Author's Note: I got so much positive feedback on my other Stydia story that I'm back with another. This one will probably be pretty darn long, cause that's how it's looking in my head. I'm so excited to write this. I really hope you guys enjoy! :)
At first she thought it was Peter Hale, back to torment her. But no. The dark figure that stood in the corner of her bedroom was not a werewolf, a kanima or a human. It was its own species. It was something no one had ever discovered before, she was sure of it. She wanted to scream, to run, to flee. But she couldn't move. As she stared into the grey, molten face of the dark creature, she was frozen in place on her bed, eyes over-brimming with tears and freezing cold. It was as if every bad thing in the world: coldness, fear, darkness...was all wrapped into a six foot tall being that stood, looming in the corner of her room. It didn't move, it didn't speak or breathe. It was silent and still and staring with beady eyes that sent a sharp, icy chill through her entire core.
And she and the dark being stayed like that for the rest of the night.
Lydia was looking at the clock. She was never caught looking at the clock, because more often than not, she enjoyed class. She enjoyed the stimulation that science and math brought to her brain, and the blissful distraction of reading a nice, long book.
But today, she couldn't care less about the difference between ionic and covalent bonds. As she propped her head up on her desk, she felt like she had anchors hanging from her eyelids, pulling them down.
She hadn't slept at all last night - not that that was unusual. But this time, it was the fear that coursed through her veins for a full nine hours straight last night that drained her this morning.
It was as if every bad thing in the world: coldness, fear, darkness...was all wrapped into a six foot tall being that stood, looming in the corner of...
She sat up straight and shook her head, shaking the thought away. She must have been dreaming.
But there was a derisive laughter in her head reminding her of all the things she had seen before, all the things she had been through...but most of all, it was reminding her of the very same dark being she had seen in the fire yesterday after pushing Scott and Stiles out of the way.
The very same one.
As if to save her from drifting just a little further into insanity, the bell rang, and her heart jumped with relief. She wanted to go home and sleep in broad daylight, without the disturbance of something creeping into her room and watching her for nine hours straight. She gathered her books, threw her bag over her shoulder and was the first out of the class.
She groaned. She was hoping she could avoid Stiles for today, but he always seemed to catch up with her.
She turned around in the middle of the hallway and watched as Stiles strode over. A year ago, she wouldn't have stopped at all. She would have kept pushing through the crowds of teenagers, grinding her teeth in irritation. But lately, she and Stiles had become refreshingly close, and she actually found herself interested in what he had to say.
But today was seriously not the day.
"Okay, look," Stiles started as he caught up with her. She braced herself for what was to come. "I know I was kind of distracted by having my face pressed into the pavement to be able to see anything, but I know you saw something yesterday, Lydia. You saw something in the fire."
Lydia decided that the best thing to do to get out of answering to that statement was to return back to her usual self - the one that wasn't completely sleep-deprived and distraught. She rolled her eyes and turned around, pushing her hair over her shoulder and beginning to walk. Stiles, of course, followed her.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Stiles," she said in a weary voice.
"Okay so after everything that happened yesterday, you're still going to keep things from me?" Stiles said, walking beside her almost backwards, trying to look her in the eye.
She was still a little taken aback at how much Stiles' tone has changed with her compared to a year ago. Before, he could hardly pluck up the courage to ask her a simple question in class without offending or annoying her, and now he wasn't afraid of speaking to her in an accusatory and almost exasperated voice. In some respects, this was a relief, but in others, it made her feel small. Less powerful than she used to feel.
Of course, that wasn't the only thing that changed in Stiles. He must have saved the lives of four or more people yesterday at the motel, and almost killed himself in the process.
She almost shuddered at the thought. She could hardly remember what was going through her head the moment she saw the flare rolling in slow motion, a split second before igniting the gasoline.
They're going to die, she thought. She remembered the surge of panic and adrenaline that seized her. Stiles is going to die. Right in front of her. And that was when she bolted, knowing full well she was basically jumping in front of a bullet. But after watching the scene unfold between Stiles and his best friend and the raw emotion rarely seen between two people, her mind was boggled and jumbled and all she could think about was saving a boy that she...
One of her friends. She wouldn't let him die an awful death after that. And after everything he had done that night...after everything she and him had been through that night...
"Lydia," said Stiles, still expecting an answer.
She pulled herself out of her thoughts and stopped walking, much to the annoyance of the students around them, making their way to their next class. Stiles stopped just as abruptly, and she looked up at him. He knew she saw something last night, and knowing him, he wouldn't give it up. He must have noticed how completely dazed she was after tackling him to the ground.
"Stiles, I don't know what I saw, okay? I was obviously in a state of shock, and so were you. Can we just forget about it? Please?"
There was an expression on Stiles' face that made her uncomfortable. Like he was analyzing her. She had a suspicious feeling like she had seen that look on his face before, but never quite took it into consideration. And then his face morphed into a kind of silent plea, like he really didn't want to drop the subject, but also didn't want to push her too far. Like he wished she would just tell him.
It was an expression that she'd never seen on anyone else's face when they looked at her, and it gave her a warm feeling inside knowing that someone was caring about her feelings.
"I just...listen, if you think you saw something weird, you'll tell me right?"
Stiles, of course, already stated that he knew she saw something in the fire, and yet here he was, trusting her. This was where Lydia had to decide whether she wanted to lie to someone who had become one of her best friends. Someone that, apparently, she was willing to die for.
"I'll tell you."
She silently cursed herself as her voice was just a little too high when she spoke. Maybe most people wouldn't have picked up on it, but there was a spark behind Stiles' eyes that seemed to fizzle out and die as she said the words.
She lied. He knew it.
"Okay," he said, softly and simply.
And then he was gone, but not without giving her the slightest touch on the arm that told her he wasn't angry.
It was odd communicating with Stiles. She had recently found out how intelligent he was. Not as intelligent as her, of course, but intelligent enough to hold a conversation with her that didn't make her want to correct his every sentence (as that was usually the case with most people she spoke to.) When she spoke to him, it was all words and theories about the murders in Beacon Hills or whatever else they were investigating together. But there was also a silent communication that only existed between the two of them. Stiles could send her messages with his eyes, and apparently Lydia could answer them with a quirk of her lips or a blink.
For the life of her, she could not figure out how this strange communication worked, but she didn't mind it.
As she stood in the middle of an empty hallway, suddenly she wished she had told him the truth.