"Jackson is staring at you again," Allison whispers halfway through chemistry lab Monday morning.
Lydia shifts subtly in her stool so she can catch a glimpse of Jackson, two tables back and one row over, where he's sitting with Danny. He's not even being remotely subtle about it; his blue eyes are completely fixed on her. When Lydia does a slow spin all the way around she can see Scott and Stiles staring just as openly at Jackson as Jackson is at her.
"Let him," she says flippantly to Allison. "It's not his fault I look so good."
And she does look good. Her hair is meticulously curled and brushed out into voluminous waves and her lips are slick with that coral Stila lipgloss she knows Jackson secretly loves.
"Aren't you cold though?" Allison whispers.
Lydia adjusts the strap of her cream lace top, sheer enough to show the bright purple bandeau bra she's wearing underneath and ignores the fact that her legs are covered in goose bumps in her navy crepe shorts.
When she turns around Jackson's still staring.
Lydia smirks and slides sideways on her stool to check Allison's work against her own. "Worth it."
Jackson may have gotten the best of her Friday night but Lydia's prepared now, he's not going to beat her. She may love him but she's not stupid. She refuses to be one of those girls, the ones who let boys break them until they're a pile of jagged pieces no one else could ever love.
"Are you ever going to tell me what really happened?" Allison asks quietly.
Lydia closes the fingers of her right hand over her left wrist and strokes the thump shaped bruised imprinted on her skin. "Let's just say I realized I was bored, so..."
She lets the implication hang, like she doesn't care, like it doesn't matter. Like the first boy she ever loved didn't turn her into a girl who can't even look at herself in the mirror anymore.
Allison looks shocked. "You got bored?"
"Mm-hm."
"And you told him that?"
"Not in so many words."
"Wait, Lydia." Allison's hand is warm against her arm. "Did you guys break up?"
Lydia flips to a blank page in her notebook and starts to doodle the curling branches of a tree. "We didn't discuss the details."
Allison purses her lips, looking a bit stunned. "Well, that would definitely explain the staring."
/
When it's lunchtime Lydia walks through the doors of the cafeteria and heads directly for Allison, where she's sitting towards the back at a table with Scott, Stiles and Isaac. Lydia takes long confident strides in her wedges because her hair looks fabulous and her makeup is perfectly applied and Stiles is across the room, half turned around in his seat, pretending he's not watching her but he definitely, totally is.
And then Jackson appears in the middle of the aisle, blocking her path.
Lydia crosses her arms over her chest. "Do you mind?"
Jackson clenches his jaw. "So that's it?" He tips his chin back towards Scott and Allison. "You're with them now?"
"Well I'm not with you," she says pointedly.
"No," he sneers. "I guess you're not."
Lydia straightens her spine; she has an extra four inches in height from the cork wedges she's wearing today. "Then get out of my way."
"One thing first." Jackson takes another step closer, so he's looming over her. "What did he offer you?"
She stares up at him. "What are you talking about?"
"I think you know what I'm taking about," he grinds out.
Lydia blinks rapidly. "Why do you care if Stiles and I are hanging out? I told you, he's Allison's boyfriend's best friend, he's just around. He didn't bribe me."
For some reason Jackson looks incredulous. "You think I care if you give Stilinski what he's been jerking off to since he discovered his dick? If you wanna lower your standards by all means, go for it."
Over Jackson's shoulder Lydia sees Scott whip around in his seat to stare at them even though he's too far away to hear what Jackson is saying.
"Then what the hell are you talking about?" she snaps.
His hand closes over her upper arm, his palm hot against her bare skin. "I want to know what he gave you!"
You should tell him to let it go. He's never going to give it to him.
Isaac, in the nurse's office. He wasn't talking nonsense, he was talking about Jackson. Lydia starts to shake, the noise of the cafeteria rising to a nauseating shrill overtone.
How did she manage to forget, that this was never just about her and Jackson? It's about Jackson and Scott; Jackson's obsession with him, the mysterious secret Allison is keeping from her.
If I've lied to you, it's only because I'm trying to protect you.
How could Lydia possibly miss this, that it's all connected? Her and Jackson, Jackson and Scott, Scott and Allison, Stiles, Isaac.
"Lydia!" Jackson shakes her arm and behind him Lydia can see Scott jump halfway out of his chair, Stiles' hand pushing down on his shoulder to keep him in his seat.
They're staring at them. Allison and Isaac are too, looking terrified, like they're waiting for Jackson to break her arm in the middle of the cafeteria.
Lydia's heart contracts in her chest. "What who gave me?"
His hand squeezes and she has to swallow a squeak. "Derek! Did he give it to you?"
Derek? The only Derek Lydia knows of is Derek Hale, and what could he possibly have to do with any of this?
"I don't know what you're talking about," she whispers.
"Don't lie to me," he growls.
"I'm not lying," she breathes. She's never truly been afraid of him before but there's something about him now that makes her sick with fear. He looks unhinged, his skin flushed, eyes dark and narrowed.
Like a desperate man, the kind of person who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.
"Lydia, tell me what you know!" Jackson demands.
Lydia can only blink up at him, speechless, his fingers so tight on her arm his knuckles are turning white and it happens again, the glint of a blade flashing in his eyes.
His eyes used to be so beautiful. Like a wide open sky on a cloudless day. Like the clearest ocean water, something that refracts light and sends it scattering in a million directions, so that everywhere you look it sparkles. She used to see medals in those eyes, trophies, wedding rings.
They used to be so beautiful together.
They used to be so beautiful but now when she looks at Jackson all she sees is darkness.
And Lydia understands, for the first time, what exactly it is that Allison wants to save her from.
If Lydia stays it will get inside her, poison her, turn her into the girl she saw in the mirror - someone who bleeds pain, a girl possessed. His darkness will attach to her like a shadow, curl up around her body at night, weave its way into her bones and sip at her marrow until all her light is gone.
"Let go of me," she says softly. "Please Jackson. You don't have to do this."
Jackson leans down, so close that he could kiss her if he so desired. Like a Dementor, she thinks wildly, sucking out her soul piece by piece with every bruise he leaves on her body. "Just tell me, Lydia, tell me first. Is he going to give it to you? What did he say?"
She twists her arm but he's stronger than her, she can't get out of his hold. "I don't know anything, okay? They don't tell me anything."
For the first time he looks uncertain. "Wait, really?"
"Yes, really," she hisses. "So can you please let go of me now?"
"But - you know, right?"
"Know what?"
"Oh my god." To her shock Jackson starts to laugh, releasing her to bring his hands up to his mouth. "Are you serious? You really don't know?"
She hates the way he's looking at her, like he's found an ace he didn't even know he had, like he's delighted by her ignorance. "Obviously not," she mutters.
"I have to say, you've actually surprised me. I thought you definitely figured it out first." Jackson looks unbearably smug all of a sudden.
She's lightheaded again, her ears are beginning to ring and she's getting that cold clammy feeling like she might vomit.
Jackson knows.
This whole time, everything Allison's been keeping from her, every coded look between her and Scott and Stiles, Jackson knew and he didn't tell her.
"Figured out what?" she whispers tremulously.
He gives her a cocky grin. "I can't believe you really don't know. This must be driving you crazy."
"Jackson," she pleads softly. She can't make herself look up anymore, can't face him now that she knows this. She feels a hot wave of humiliation, only a few hours ago she thought that she knew everything.
"Wow Lydia," Jackson says casually, "I didn't know you were actually as dumb as you look."
Lydia stumbles back as if she's been slapped. She watches him, her eyes filling with tears as Jackson smirks and saunters away, leaving her frozen in the middle of the cafeteria.
It only takes a few seconds before Stiles vaults out of his seat, backpack slung over one shoulder, and hurries towards her, weaving between tables until he's standing in front of her. "Lydia," he says urgently, "hey, are you okay?"
"I" - Lydia's ears fill with tears and her throat closes up. She can't look anywhere but his face, pleading silently at him to understand, to not need her words to know what she needs.
"Lydia," he says gently, holding his hands out to her like they're alone, like no one's watching. "Hey, it's okay."
It's not though. It's a lie, because this is it, she's about to cry in front of the entire student body. She wants to disappear; she wants to lie down on the cold nasty cafeteria floor and go to sleep. She inhales but her chest is so tight in turns into a strangled gasp. "Please. Stiles" -
"It's okay," he says quickly. He reaches down and claps her hand, and she has to swallow a sob. "Come on, it's okay."
He hustles her out of the cafeteria, his right hand tight around her left, his other hand gripping her shoulder. Her breath comes in short tight gasps as they walk out into the hallway and towards the side door that leads to the picnic tables outside.
"Hang on," Stiles says, his thumb running back and forth over the back of her hand, like he knows it's taking all of her composure not to fall apart right here. "Almost there."
He walks her through the courtyard to the parking lot and pulls his car keys out of a side pocket of his backpack, unlocks the Jeep and opens the passenger side door. "Get in," he instructs.
Lydia obeys because her chest is burning, muscles in her jaw clenching as she tries to keep her tears inside her body. Stiles shuts the door behind her and walks around the car and gets in the driver's seat. His door slams and the sound is all it takes for her to break, now that they're alone, now that no one can hear her.
Lydia covers her face in her hands and bursts into tears.
"Oh, Lydia," Stiles murmurs. He leans over the console like he's going to touch her and Lydia shifts away, pressing herself against the door.
"Don't," she cries into her hands, because she never wanted anyone to see her cry, she can't take him seeing her like this.
Seeing what Jackson did to her, what Lydia let him do to her.
He'll know now, all the ways she's soft and weak inside, how she let Jackson take and take because she needed it, needed someone to show her who she was, prove it in blood, so that she could feel the ache in her bones promising that she was real, she was here.
Because it was love. It was love, wasn't it? Her wrists in his hands, his fingers turning her white skin swirling shades of purple and blue, blood roses blooming up her arms like a dark garden, like a night sky.
She used to think that was beautiful too.
"Lydia," Stiles says again, his voice so soft that it only makes her cry harder. "Lydia, it's okay."
Lydia curls her feet up under her so she can bend over and press her forehead against her knees. "Don't look at me," she sobs. She's never done this, lost control like this and it's awful. "Please, I hate, I hate this" -
"Okay," Stiles soothes. There's light pressure on her left shoulder, the warmth of his hand on her bare skin. "I'll just sit here, okay? And you can cry or yell or do whatever you need to do and I'll just. I'll be here."
So they sit there in his car while Lydia cries, hiding her face, his hand firm on her shoulder. And for the first time since Lydia became friends with him Stiles doesn't say anything, just makes sympathetic noises and rubs the tips of his fingers in little circles against her skin.
She runs out of steam after only a few minutes, sniffling into the back of her hand and staring out the windshield so she doesn't have to see the look on his face. Stiles slides his hand from her shoulder to the back of her neck and Lydia tenses, thinking of Jackson, how sometimes he'd grip her neck and start to twist, just a bit...
"Hey, Lydia." Stiles flips his hand over to run his fingers through her hair. "Talk to me."
She doesn't want to say it, because if she says it, then it's real. She tips her head back against the headrest and swallows thickly. "We broke up."
"Lydia." His voice is so soft and slow when he says her name that she turns to him involuntarily, like she's lost, like she's searching for something.
Amber eyes burn gold in the weak rays of sunshine coming in through the windows. Lydia latches onto them, like she's found a lone lighthouse in the middle of a dark ocean, shining just for her.
"I'm sorry," he says, and he sounds so earnest, like he really means it, that she almost believes him.
"No you're not," she says, because it's the truth and she can't pretend, she can't lie anymore and she won't let him either.
Stiles winces. "Okay yeah, I'm not going to lie and say that I'm devastated but...I'm sorry that you're hurting."
It's almost enough to make her start crying again. Lydia squeezes her eyes shut, blocking out everything; the light, his hand in her hair, the way he's looking at her, like she's a shattered vase and he's just waiting for her permission to glue her back together.
Is that what she wants? Stiles' hands on her body, bending and molding her until she's beautiful again, until she's a girl a boy could love.
Remembers tracing her fingers down her own naked body and pretending they were his.
"Hey Lydia. Can you look at me?" he asks softly.
She shakes her head, eyes still shut. "I look awful when I cry."
"C'mon, you look beautiful when you cry," he contradicts, and it's enough, just his voice, to make her eyes flutter open.
She gets trapped in his gaze; he's leaning over the gearshift, plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows, revealing sinewy forearms. She wished she didn't know suddenly, what it felt like, to have his arms around her, for him to frame her face in his hands, how it makes her feel safe and alive and seen.
It'd be so easy, to let herself go all the way, fall into him, give him anything, anything, just to feel that again.
"Can I?" Stiles holds both hands up to her face and after a moments hesitation she nods.
Hands settle over her cheekbones and his thumbs come up underneath her eyes. Gentle pressure from his fingers makes her tilt her head back and Stiles runs his thumbs underneath her eyes, slow and firm, mascara-tinted tears coming off on his skin.
"There," he says gently. "See? Still beautiful. Just less mascara-y."
Her cheeks flush while Stiles wipes his hands carefully on his shirt and from inside the school the bell rings, indicating that the lunch period has ended. Lydia sighs and swallows back a fresh wave of tears.
"You okay?" Stiles asks hesitantly. "Do you want to skip precalc? Because I will totally cut in solidarity with you."
Lydia flips down the sun visor and observes her reflection in the mirror: her skin is pink and blotchy but thanks to Stiles her makeup isn't running down her face.
"One second," she murmurs, and aggressively applies concealer around her eyes. "I'm not going to let Jackson Whittemore be the reason I miss a test."
"Atta girl," Stiles says cheerfully, and hops out of the Jeep, jogs around the front of the car and opens her door for her.
Lydia grasps the hand he offers her as she steps down, taking an unsure step in her wedges as he reaches around her to slam the passenger door shut. Lydia turns toward school but then Stiles' hand is on her wrist but it's so light, and she lets him use the gentle pull of momentum to turn her back around to face him.
"Stiles?" Her voice cracks and splinters, seven different emotions spilling out from just that one word, his name that's not really his name but it's so him that it doesn't matter.
He puts his arms around her, pulls her into a tight embrace and Lydia goes willingly, allowing her cheek to be crushed to his chest, reaching down to set her hands against his hips.
"Just let me hold you for a second," he whispers. She shudders at that, teeth clamping down against the sound she inadvertently makes, like she's some little touch-starved thing dying to be held.
One of his hands come up to cup the back of her head. Lydia lets out a stuttering sigh and breathes him in, lets herself revel in the sensation of being held, like she could shatter and he'd go right on holding her, like his hands could perform magic: heal her, fix her, find the cold spot in the center of her heart and melt it until she can feel again.
Until she could be the kind of girl who could love a boy like him the way he deserves to be loved.
"The bell's about to ring," she whispers. "We're going to be late."
Stiles pulls away and Lydia already regrets saying anything, immediately so cold without the warmth of his body around her. There's something in his expression, like he knows, like he's trying to figure it out: what makes her walls come down, what triggers her, like all her idiosyncrasies are a code he thinks he can breaks.
Stiles flashes her a sardonic smile. "Well we definitely don't want to be late." He reaches down and slides his hand in hers and it's almost embarrassing, how quickly Lydia clutches onto it.
Stiles gives her a serious look. "Okay?"
Lydia takes a deep breath and watches the sunlight hit his face. He doesn't have Jackson's bone structure but there's something better about the way he looks, something warm and endearing and soft.
She stands there next to him and just watches for a moment: his face, the light, her small hand enveloped in his. "Yes," she says firmly, like she's making a decision. "Okay."
/
Allison is waiting for her outside the locker room at the beginning of seventh period still dressed in her street clothes, skinny black jeans and a cropped grey tee shirt, leather jacket draped over one arm.
"What's going on?" Lydia asks, bemused. "Are you cutting gym?"
"Oh no." Allison grins. "We're cutting."
Lydia grins back, pleased. Jackson was right about one thing; she doesn't give a shit about PE. "Is that right?"
Allison slings her arm around Lydia's shoulder. "Come on, you're a single woman now, right? Lets go celebrate your freedom."
She and Allison leave school and Allison drives them to their favorite frozen yogurt spot. Lydia can't help but feel slightly bitter at how Allison is reveling in her and Jackson's breakup but it's hard to be angry when Allison looks so happy, wrapping her arms around Lydia while they wait in line, positively beaming while Lydia heaps sliced strawberries over her yogurt.
Lydia waits until they're sitting at a table by the windows and Allison has a scoop of hazelnut yogurt with blueberries in her mouth to ask, "So, what's the deal with this thing Derek gave to Scott?"
Allison chokes, her eyes filling with tears, and she gasps and breaks out in a coughing fit. "What?"
Lydia swirls her spoon around in her yogurt. "You heard me."
Allison dry swallows and gulps down half her cup of water. "Derek who?"
Lydia narrows her eyes. "Derek Hale."
Allison's mouth drops open. "Since when do you know Derek Hale?"
"I met him last week," Lydia says casually.
"You met him?" For some reason Allison sounds shocked.
"With Stiles. Well, more like ran into him. Stiles says that he knows Scott."
Allison tenses. "Yeah, they've...I guess you could say they're acquainted."
Lydia raises an eyebrow. "So you know him?"
Allison leans forward on her elbows. "Look, I don't know what Stiles told you about Derek but you should stay away from him."
"Is he dangerous?"
Allison's mouth twists. "Let's just say he isn't very nice."
"And you know that how, exactly?"
Allison's gaze drops down to her lap. "Our families don't get alone."
A chill runs up Lydia's spine. "I thought his family was dead."
Allison looks distinctly uncomfortable. "They are."
"Then how does your family know him, exactly?"
"He knew my Aunt Kate," Allison whispers.
Lydia almost falls out of her chair. Allison never talks about Kate, all Lydia knows is that she came to Beacon Hills last year for a visit and left in a body bag.
"Well now I know why you never mentioned him," Lydia murmurs.
"Lydia." Allison reaches across the table and clasps Lydia's hands in her own. "Promise me that you're being careful."
Lydia slowly pulls her hands away from Allison. "Why would I need to be careful?"
"Lydia, please." Allison's starting to look afraid. "Just stay out of it, okay?"
"Stay out of what, exactly?" Lydia stabs at a strawberry with her spoon.
"Lydia, I'm serious," Allison hisses. "Look, if my dad even knew we were talking about Derek he would have a stroke."
"So what, I've accidentally stumbled into a family feud?"
Allison rubs her temples. "Yeah that's one way of putting it."
"So how does Jackson fit into it?"
"What?"
"Jackson," Lydia says sharply. "Why is he so interested in Derek and Scott?"
"Lacrosse," Allison says quickly. "He's trying to get Scott off the team."
Lydia stares blankly at her. What is Allison talking about? "Lacrosse?" she asks disbelievingly. "This is seriously all just about lacrosse?"
Allison shrugs. "I guess Jackson thinks if he can dig up enough dirt on Scott he can get him kicked off the team."
"And you know this how, exactly?"
"Jackson told him as much."
Lydia thinks about Jackson in the cafeteria, bleeding anger, fury etched in every line of his face, the sheer desperation in his voice.
His hand like a vice around her arm, his voice heavy with threats. Tell me what you know!
Whatever Jackson was talking about, it didn't have anything to do with lacrosse. Allison is lying to her. Unless she really doesn't know either and is just repeating a lie that Scott told her.
Scott wouldn't lie to Allison. Would he?
"Okay," Lydia says cautiously. "I'll be careful."
Allison exhales with her whole body, like she can't contain her relief. "Thank you."
"Mm."
Allison gives her big pleading eyes. "You know I just want you to be safe right?"
The words she said to Stiles that night in Allison's car come back to her. I feel like I don't know anything anymore.
"Yeah," Lydia lies softly, watching how Allison's hands tremble as she wipes them on a napkin. Liar or not, Allison is definitely afraid of something. "I know."
/
She gets a text from Jackson at nine-thirty that night, when she's finishing up her lab write-up.
Did I leave my history book in your car?
Lydia swears softly to herself and puts her chemistry homework away. She goes downstairs and gets the car keys from the ceramic dish on the hall table and goes out to the driveway. She finds Jackson's book on the floor of the backseat, half-hidden under a navy and white striped cardigan Allison must have left behind the other week.
Found it, I'll give it back at school tomorrow.
Before she can even make it back inside her phone vibrates with another text.
I need it tonight, Kira said Yukimora always gives a pop quiz on Pearl Harbor.
Lydia grits her teeth and texts back as she walks inside her house.
Fine.
She runs back up to her room and pulls on a pair of leggings under her grey fleece-lined sweatshirt dress because Allison was right, she was freezing all day in her shorts and they're broken up now, there's no need to show Jackson her skin, to offer herself to him like she's an unblemished canvas for him to cover with his dreams and nightmares, paint her with bruises.
She tosses her wallet and phone into her cream Rebecca Minkoff cross-body bag and runs back downstairs, jams her feet into a pair of white leather platform sneakers, and sticks Jackson's book under her arm.
"Mom, I'm dropping a book off at Jackson's," she calls out. "I'll be back in half an hour!"
She dumps her bag and Jackson's book in the passenger seat and starts the car. Her hands are shaking so she takes a deep breath, turns on her headlights and checks every mirror before slowly backing out of the driveway.
You're not afraid, she tells herself. You are strong, you are better then this, you don't need him to break you into pieces to show you who you are.
Not anymore.
When she turns down Jackson's street and pulls her car over to the curb she can see Mr. Lahey walking out of his house. Lydia shifts into park, takes the keys out of the ignition and watches Isaac follow his dad outside, wearing only a pair of jeans and a white vee neck that glows in the light from the streetlamp, even though the temperature has continued to drop into the high fifties since the sun when down.
It's a myth that California is always warm. It's a desert; it gets chilly at night in late autumn and winter. Lydia reaches for her bag and stops cold when she hears a shout, turns back to her window and slouches down in her seat.
Isaac is trying to follow his dad to their car but Mr. Lahey won't let him. He's yelling and shoving Isaac off him. Isaac, who's stumbling around on the front lawn like he's disoriented, grabbing wildly at his father. Mr. Lahey is faster and stronger; he shakes Isaac off him like he's a dog, sending him sprawling into the grass.
Lydia watches Mr. Lahey practically jump into his car and drive away, the tires squealing against the pavement. Isaac pulls himself off the ground and turns towards the street, Lydia watches him watch his father drive away, stagger backwards across his lawn and sink down on the steps outside his house.
Lydia's phone buzzes, flashing a blue light that bounces around the interior of the car. Jackson. Where are you? Are you outside?
She slings her bag over her shoulder, scoops up his book and gets out of the car. She doesn't let herself look back towards Isaac, she keeps her head down and focuses on each step up the walkway to the front door like she's in line for the guillotine.
The door opens just as she makes it to the porch, Jackson must have been waiting in the foyer. He's wearing sweatpants and his lacrosse hoody and he looks tired, older, not the cocky little shit who walked away from her in the cafeteria today.
"Hey," he says, and reaches out to take his book from her. "Thanks for doing this."
"You're welcome," she says stiffly.
Jackson nods. "I uh...if you want to wait for a minute some of your stuff is still in my room."
Lydia feels a flash of pain in her chest, like a warning. "It's fine," she says coolly. "I don't care."
His face softens and that makes it worse, that she can see the boy he used to be, the parts of him she still loves. "Lydia."
"I have to go." She stumbles backwards out of the doorway, clutching her car keys in her fist. "My mother's expecting me."
"Okay." He leans in and Lydia's whole body goes cold but he only kisses her cheek before pulling away. "Drive safe."
She walks back down the porch stairs and across the stone walkway like she's floating, her heart cramping painfully in her chest, the metal ignition key cold in her palm. Across the street Isaac is still outside, sitting on the top step, slumped over, head in his hands.
Lydia gets to her car and hesitates. Weighs going home, having a cup of tea and going to bed against Isaac, who hasn't moved, who's sitting outside in the cold like a dog waiting for his abusive owner to unchain him.
Lydia wonders if Isaac gets cold the way she does sometimes. If she leaves him here is she leaving him alone to fall asleep in the snow? Is she so cruel, that she would condemn him to that?
Just make a choice.
Lydia crosses the street quickly, her bag smacking lightly against her hip as she jogs up Isaac's lawn. "Hey," she calls out softly. "Did you get locked out?"
Isaac lifts his head at the sound of her voice and Lydia involuntarily lets out a loud gasp because Isaac's left eye is swollen and bruised purple-black, it's so bad it makes his entire face look distorted and Lydia would bet the contents of her wallet that his orbital bone is fractured.
"Did he do this to you?" Lydia has to curl her nails into her palms to keep herself from crying. "Isaac? Isaac, where did your dad go?"
Isaac's staring at her, looking dazed. "Liquor store," he mumbles.
"Okay." Lydia crouches down in front of him. "Isaac, we have to go."
Isaac shivers. "What?"
"Isaac!" Her voice sounds borderline hysterical. There's a liquor store only six blocks away, they have minutes at best until Mr. Lahey comes back. "We have to go, now!"
"Can't," Isaac rasps. His breathing sounds off, like he can't get a full breath of air. "He told me to wait here."
"Isaac, he hurt you."
"It's not as bad as it looks." He coughs wetly and twists away to spit blood over the railing.
Something inside her breaks, a storm that's been brewing inside her for weeks finally crashing down. "Get up!" she demands. "Isaac Lahey, you get up right now!"
Isaac wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "I can't."
She holds her hands out to him, pleading. "You have to."
Isaac starts to shake. "You should go. He's going to be back soon."
"I'm not leaving without you."
"Lydia, please" -
"Get up!" she shrieks. "We have to go, please, Isaac, get up!"
To her surprise he actually listens, pulls himself up by gripping the railing. "Why?" he asks, his voice cracking.
"Because I can't leave you here." She grabs onto his hand and drags him dwon the lawn while he stumbles over his feet, crosses the street to her car, unlocks it and shoves him into the passenger seat. He's almost limp, too compliant, even as he curls over in the seat, his face pale against the moonlight.
"Where can I take you?" she asks, buckling her seatbelt and staring out at the street, adrenaline pumping as she looks for a swing of headlights indicating Mr. Lahey's return, but the street is dark and quiet.
Isaac shrugs.
Lydia bites back a sound of frustration. "We can't sit here all night. Is there somewhere you can go?"
Isaac shifts in his seat and lets out a little pained noise. "Do you think...Scott?"
Lydia sighs in relief. Scott will help her; Scott will know what to do. "Good idea."
She drives in silence all the way to the McCalls; the only sound the disturbing rattling of Isaac's breathing. He's too pale, Lydia wonders what she would find if she reached over and peeled up his shirt, if there would be a ladder of bruises over his ribs.
She has to help him out of the car, gets Isaac to put his arm around her as she walks him up the sidewalk because he clearly can't see out of his swollen left eye and is zigzagging all over the grass. They get up to the front porch and Lydia rings the bell. The porch light snaps on with an electric hum and it only takes a few seconds for Scott to come to the door; his hair is damp and he's wearing a pair of Beacon Hills sweatpants and a tee shirt with the sleeves cut off.
"Hey guys - oh my god, Isaac!" Scott's eyes widen; he looks shocked. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Isaac mumbles.
Scott's expression tips over into horror. "You're hurt. Oh my god, Isaac, that looks really bad."
"It's not that bad." Isaac stumbles over his feet and Lydia shoves him back upright.
"What happened?" Scott's eyes dart between her and Isaac, waiting for an explanation.
"I'm sorry," Lydia whispers to Isaac, because he kept her secret but she can't keep his, not now, not like this. "It was his dad."
Isaac's expression crumples into betrayal. "It's not a big deal" -
"Your dad did this to you?" Scott looks disgusted. "He hit you?"
Isaac flinches. "He was drunk, he didn't mean it"-
"Don't," Scott snaps, and reaches out to clasp his hand over Isaac's shoulder. "Don't try to make this okay." His eyes slide over to Lydia. "Did you drive here?"
She nods, watching Isaac out of the corner of her eye. He looks like it's taking everything in him not to keel over.
"Good." Scott bends down and grabs a pair of sneakers from a shoe rack and pulls them on, ties the laces so quickly she swears his fingers blur. "I need you to give us a ride to the hospital. I don't have a car, my mom's on shift."
"I can drive you," she agrees, at the same time Isaac gasps and tries to stumble away.
"No," Isaac bites out. "No hospitals."
"Isaac," Scott says disapprovingly. "Come on, you're hurt, we have to get you checked out."
"No!" Isaac starts to shake his head and ends up gasping in pain, cupping his hand over his eye. "Please, Scott."
"Isaac." Scott's voice is soft and very sad. "I'm sorry man. You have to let us take you."
"I said no." Isaac sounds like he's about to cry. "I just need a place to crash until he calms down, please Scott, please, you can't, please" -
"Isaac, stop." Scott reaches out and pulls Isaac to him, his arms wrapping around him tightly in an embrace so Isaac can't get away. "I know you're scared but I need you to trust me, okay? Can you do that for me?"
Isaac lets out a whimper and drops his head to Scott's shoulder. "I don't know."
Lydia bites the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to cry either. She's well aware of the parallel, that this could've easily been her, broken and bloody in Scott's arms.
"I know you can do it." Scott's talking very calmly, edging Isaac forward without letting him go. "I'm right here, I won't let anyone hurt you. You know me Isaac, you know that I'll keep you safe. You can trust me."
Scott nods to Lydia and she runs ahead, unlocking the door for him so Scott can slide into the backseat with Isaac while Lydia gets into the front and starts the car. She doesn't even make it down the block before Isaac leans forward in his seat. "Turn around!" he begs. "Lydia, turn around!"
"Don't!" Scott orders. "Don't listen to him."
"Let me out!" Isaac yells, and Lydia cries out when Isaac throws his whole body forcefully against his door. "Let me out, let me out!"
"Isaac, stop! Stop it!" From the review mirror Lydia can see Scott reach across the middle seat to grab Isaac, wrestling with him, pulling him away from the door.
Lydia pulls up to a red light and brakes. Isaac crumples over, sobbing, a steady stream of please, please, please, falling from his lips as he kicks the back of her seat.
"Isaac." Scott is bent over him, getting his hands under his shoulders and pulling Isaac back so he gets trapped against Scott's chest. "Stop, you're going to hurt yourself!"
"He's going to find me!" Isaac gasps, struggling in Scott's hold. "He's going to find me, he's going to be so mad"-
"He won't get near you," Scott growls. "I swear Isaac, you know what I can do, he's not hurting you ever again."
The light turns green.
Lydia can see Isaac go limp against Scott as she turns onto the main road that leads to the hospital. He's crying, soft little whimpers while Scott wraps his arms around Isaac's chest, talking quietly in his ear. Isaac, Isaac, trust me. It's okay; it's going to be okay. Trust me.
Lydia's hands are clenching the steering wheel so hard her fingers are cramping up. She breezes through another green light, listening as the rattle of Isaac's strangled breathing gets worse the more he cries.
"Scott," she can hear him snuffle quietly. "Will you...ask…give me..?"
When Lydia glances in the review mirror Scott's expression is dark and worried, one of his hands spread flat over Isaac's forehead to keep him still against Scott's shoulder. "Let's cross that bridge when we get to it, okay?" he says tightly.
When she gets to the hospital Lydia pulls around to the emergency room entrance and parks curbside. Scott gets out of the backseat and has to coax Isaac out of the car, holding his hands out to make sure Isaac doesn't fall, and props him up against a bench. Scott taps on the passenger side window and Lydia rolls it down for him, blinking rapidly against a swell of tears.
"Thanks for the ride," he says. "And for taking him to me."
Lydia has to swallow and reach down to pinch the meat of her thigh so she doesn't cry. "He was hurt," she says dumbly, like it's not obvious. "He needed you."
Scott sighs and thumps gently on the roof of the car. "Get home safe, okay?"
"Okay," she says, but she doesn't shift the car back into drive until Scott and Isaac make it inside.
She drives home on autopilot, throat aching like she might spontaneously burst into tears. Lydia turns the radio on and dials the volume up to ear shattering, screams out the lyrics as she drives. When she makes it back home she doesn't even remember how she got there, if she was speeding, what route she took.
Lydia tiptoes inside her dark house, toes off her sneakers and sneaks upstairs to her room. She peels off her tights and lies down on her bed, still in her dress. Her curtains are open and moonlight is filtering in through the window. She still needs to wash her face, brush her teeth, change out of her dress, but she's exhausted and shaking so she settles for using a makeup removing wipe and combs her hair up in a bun with her fingers. She pulls her knees up to her chest and lets her eyes shut.
She doesn't expect to fall asleep so quickly but it's the adrenaline crash, she shifts easily into sleep, without even being aware of it.
She dreams of a garden made out of organs, bloody beating hearts pushing up through the dirt. Roses the color of a day old bruise, rust tinted water raining down from a colorless sky. She wakes up without her alarm, jackknifing upright with a strangled scream.
It rushes back to her in a frenzied stream of memory: Isaac, his face, his fear, Scott, holding Isaac like a frightened child in the backseat of her car, murmuring promises of safety and reassurance.
She blinks around her room, disoriented, wondering what it was that woke her up and realizes she forgot to shut her curtains.
Sunlight, filtering through the glass, falling across the bedspread like a blessing, a sign from above, some divine offering. Lydia tilts her face back and feels the warmth of the light on her skin like she's been chosen, redeemed, gifted a second chance.
She lies back against her pillows and just breathes, lets herself feel it. Lets the light inside her, lets it cleanse her, fill her up from the inside out.
She gives in, lets it roll over her, through her, until her alarm goes off an hour later and she rises like a flower eager to greet the day, like a phoenix unfolding from the ashes.
Like a girl reborn.