I sit straight up when my phone rings. My breath sucks in deep and wet like I'm swallowing water. Lydia's picture comes up on the screen and it blares louder than it normally does when I'm fully awake. I don't answer; I'm too busy trying not to have a panic attack. My skin's overly sensitive, my face is sweating and my hairs are standing up. What did I just see? Inside Lydia's mind? Into her dream world and things she doesn't want anyone to see? That bit with Malia and I- My phone buzzes off of my table with texts and it rings again, a deep techno I don't recognize. Lydia's picture is still on the screen. I lean over on my bed, suddenly a little afraid to reach near the dark space that lives under my mattress. I answer and all I hear is a white hot bubbling scream. It reaches pitches I've never heard; can't hear. The octaves go up and down, wavelengths of noise that crack my speakers and fuzz the sound.
"Lydia?" I call into the microphone. Her scream cuts off in a sighed whimper. I pull the phone closer to my mouth and say her name again. I look at the screen. It's black, the battery light is off, and the buttons don't vibrate when I press them. I realize my phone has been dead since yesterday. I never charged it. Lydia is speaking a breathy cry now, barely audible but all around me. The room goes quiet, no computer buzzing, no warm sound of light bulbs, no creatures outside. Before I know it I'm pulling shoes on and running to my jeep. The night is dark and humid now in the early hours of the morning.
I open Lydia's front door, not bothering to knock. Deputy Parrish is inside standing with Lydia near the stairs. "Stiles…I couldn't get ahold of you and I heard Lydia scream so I came here because I thought…" He pulls his lip in and Lydia walks closer to me. "Stiles, your father's been shot." My ears pop when I hear the words, they ring and ring, swirling in the middle of my stomach, making me want to puke.
Parrish is talking to me through thick cotton, holding my arms so I don't fall over. Lydia's at my side, anchoring me to my life. "He's in the hospital, they're taking care of him." I don't answer Parrish, I turn to Lydia.
"I can't…I can't…" I'm holding my throat. She's starring me straight in the face, worried as could be.
"Stiles, you need to try. Breathe with me. You know what happened last time, at Derek's." But I can't breathe, because my throats closing up and my eyes are being blinded and there's nothing colder than my hands and feet right now…I hear the wind blow outside, the cracking of branches. Then the rain comes down hard on Lydia's roof, on her windows. I'm suddenly aware of how angry I am, how upset I am. Whoever shot my father… Why didn't Lydia tell me Malia and I were upsetting her? Why can't anyone help me? Did my father fight back? I yell. Thunder rocks the floors. And I don't want it to stop. I want it to destroy this build-up of things; things that torture me and are so heavy on my shoulders. I want it to tear trees in half, houses in half and then chew them up and spit the pieces out. Why did I have to be the one to see her die? And why did he hate me so much after it happened? It hurt me too.
It hurt me too.
My body's so exhausted but I keep yelling, keep screaming until the lightning is only two seconds apart. "Stiles, stop!" I open my eyes long enough to see Lydia in the corner, arms wrapped around her bare knees. Parrish is covering her head.
I whisper to myself. "Wake up, Stiles," remembering my earlier days as a shadow of myself; someone I didn't know, someone I had no power over. Her windows shatter and I'm standing right in the middle of it, rain pricking my skin in cold touches, mixing with the heat of the room, making me sick to my stomach with temperature change.
I want revenge.
Lydia's phone is out and she's speaking into it, panicking but I can't hear what she's saying because my ears are ringing like a million bells.
Minutes pass, more time, more destruction when I hear my name growled in a low, demanding voice. I can feel his eyes on the back of my head and a fire collecting in my stomach, begging my thoughts to retract, to listen to my alpha, to obey.
Scott roars and it's like an earthquake in my chest. His hand is the warmest touch on my body. "Stop, stop, Stiles," is echoing in my head, I can feel it bouncing around in my arms, in my legs. I breathe in deep and pull it all back. Scott is on me in an instant, picking glass out of my skin, asking me what happened, but Lydia is still in the corner. Scott helps me stand. "Why did you do this? "He asks. I walk to Lydia and Parrish on shaky legs, assessing the damage; the broken windows, the floor boards pulled up.
"I'm so sorry, Lydia," I cry, "for this, for-"
"She needs you," Lydia says, eyes wide.
She screams.
When her scream dies off, the room whistles. It's all quiet, allowing her to hear what she needs to. No noises of breath, heartbeats blurry. A growl, something painful and doglike. Malia.
"She was running in the Reserve, heading to the hospital for your dad," Kira looks at me.
"Go!" Parrish yells and we're running out the front door. My father is fine, my father is fine. I jump on the back of Scott's bike with him and he kicks it to life.
"Which side of the reserve?" I call over the sound.
"East. Closest to the hospital." The bike skids over wet pavement, rain water spatters our pant-legs.
"Malia!" We yell into the woods when we enter the trails of Beacon Hills Reserve. Malia doesn't use the trails when she goes on hikes so we start walking. "Malia!" The ground is slick, branches fallen and mud puddles all around. I notice a break in the leaves; branches ripped off the trunks. The mud on the ground has lines in it, like something slid with it down a hill. When I walk towards it I notice other things; things that make my heart race.
Wet blood on already wet rocks, material pulled to shreds on branches sticking upright out of the ground. I look down into the hole the mudslide created.
Malia lays on her back, jacket sleeves torn up, and hair tied and twisted around her hands.
I'm sliding down on my knees in the same seconds, catching myself on my arms so I don't run into her. I grab her under her arms and pull her head into my lap. I take my hoodie off and wrap her small body in it. "Scott! Scott! Oh my god, Malia, oh god, I'm so sorry, oh god oh god." I'm hyperventilating and rocking back and forth, rubbing her face, trying to wake her up. She's breathing but no responding.
"We can't keep her on the bike. We can't even really get her back up this hill." I can only see the blur of Scott's skin, the green in the trees through my blurry eyes. I did this. I made her slip.
"Why isn't she healing?" I sob.
"If she hit her head, she could still be concussed." He lifts her out of my hands. "I'm faster." I can only hope he doesn't fall on his way there. Malia's head bobs back and forth, her body suspended in his arms. "Hey," he turns to me. "I'll get her there." Scott makes sure her head and neck are stable before running carefully between the fallen trees. I sit in the dirt and burry my head between my knees. My cries come out in catching squeaks, ugly sobs crack my chest and my eyelashes stick together. Rain doesn't come, it doesn't cover my tears or the sounds of my meltdown. I don't deserve to be helped this time.