"Lydia, this is for you." Mrs. Tate smiled gingerly while handing me a pink pass.
I gathered my things and bolted out the door, heading down the hall to the only place this could have came from. I crossed my arms while waiting in a chair along the wall, I thought about what the last book I skimmed over said, it was all about being discrete, not giving anything away. I was thinking of just confessing, coming right out with it all, god only knows I'd feel better for about three seconds. But I couldn't do that. I knew it. I couldn't expose this insane other world I was living in. Not only for fear of being deemed crazy, but because I knew it was wrong. It wasn't my secret to tell.
If that made any sense.
"Lydia, I can see you now." Ms. Morell smiled at me.
I rolled my eyes and stood, adjusting my dress and headed towards her office door.
Coming out of the room was Jackson, and I fumbled in surprise.
"Jackson." I smiled. Mostly out of politeness, I was still pissed he hadn't tried to make things right.
He walked passed me, his scowl set, his eyes giving away nothing of a human soul inhabiting his too good looking of a body. I shook off our cold encounter and sat in the chair directly across from her desk. She sat too, smiling at me. I hated that smile.
"You missed our meeting this morning." She spoke first.
"Yeah, I had other obligations." I smiled.
"Library research?" She tiled her head.
"What-"
"Camera's are everywhere." She noted.
I rolled my eyes and held my cardigan closer to me, suddenly feeling exposed.
"It was really important. Sorry."
"Lydia, I am only trying to help you. You do know that, right?"
"You're just doing your job." I shrugged.
"Yes, and my job entails that I try to help you open up. I cleared my schedule so that we could talk."
Ms. Morell laced her hands on top her desk.
"If you need to talk, about anything, it stays in strict confidence."
"That's not what I am worried about." I snapped.
She blinked in surprise.
"I-I mean, there isn't anything to tell." I shook my head.
"Well if there is anything you do want to talk about, my door is always open."
I nodded. "Thank you. Can I get back to class now?"
"Not just yet." She looked at me, I mean, really looked at me.
"Lydia I am worried about you. So are your friends, you know, the ones that you said support you wholeheartedly? I've been hearing things." She was bating me. I glared.
"Who? Jackson?" I asked, he would never come to a councilor on his own.
"No, Jackson has a different set of problems."
"Of course he does, everybody does. Ms. Morell, please do not take this the wrong way, or do, but I am fine and I do not need some french teacher turned social worker prying into my life and trying to find problems that are simply not there." I snapped. "Now, can I please go?"
"Of course."
Ms. Morell tried not to frown, but it reached her face quicker than the smile she plastered next.
"Just remember, my door is always open."
I cleared my throat as I made it to the door. I turned back to her.
"So you've said."
As I marched to my locker I decided that it was safer for Ms. Morell not to know what was going on. I mean, there is little she could actually do for me besides call a specialist and maybe get me medicated. My mother has been down that road. My fingertips tingled, remembering the other half of the pill I had in my bag. I sighed. That wasn't me. I wasn't someone who just let drugs control me, I wouldn't be one of those high school statistics. I was about to shut my locker door when it slammed for me. I jumped from the sound, and immediately snapped.
"What the hell?"
"You missed Chemistry." Erica sneered.
"Really?" I questioned, I didn't think I was in the office for too long.
She nodded.
"Well there are more humane ways of telling someone."
Erica's overly glossed lips twitched, like a hidden joke was playing in her head.
"Anyway, Mr. Harris wasn't in class either so I'm guessing that we can't work after school."
"Okay." I was barley listening.
"But we really should start working on this. Have you thought of any ideas?"
"No, sorry." I shook my head. "I've been busy."
Erica nodded, then her eyes moved passed me, a small smile lighting up her face.
I was about to turn around, to follow her gaze when she whispered one word.
"Stiles."
I tried to ignore the relief in her voice, tried to pretend that she wasn't acting like a human being for one reason only. I wanted to walk away now, salvage my moment of peace, not have to see Stiles around Erica. But god would only know why. I forgot all about myself as he walked over to us, which was a first for me. His face was tired, and his eyes, those bright brown eyes that always looked at me with such adoration that it could literally breathe life into you, were sunken and dark. He looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders and Erica was at his side in a swift second. I blinked, surprised by the act. He shot her a look, but it wasn't one that I had always given him when I was hurting. This one was a silent thank you. What, can they read each others minds now? How cute. He looked away from Erica then, and right at me.
I tried to ignore that shiver of satisfaction racing down my spine.
"Uh." He gulped. "Erica, could you give us a minute?" His brows furrowed.
Erica looked from me to Stiles and then, her shoulders slouched a bit and she walked off.
But of course, not before whispering "Find me later."
I bit my inner cheek. Tying too hard there Erica?
I heard the clacking of her heels down the hallway. They echoed, letting me know she was still around.
Once they finally died off Stiles stood in front of me. I had to crane my neck some to see him, remembering quickly that I ditched my heels for Uggs. He was taller than I remembered.
Stiles wasn't looking at me, but to his jean pocket, rustling around to find what he was so eagerly looking for. Stiles looked the same from here, same T-shirt-jean combination. Same hoodie and same scuffed up sneakers. I couldn't see his face, and I relished in that. Looking into those empty voids that once were his big brown eyes gave me a terrible feelings, like my heart hurt for him, like I was actually feeling something for Stiles Stilinski. His eyes dark and isolating were all too similar of this morning and my joyride to the woods. Stiles' eyes were always supposed to bring warmth.
"Here." He mumbled, softly sliding something into my hand.
I looked down, to see another note.
"Allison found me when I got into school, I know you have class with Scott so I thought maybe you could, you know, give it to him." He shrugged, licking his lips.
"Yeah, sure, Stiles." My voice held too much softness for my own liking.
He nodded, shoving his right hand into his pocket, the other wrapped around the strap of his backpack.
"Hey, wait." I touched his arm, immediately retracting it.
He followed my hand as it fell back at my side. His face still holding that sadness.
"Uh, are you okay?" I asked gently.
He looked back into my eyes and no matter his answer, I knew the truth.
"Never better, Lydia." He sighed while attempting to leave.
"No." I scoffed, holding onto his sleeve.
Stiles sighed, again. An annoyed sound. One I was all to familiar with.
Though, I was used to this whole situation being reversed.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Please, have you seen yourself? You look like someone died."
The darkness disappeared, his eyes lightening up like fire ignited.
I stepped back. Was Stiles mad? I had nothing to compare this to.
"Shut up, Lydia." He gritted his teeth.
"No. You look so, so- I can't even find the words- and you come to school late? What's going on with you, Stiles?" I wanted to shove my purse down my throat. I was pushing where I never have before.
He looked down at me, his face completely unreadable, an unnerving feeling.
"I wasn't going to come to school today. Mrs. Argent called my dad."
Stiles rolled his unreadable eyes.
"It's my mom's anniversary, and I would rather just be left alone, if that's okay with you?"
His words were cold. Colder than my blackouts.
His mom, her death. I wanted to kick myself. I really was selfish.
"Stiles, I-"
"Forget it Lydia." He sighed, his eyes becoming more and more normal, more him.
He walked away then, and I was sort of relieved. I wouldn't be able to say another wrong thing. When did we change places? When was I not in control of a conversation involving Stiles Stilinski? I felt horrible, I was a monster. I watched him walk away, probably to find Erica. I groaned and fell back against my locker. The bell rang, letting out seventh period, or was it sixth? I really didn't know anymore.
I didn't know much of anything.
He was there when I got home. He had never been to my house before, well he had, but not like this. I was almost missing the innocent blue eyes and pale, pale skin. He was standing in my yard, overlooking the pool. His burnt hands were in the burnt coat, everything was still in place, still quiet and eerily normal considering he wasn't real, he wasn't really here. But he was, and my fear was more real than anything else at the moment. He turned to me then, sensing me. The blue eyes piercing into me, sending shivers down my spine. The shivers were so stark in contrast to the ones Stiles had given me today, when he chose to talk to me instead of Erica. I blinked and he was gone. How was that possible? Usually I would wake up screaming or crying or a mixture of both. This I had more control over, this was different. I walked deeper into my yard, searching for him. Searching for Peter Hale, because that was who he was after all, wasn't he? I had known it the moment I followed him from the girls room, after Jackson's hallway outburst. I saw his name on that award in the trophy case. Peter Hale, uncle of Derek Hale, the guy who tried to kill all of us in school that night. Or who knows, maybe that was a lie too. He was acquitted right?
After figuring out who it was that I was seeing, I did all the research I could. I learned that he never died in that fire at the Hale house, just badly burned, he was in Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, or was, until he disappeared. It made so much sense, yet so little and it was just easier keeping him nameless.
Safer even.
But to get out of one of those dreams so quickly was not only crazy but impossible. I had tried everything, every single thing you could think of to wake yourself up. I tore through internet article on nightmares like it was a Nicholas Sparks novel. Not like I actually read those. But nothing fit what I was going through, nothing made sense, nothing worked.
Until just now.
Until I thought of Stiles Stilinski.