Author's Note: I've had this stuck in my head and wanted to get it up before the new episode. Please enjoy!
"Anger and agony
Are better than misery."
—Three Days Grace, "Pain"
"What do you want from me?" Her lip is split, blood dribbles down until it drops onto the warehouse floor. The lights in this place are dim, but she's having a hard time focusing her gaze. Her lungs push against her ribs and she hisses in pain as she tries to breathe shallower. Her body aches and the rope around her wrist bites into her wrists. She's trapped here with a monster that wears the face of the boy that she loves. The nogitsune smirks at her and she remembers yet again, that this isn't Stiles that faces her, with a bloody crowbar in his hands. He has taken her and it's been hours since she's seen daylight or her friends. She's exhausted, but she can't let her defenses drop.
"You're very feisty for a banshee." The monster tells her, turning the crowbar over in his hands. He's being deliberately casual and it puts Lydia on edge.
"Let me go." She doesn't know how many times she's demanded that very thing since she awoke here, but she won't let this thing break her. She'll be strong. She'll fight. Lydia Martin isn't afraid of anything, after all.
"Ah, Lydia," He practically purrs, placing the tip of the crowbar on her cheek and using it to push her hair back. Bruises litter her cheek, a result of his initial beating. "You're very beautiful, you know? I could see why Stiles would be so taken with you." She doesn't flinch away. She won't show weakness, not now.
"You can't win." She informs him, calmly though her heart keeps fluttering and her brain knows that she's on the verge of falling into a panic. She can barely breathe without feeling pain slice into her being. She's trapped here with no way out and no way of knowing if help is coming.
"You know," His gaze meets her and for a moment, she thinks it's the real Stiles. She wants him to find her and save her. She wants her pack here to bail her out and make the darkness leave. She wants Stiles' reassuring voice and strong arms to pull her up from this chair. She wants to be saved. "Banshees are meant to be alone, did you know that?"
She doesn't want to die.
"In certain mythology," He continues, ignoring her silent pleas. "They are women who were murdered or died in child birth and they come back to wail at the loss of someone important." The crowbar dropped down to her neck and he pressed it hard on her, making her breath wheeze. "I wonder, who will wail for you?"
"What do you want?" She manages to gasp out. She won't give this monster the satisfaction of seeing her scared. She could do this; she could hang on. Help had to be coming soon. She had to have faith.
"Do you love Stiles?" He asks her abruptly and she just glares at him. The crowbar moves away and she sucks in oxygen greedily. She won't answer his questions nor give him the satisfaction of her responses. Part of her mind—the ever rational part, she concludes—believes that she will die here. He will kill her or she'll simply bleed out due to internal injuries. She's barely keeping herself together now and her mind will soon take the choice out of her hands and shut down any processes it deems not needed. Her consciousness hangs on a thread and it is only through sheer will power and adrenaline that she is hanging together.
"What do you want?" She practically growls, deep down pleased with herself that she can still muster up a protective façade.
"Because Stiles slept with Malia, you know."
It's like a slap across the face. Stiles—her Stiles, though she never told him—slept with another girl? She just always assumed that he would wait for her. How foolish could she have been? This wasn't a fairy tale! She always knew this day would come, but she had never expected it to hurt so much. Stiles cared for some other girl?
So, her fate as a banshee was sealed then.
She would be alone. Forever, just like the banshees before her. How stupid was she to think that she could've been any different? Stiles would settle down and make some other girl as happy as he made her and Lydia would forever be on the sidelines, watching and waiting.
Why was it her fate to be alone?
"Aw, don't cry, Lydia." She hadn't realized a tear moved down her cheek until the liquid reached her lips. The nogitsune kneels down, its face twisted in a parody of sympathy. "It's not your fault you have to be alone." He smirks again and it sends chills down her spine. "We all have our part to play."
"What do you want from me?" She whispers not trusting a louder voice to not break. Cold fingers grab her jaw and force her face to lock onto his gaze.
"I want you to scream." He hisses. "Scream so loudly that poor little Stiles will hear you and know that it is too late." He lets her go, only for a knife to suddenly appear by her throat. His lips move to her ear as the knife cuts her skin and blood wells up. "Scream, Lydia, because you're going to die here." With the strong conviction of his words, she knows its true, but she suppresses the urge building up within her.
See, that's the problem you don't care about getting hurt.
That's not true, she always cared. But she put on a façade because she knew that Stiles would always be there to back her up, to let her know when it was okay to cry.
I think you look beautiful when you cry.
He was the only one who had said that to her. He was the only one who made her forget about her troubles and just live in the moment. He made her smile, made her laugh and made her feel like she was a normal teenager.
But . . . he was no longer hers. Malia now had a piece of him and even if he didn't care for her, Lydia wasn't sure if she would be able to move on from this. Stiles would no longer be just hers. And yes, it was hypocritical of her, she got that, but because of Stiles, she had wanted to be a better person. She always believed he would be there, waiting for the moment she realized she was ready to be with him. But now . . .
Maybe all she was is a banshee.
Maybe she is destined to be alone.
"Stiles." A sob builds up within her; grief overwhelming her senses. The knife cuts in deeper and the smell of cooper reaches her nose. She wants to jerk away, but her body is paralyzed.
This is it.
There's a flash of pain as the knife plunges downward now into her chest and a shrill voice ringing in her ears. She only realizes later, as her head limply falls to the side, eyes glazed over, that it is her screaming.
Funny, she thinks as her eyes shut, she can still hear Stiles' voice even now.
Even at the end.
Author's Note: Putting this complete for now, but I do have a plan for a second chapter to wrap things up. If you are interested, let me know. If not, I'll just leave it as it. Please review if you have a second! Thanks.