I was right back where I started. I was on my bed in my room, looking at the ceiling, memorizing every little detail there was in the thin white paint. The dust particles that flew in front of the light, so obscure, barely noticed until someone was actually looking for them or right at them.

I felt like dust. I was Stiles. I wasn't taken seriously, but when I was needed I was definitely needed. I could be missing and nobody would notice unless they needed me for something. I wasn't there to be a friend anymore. I was there as a piece of furniture that yes, they cared about, but only when the time was right for them. Scott and I don't talk anymore, his life and concerns and safety are far more important than keeping up a relationship with his best friend. He'll look out for me, and I know he does, but he doesn't care like he used to. He doesn't know the situation with Gerard. He doesn't know I have nightmares every night and wake up with a throbbing lip and aching ribs. Nobody knows what happened in that basement, and the only two witnesses have disappeared. I stopped listening to what Scott says about alphas, I'm just assuming that he is trying to make his status higher so he can have a little more control over Derek, but I could care less…

I don't know where they went, and I don't know if they're okay, but I'm assuming they are. They're werewolf's, they can do whatever the fuck they please.

And really, as hard as my life's come to be, I still think that I may have a chance with Lydia someday. After losing Jackson like that… I can only imagine someone like her would want to be alone, too afraid to ask for comfort. I warred with myself over this issue for days, when would be the right time to comfort her and let her know I was here. Still, and that I always would be. Tomorrow was that day, but lying here, I felt like there was nothing that I could want more than to have her in my arms for even a few seconds. She was really the only one who could make me feel any less depressed.

Despite the fact that before Jackson died, she admitted she still loved him. I knew it, in my heart that she loved him and she always would. But somehow…I could wriggle my way in there too. Even though the threat I'd seen my entire life was gone, never coming back, I still hurt. I hurt that Jackson was gone, because I knew she was in agony. He was her…reason. Sometimes that's how I saw it, she was always blinded by the things he said and did to her, but seeing what happened a few weeks ago, in Jacksons final moments, I realized she was his reason too. He loved her. Even though it makes me feel better, it also makes me feel a million times worse. I wanted to prove to her that I was perfect for her by showing her I hated the only thing she cared about. I would've never come to accept Jackson if he had not died, and knowing that makes me feel awful. Maybe I didn't deserve Lydia either, maybe nobody does. But I'm not going crazy! I can't! If I can't have her no one can…

God that line scares me, in movies, books, everything…something like that was something I could never understand. If you loved her so much then don't take away her existence because of selfishness. If you love her let her go and let her live, let her be happy even if it means she doesn't love you the same way and never will. Let her be happy, and be there, if she ever needs you. No, don't kill her, you selfish bastard.

There were tears running down my face, falling across my lips, salty wetness dripping onto my tongue and refreshing the dried blood on my face. I don't think I've ever hurt this much before. Physically and emotionally.

The long grueling hours of lacrosse practice and sore aftermaths were nothing compared to the ache in my body I felt now. I still found it hard to believe he hadn't broken any ribs. Brushing my teeth though I did find out that one was chipped, and it hurts to touch it. My entire face hurts, it hurts to cry, and it hurts to smile. But once the tears started flowing I couldn't stop. I didn't want to, this entire ordeal was too much for me to handle. I'd nearly had Lydia ripped out of my hands too many times, and Jackson ripped out of hers, and I wasn't there to help her through it. I can't imagine how hard it must've been for her if it was this hard for me. And she actually lost him…we all lost him…

There was a gentle knock on my door, and I quickly wiped the tears off my face before my father saw me, but it only washed the newly ripened blood around my cheeks, and the tears just wouldn't stop…

"Stiles, what happened?" Lydia breathed, her eyes stunned.

"Lydia?" I jumped, trying harder now to clear my face. It wasn't working. She searched frantically for something and handed me a damp towel I'd discarded into my laundry basket from my shower ten minutes ago. After placing it in my hands she closed my door and sat next to me.

"Your dad let me in…," she says quietly. "What happened to your face?" She took the towel and gently pulled it away so that she could examine any cuts.

"Nothing," I sniffled, trying to get a hold of myself, but the sobs had only started to come when she arrived, and I was finding it hard to stop, especially now seeing her beautiful sad face. "It's from my lip, just old blood got a little wet," I explained, trying to be sneaky about wiping away the tears, but she saw the red in my eyes, the fresh tears springing free off my jaw and the wet streams that had already gone down by my ears when I was lying down.

"You're hurting," she says, taking the towel once the blood was gone.

"No I'm fine, it's old blood," I tried to explain, immediately regretting speaking when my voice cracked and a shudder ripped through my chest. I started breathing slowly, closing my eyes and clutching the towel in my hands, my mind focusing on the task at hand; stop crying.

"Stiles," she says softly, gently. She takes my hang and runs her thumb in circles along my palm. "You're hurting," she says again, and this time I understand. But there wasn't time for me, she was here now and it was my job to make sure she was okay.

"You must be too," I say, swallowing another lump in my throat. "If there's anything I can do-," I start.

"Shhh," she holds a finger up to my lips and I silence myself. She just looks at me, and it reminds me of the moment we had twice before. Once at her house in her living room, we'd gotten her back safely and I went over to make sure she was protected from Derek. We simply looked into each other's eyes, but me not knowing what to do or say, eventually just left her. I knew she didn't want this anyway. The second time was when she'd showed up in my room a few weeks ago, coming to me for ideas to save Jackson. Again, I should've helped her, but I couldn't, I just couldn't bear the thought of her loving someone like him…someone as dangerous as him… I raised my voice at her, trying to explain something unexplainable…

Lydia turned away that time, unable to look at me anymore.

Now though, I didn't know what she had on her mind, the look in her eyes was unreadable, like it always has been to me. She moved her fingers from my lips to the bags under my eyes and wiped away the tears that continued to flow, cupping my cheek in her hand and stroking my ear with her fingertips. I waited; she could do what she pleased. And she did nothing but look at me, read me, see whatever it was that she was seeing in my pathetic tear filled eyes.

She leaned in slowly, and my breath hitched in my throat. I didn't know what to think. I couldn't think, I couldn't comprehend what was happening, though it only happened for a few seconds and then her face wasn't leaning towards mine anymore; then her face was in my neck, her arms around my shoulders. I hugged her back and buried my face in her hair, which was gliding off her shoulders in a waterfall of silk. Even in sweatpants and a t-shirt, she was perfect. She was warm and I hugged her back, crying into her harder than I've ever thought possible. I felt the emotions build up and spill over as the salt water did.

"I love you Lydia," I breathed, tightening my grip and letting go. Just letting go because that was all I had left to do anymore. This was the precipice of my life, and I had nothing to lose.