn't smell the others didn't mean she wasn't here for him. What the fuck did they want from him? They had already taken the others. He had nothing left...
The growl was torn slowly from his chest and she opened her eyes. She blinked, eyes unfocused before she was able to see him.
Fear.
He almost wanted to retch from the smell of the fear that was rolling off of her in waves.
"No," her voice was weak, her movements clumsy as she tried to move back. Move away from him. But there was nowhere to go. Her back was already against the wall and she could only push against it ineffectually as another soft, "Please," was pulled from her.
He tried to ignore the fear. Hated the way it overpowered every other scent. He had to know why she was here. What did she want from him?
He moved closer. Delving beneath the fear, he shifted through the other smells. Blood and drugs of some kind. Leaves and dirt and tears. Lavender and... him. She smelled like him.
He fought the lengthening of his fangs.
Control it.
He reached out and ripped the jacket from her. Had to get it away. Didn't want her to carry his scent.
The action provoked a stifled sob from her. A barely heard whimper that made him shake. Made him close his eyes and breathe. But all he could smell was her covered in him. Him. His...
He crowded closer. Hands shooting out and wrapping around her knees, he pulled her to him. Legs on either side of him, one hand in her hair and the other low on her back, pulling her closer.
Her hands shoved at his chest, but humans were weak creatures and she especially so. It had no more effect than the brush of butterfly wings and only lasted a moment before she went limp in his arms.
He stared down at her. At the pulse beating in her soft neck. He wanted to mark her. Sink his teeth in, break the skin and swallow her whole.
He tilted her head and leaned down. Licked her face from her cheek to her hair. Removed the blood and rested his forehead against her temple as he ground against her and panted and fought for control.
Control it.
He growled low and clutched her to him before he was able to slowly, slowly unlock his muscles. His body shook in protest as he lowered her to the floor.
Backing away from her, he turned and stumbled blindly. Leaning against the wall, he struggled to regain the breath that had escaped him.
What the fuck was that?
Turning his head to look at her, his body strung out and his eyes flickering, he closed his eyes and turned away. Head resting against the wall as he tried to breathe.
He would have almost preferred dealing with the psycho bitch.
