August 1, 2012
Overcoming this color is harder than I suspect. I try to test my boundaries by drinking some fruit punch, but end up throwing the glass out the window. I go so far as to put on a red dress for one of my mother's dinner parties, and rip it off two minutes after I shimmy it on.
This fear is hard to stop and this fear keeps me feeling like a burden, so I stop talking to Stiles.
It's horrible and hard and I feel completely and horribly and absolutely lost and empty and terrible without any contact… but doesn't that just prove how much of a burden I had become?
Lydia Martin has never been co-dependent and she will not become so over the course of a summer, thank you very much.
Though my knees shake and my throat aches from screaming and my rib cage shows new scars from my own scratches, I keep quiet because I have always done everything by myself and I will not end my strategy now.
I feel crazy now more than ever, but it almost seems so familiar that I barely feel repulsed when I see the effect crazy leaves on my body.
I will not be a burden, I will not be a burden.
I'll get over myself and then I'll fix things with him, I swear, I promise, I pledge allegiance.
Stiles leaves me four voice mails and twenty-six text messages.
…
Danny invites me to go out for coffee on a sweltering Tuesday morning and I show up ten minutes late with red eyes from no sleep and my skirt on backwards. I order coffee, black. He raises an eyebrow at me when I sit down and it takes me a minute to realize he's said something.
"What?" I try to focus my eyes on his mouth.
He tries to look annoyed, but ends up looking concerned, "Stilinski's basically stalking me trying to figure out where you are and what's wrong. Why he thinks I would know more than him is funny."
I focus my eyes on the black coffee in front of me, "Why is that funny?" Danny snorts and swallows some of his cappuccino. I wait for an answer and he stares at me like I have two heads.
"It's pretty obvious who knows you best at this point, won't you agree?" I blink at him. "You've spent all summer with the guy, Lyds. I don't know why he would think I know what's up with you when you haven't talked to me the past three months."
"I'm sorry," I mumble. How can I explain to Danny that the only reason I haven't spoken to anyone besides Stiles (and I guess, Scott) is because everyone else will think I'm crazy?
"Lydia," Danny tries to reach for my hand lying on the table; I flinch and he stares at me like he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking, "I know you and Jackson loved each other," I almost snort but it's too sad, "and I know that you might not want to hang around me because he's my best friend. But Lydia, you're my best friend, too. I think there's something going on with you and I wish you would tell me, but I'm not going to force you to trust me. So if Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall are helping you through whatever's wrong, that's okay. But Stilinski thinks you're avoiding him, and if you are, I hope it's for a good reason. Because no one is going to care about you more than that weirdo."
...
The sky is dark and I lazily turn my head to look at my window. My phone buzzes besides me and I stare as the screen flashes Scott McCall. After ignoring Stiles for five days, he seems to understand I want to be alone and limits himself to a text a day. Scott's been picking up his slack. I roll my eyes at the New Voicemall message. I turn my gaze to up and I stare at my ceiling fan and watch it spin, spin around and contemplate what Danny said to me.
"No one is going to care about you more than that weirdo."
That's the problem. He cares, cares, and cares. I can't give him half of what he gives me. His heart is too big and my sanity is too small.
...
"Seven new voicemails." Beep.
"Lydia, it's Scott... again. I'm sure you can understand why I'm calling. All I've been listening to the last week is Stiles complaining. I know we both might be annoying since we call or text you every other second, but... we're worried, Lydia. Last time we saw you, you were sort of freaked out. Just tell me if you'd rather we didn't call you and I'll tell Stiles. If you don't give me some message that you're okay, I'm going to keep calling."
"Hey. Lydia. It's Stiles. Obviously. Well, uh, I know you ignored me the last five thousand times I've called but there's a new movie out I know you've been dying to see. Call me back."
"Hey, I know I just called, but I forgot to mention that if we go to the movies, I'll buy you all the slurpees you want. Pretty sure they got some new flavors!"
"Lydia, it's Isaac Lahey. Scott and Stiles are driving me insane and won't play any video games with me because they're "busy." Busy as in worrying about you. I don't really know what's going on but it'd be super helpful if you could let them know you're alive because I'm going out of my mind with boredom. I've cleaned Derek's apartment like... one... two... three times! Uh, anyways... hope you feel better and CALL STILES."
"Hahaha oh! It's on! Hey Lydia, this is Sean from the club. I asked your friend Ashley for your number because I want to hang out with you again. Call me soon."
"Stiles reporting from the movie theater: there are three new flavors available. Strawberry Frazzle, Wild Grape, and Lemon Lucky. I'll have to try all three and let you know which is best."
"It's Stiles again. Scott wants me to tell you he watched The Notebook for the first time and he cried like a baby. Dude! Ow! Okay, okay! Just kidding, Lydia. He didn't cry he had something in his eye. OW! Okay. I lied. I was the one who cried. Too bad you didn't come over and watch it with us. Ms. McCall made those milkshakes you like and she was the only one who didn't cry, though she did leave the room to "go to the bathroom" and was gonna for almost fifteen minutes. Isaac had three bowls of ice cream and blushed like a tomato when Allie and Noah did it. Derek refused to come over. It probably would've been too emotional for him. Anyways, the movie marathon has only just begun and you enough time to get here before we start Star Wars. Scott is losing his virginity tonight! You won't wanna miss this, Lydia Martin. Bring Prada. I know she misses me."
...
It is 6:24 a.m. and I have not slept at all. My hair is limp and my eyes feel like they might fall out. Prada is curled into a ball on my stomach and her little snores fill the room. I lift my hand up to rub my mouth and feel something wet on my chin. I pull my hand away from my face and look at my red tinted fingers. I gently ease Prada off of me and onto the comforter. I trip my way into the bathroom and look in my large mirror over the sink. My lips are bloody: the skin, for the most part, ripped off by my nails and teeth. I didn't even feel it.
I make a split second decision and jump in the shower.
I think positive thoughts as to avoid freaking out and I scrub my hair and my face, being careful around my lips. I work on becoming clean and getting rid of all the grime and makeup and sweat that's built up from going several days without a shower.
When I get out, I dry my hair furiously and notice my lips look slightly better without all the dried blood. I put some shorts on and a loose top before making my way downstairs and into the kitchen. My mom does a double take when she comes down a few minutes after me and see me drinking a cup of coffee.
"You haven't left your room for a week."
"I know." I try to laugh like it's funny, but it's not so it comes out sounding forced and dead.
"I thought I'd have to call Danny and ask him what he said to you."
"But you didn't."
"No. I was going to see if you'd snap out of it. I was hoping it was the final phase of whatever silly thing you've been going through since the end of the school year."
"Silly."
"You know what I mean, Lydia. Refusing to shower. Ripping your new dress because you didn't like the color. I don't know what the hell happened between Jackson and you but that's no reason to be so dramatic."
"Dramatic?"
"I'm just glad you're out of bed. My friends were starting to wonder why I've been so upset and I wasn't about to try to explain you," She glides past me to pour some coffee in her travel mug. Once it's full, she smiles at me and picks up her purse, "Maybe you'll get out today, hm? Call that boy you've been spending all your time with. What was his name?"
"Stiles."
"Right. The Sheriff's son. Good job with that one, sweetie. See you tonight." And she's out the door.
Silly thing, my mother had said. Silly, indeed.
...
I take Prada for a walk and end up in the middle of town. It's noon and everyone makes their way into cafes, looking tan and refreshed, while I stand on the corner looking lost and disturbingly pale.
I make my way through the crowds of laughing, talking, living people and stare at every ice cream cone in envy before I make my way into the ice cream store I went with Stiles forever ago. I order two large vanilla cones and sit in the shade, feeding Prada one. When she's done, she curls into my lap and I scratch behind her ears and watch people. Little girls run through the sprinkles in the park across the street and little boys skateboard past them, trying to gain their attention. A group of older couples lounge under some trees, eating from a picnic basket and relaxing. Dogs yip, and birds sing, and I wonder why I spent all my time in my room. I feel sad, like I've missed everything.
I get Prada off my lap and stand, and we make our way to the house of a boy I feel silly for ignoring for so long.
When we get to his house, I tie Prada's leash around a thin tree in his front yard and she lies down, content. I walk up his front steps and knock.
Mr. Stilinski opens the door and his smile grows wide. It stays on his face as he leans against the siding, "Hi, Lydia. Haven't seen you in awhile. Want to come inside?"
Have I ever wanted anything more than to do just that? I don't think so. "I'd love to."
A/N:
Hi everyone! Sorry it's been so long. I had a case of writer's block. Don't worry, I've already starts the next chapter so the wait will not be as long, I promise! Hope you enjoyed. -Meg