So I was having a drunk heart to heart last night with one of my friends from high school... he's loved the same girl since like ninth grade and even though she broke his heart, got married and had a kid with someone else.. he doesn't believe anyone will ever compare and he stopped looking for love, at twenty freaking two... and I thought I was cynical. But I sadly immediately compared that to Stiles... and thought this up in my head over a bottle of Moscato. UHGGG. I CAN'T HELP THIS. I don't want to like them... sorry!
I sat rotating my phone between my fingertips. I was waiting, yet again, for a message I wasn't going to get. I don't know what the hell is going on with Lydia. She stopped coming to school, stopped responding to my texts and now, lost any trace of the strawberry blonde I know and love. Something is definitely wrong with her and I have no clue where to start, where to begin to help her. I groaned and let my head fall into my crossed arms on the table. I was in the half hazard library. Construction started almost immediately after Jackson destroyed it last week. I guess one of the bonuses of having a crazy werwolf hunting bastard as your principal. I felt the chair next to me pull out, and someone soundlessly sit in it. I didn't want to look up, I had promised myself I wouldn't move, think, or breathe too much until I thought of a plan to fix Lydia. But was she even broken? With my eyes still closed I saw her in my mind, on Monday, the last day she showed up to school this week, her hair was up in a sloppy pony tail, the strawberry blonde curls lanky and thin. They didn't have their usual glow and vibrant polished appearance. And don't even like me get started on her eyes, they were cold. They had never been so cold. The green pools dulled and dead. She was homely and it worried me. It worried me to no end.
"Stiles." A voice broke my thoughts.
Her voice. I sighed, I didn't want to lose concentration, but I couldn't ignore her, not now, not after everything that had happened last week. She trusted me now, and trust wasn't something to take lightly.
"Erica." My voice was rough and scratchy, like I hadn't talked in days. Had I?
"Are you okay?" She asked quietly.
"Yeah." I sighed, completely unconvincing.
"Is this about," She paused, hesitant. Something I haven't seen from her in a while.
"Her?" Erica finished, her voice even lower than before.
I rubbed my lips together and let my hands rest on my thighs.
I nodded, looking into her eyes, big, brown and innocent.
That's a first.
"There is something going on with her."
Erica stiffened. "Of the supernatural relevance?"
I shook my head and looked at my hands that I pulled back onto the table.
"No, very normal circumstances." I concluded, but honestly, I wasn't sure.
"She knows we're all lying to her, and she feels like she has no one."
Erica nodded. "Stiles, I know you don't want my opinion but-"
"No, no I do." I jumped. No one else seemed to care right now.
"Lydia is strong, and she'll get through this, without you."
Her voice was cold, detached and a bit cynical. I found myself glaring.
"She has no one." I pointed out crudely.
"She has done this to herself."
I laughed then, despite the anger that raged through me. The ever present need to protect Lydia.
This was such a parallel to Jackson. The way I jumped at the chance to get him out of my life.
Erica was acting the way I had. Erica was acting out of jealousy. I felt terrible that it was a refreshing sound, the sharpness, the glowered tone of her voice, the fire in her eyes. I cleared my throat and looked away from her. I wanted to defend Lydia, tell her that it was us, all her friends that made her this way, but while I was about to start up an argument with a temperamental she-wolf, I couldn't find the words to voice my righteous opinion. Sure, we were all lying to Lydia, it was wrong but essential. She was the one that closed herself off, the one that wouldn't talk to anyone about what she was feeling, I tried, I tried so hard to help her, but that was not justifiable. I should have fought harder.
I looked back up at Erica, with her soft curly hair and big brown eyes.
"You don't understand." I answered, a bit reluctantly.
She smiled then, sharply. All her features and actions so sharp and purposeful.
"Maybe I don't understand Stiles, but what I don't understand more is that you can't see past this, past her. God. Lydia will never love you. Lydia strings you along and cannot see how great you really are. Maybe she never will see it. I wish she could, I wish she could see what I see when I look at you."
I blinked. What else could I do really?
Erica wasn't quiet about the feelings she claimed to have for me, but what was I supposed to do? Lydia was it, Lydia was the only girl I had thought of for years, upon years, upon years. Those feelings weren't just going to go away because a beautiful and confident girl was showing me some attention. I wasn't going to just drop everything for Erica. I felt for her, I sympathized with this whole backwards situation, because she deserved someone great too, she deserved someone who could look at her and see at the things that though I could see, I wasn't appreciating. I smiled at her but she glared.
"Just don't, Stiles. Okay. Just don't."
She stood and stared at me, like she was going to say something.
Erica licked her lips and smirked a bit, an action that was completely sexy. Wait, did I just say that?
"Just remember, Catwoman gets her man."
Then she was gone.
I sighed to myself.
"Her Batman." I mumbled to the air around me before my head fell into my hands.