a banshee and a stiles

“She’s gone,” he said softly in the middle of the night. It was two in the morning, and Lydia had felt him stirring all night. She had tried to go back to sleep in hopes he’d shake it off, but after twenty minutes, she gave in and sat up. Hearing him speak, her eyebrows furrowed together as she watched her husband fight with his thoughts. “Stiles, what are you talking about?” She asked him carefully, steadily, not sure what to expect from him.

“My mom, I just.... Every year I have this dream, that feels so so real but every time I wake up and just get upset again. It’s her, she feels like she’s right here next to me, then I reach out to touch her and I wake up.” Stiles explained, his eyes studying the comforter below him that he tangled up into a ball due to his stirring.

Lydia sighed at this. She knew he always had a hard time coping with the death of his mother, but lately, it had become so bad she didn’t know how to help anymore. “Stiles, are you still taking your medication?” Lydia asked him softly. He had been prescribed anti-depressants three months ago, and she always noticed how he never seemed to pick up the bottles from the pharmacy, but she didn’t want him to feel like she was pressuring him.

“Stiles, I don’t want you thinking that you have a problem and that you’re going to be dependent on this medication. You aren’t, but you aren’t in a place right now where you can afford to not take it. You need your sanity back, I know these past few months have been hard for you, but I don’t have another way to help you anymo-” The redhead cut herself off as she watched a vision in the corner of their bedroom move. Standing up without explaining to him what she saw, Lydia walked towards the corner as the body approached her.

“Why have I never seen you before?” She questioned, looking the figure up and down. “I didn’t want him to know.” The woman answered, looking down at Lydia with weak eyes. “I’ve been sending him those dreams, hoping one day he’d wake up and realize I’ve always been here. But, he never has.” The woman’s tone is gentle and calm, but you could hear the hurting behind her words. 

“Lydia, who are you talking to?” Stiles questioned as he too began to get up from the bed.

“You need me?” “I needed you.” “You needed me?” “I needed you.”

     Those, I think, are the most painful three words I could ever think of hearing. It’s like someone saying that no, they needed you at a time, but you let them down. They needed you to keep them grounded, but they found their own anchor because you were too busy. They needed you to help them, but you didn’t pay attention, so they got help from someone else. That sentence? Pretty much the last thing I wanted to ever hear from Lydia Martin, but the look she gave me when she said those words? If I didn’t feel like I just got hit by an eighteen wheeler and bitten by a radioactive spider within the same twenty seconds, well, let me tell you. Twenty year old Lydia Martin turned on her heel and walked away, the only noise in my ears the clicking of her heels as my face flared up in red heat. Embarrassment or heartbroken, one couldn’t tell.      Her eyes, usually glittering with happiness and sarcasm, were glittering with salty tears threatening to break the surface. I know I didn’t imagine her lower lip trembling, either. She made sure to make eye contact with me, just because she knew it’d hit me harder that way. I could tell she didn’t want me to see her look weak, to see her cry. I never wanted to be the reason why she cried.      Lydia Martin isn’t the type of girl to show how she really feels, so for her to even show that much emotion says something. But, at the same time, for her to hold those emotions in? Be afraid to cry around me, afraid to fall apart? That really did it for me, right there. The fact that this girl, the girl I’ve been madly in love with and after all the craziness that is our lives finally said yes to letting us be together, wouldn’t let me see her crumble? I didn’t think I could let someone down that much.      I finally had her. We’d been dating for almost a year now, after years of working together to fix whatever supernatural mess was wrecking havoc on our town. I never gave up on her, no matter how many douchebag boys she took home with her or how many times she doubted herself. She never gave up on me, either. I never thought I was enough for anyone, I didn’t think I would be worthy of a Lydia Martin.      I wasn’t the hot werewolf on the University of California Berkeley lacrosse team - no, that team was full of boys like Jackson and Isaac and Scott was a first string attacker on the team. I, however, didn’t make the cut. It wasn’t a big deal though - it gave me more time to focus on my studies and getting a real job during my free time at college. Besides, the Jeep won’t pay for itself to get fixed, will it? Anyway, like I was saying. The team’s full of Jackson Whittemore’s with great bone structure, piercing eyes, and strong arms that looked like they would hold you through the night. Well, at least that’s what Malia said, anyway.      I wasn’t the smartest in my classes, not anymore. Here I had to compete with other students who had the same grades as me, but more time to focus on getting those grades so they could do the actual readings whereas I would be skimming through a spark notes version on my way to lecture because the night before I was with my friends fighting off some shadow guy again. I didn’t have time to study our lecture notes when I was chasing down fairies who got into this war with a clan of witches down the road.      I wasn’t special. Not that I thought I ever was, because in high school I was usually the one being pushed into the lockers. I always knew where I ranked in comparison to other boys who attended UC Berkley, but Lydia Martin had chosen me, not them. There had to be a reason for that.      “I can depend on you. I can trust you. I know you’re here to help me, defend me, be on my side. I know you won’t take advantage of me, you’ll let me rant to you, and go off on tangents about things you don’t even give the slightest of fucks about. You’re Stiles. You’ve always had my back, and you never let me down.” That’s what Lydia used to say to me. Now, standing in the middle of the courtyard at Berkley frozen for five minutes in thought after my girlfriend walked away from me, I started doubting that I’ll ever hear that from her again.

     “Ugh! You help a kid once with a sociology paper, and then you’re forced to sign his god damn petitions for the rest of your college career?” I ranted, throwing my hands in the air in annoyance before settling them back down on the table sitting between my friend and I in the college cafeteria. God bless college. People come here to express themselves, learn who they really are, grow into their skin, and all that other bullshit. Finding yourself and blah blah blah, big fish in a small pond, whoop de do. Everyone feels a little too comfortable being on a college campus and driving other people insane with their activism and passion for saving the world and whatever else they do. If you ask me, they need to learn how to channel their energy into something more productive like actually going to their classes or fulfilling their requirements so they can graduate on time.      Rolling my eyes, I reminded myself to stop talking to myself so much and to start focusing on the actual world in front of me. Allison, whom I was having lunch with before our two o’clock classes, just snickered in amusement at the apparent one-sided conversation I was having with myself. “Lydia, relax. He’s just passionate about something, which is a trait I thought you out of anyone would admire more than you would berate it.” The brunette pointed out with an arched eyebrow before popping a grape into her mouth. If anyone was going to admire someone for sticking to their passions, it would be me, unfortunately. I’m the only female in pretty much all of my college courses and I’m usually asked if I’m in the right class about thrice a week. If anyone would feel out of place, it would be me, but I push on with my studies because I have a love for them… which is why Stiles is so frustrating to me. “Yes, I do admire that, but I don’t admire that he tries to bother everyone else about it. Why can’t he just keep it to himself?” I challenged my friend as I stirred my silver spoon in my vanilla greek yogurt. Turns out, I spent majority of our lunch break ranting about Stiles rather than eating because by three o’clock, my stomach was growling for the food I had to leave on my plate so I could get to my class on time.      Securing my favorite spot in the library after my class, I was intending to get some more work done so I would be ahead of schedule for my classes. I had a few papers coming up due within this month, and I wanted to get them done earlier rather than later. Settling down my purse and laptop, I made myself comfortable in the cozy chairs we have that I’m so grateful for (having fell asleep studying a few too many times here). I set up camp with my water bottle, a kind bar, my notebooks, and a few highlighters and pens in different colors alongside my textbook I’d be citing for the paper I was going to start working on. Taking out my planner, I wrote down all the tasks I had completed for the day so far and sighed with relief. It felt so nice being able to cross things off my list, it was like a weight was coming off my shoulders. Basking in the glow of feeling accomplished at life for once, I was interrupted by a clipboard being dropped down on the table across from me along with a tattered spiral notebook and a boy sounding quite defeated by his huffing. Swallowing hard, I slowly raised my gaze and was met by none other than Stiles Stilinski. To be fair, there was a few other chairs sitting at my table, so I shouldn’t of been that shocked someone else would dare sit with me. But him, of all people on this campus? God surely had to be kidding. Something was out of place, and scanning up and down his face, I realized. I’ve never seen the boy look so…distressed.      “Are you okay?” Probably wasn’t the best way to start a conversation, I’ll admit, but I didn’t know what else to say. I let a few seconds pass by and glanced back up at the boy, who was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. “Do you ever feel like people don’t have the same concerns as you? Like because something isn’t happening in front of their faces, they don’t care?” The brunette asked me, which took me a little off guard considering I thought he’d just answer with a firm nod and I’d be able to get back to my work. Realizing he was actually looking for an answer from me, I licked my lower lip before beginning to speak. “Not everyone has the same heart as you, Stiles. Some people just don’t understand how something could possibly effect them if it’s not currently happening to them, you know?” I stated slowly, keeping my eyes on his face to see what his reaction was going to be. He’d probably huff and roll his eyes because let’s be real, that was the most cringe-worthy thing I could’ve said. Instead, he nodded his head eagerly and gave me this look like he was asking me to continue. “I mean… you have to keep in mind, people here are just trying to get by with their own work. They have their own course load to worry about, part time jobs that they need to get to, and extracurriculars. Not everyone has time to sit and worry about what could possibly go wrong with the world in the next twenty four hours…” As I continued, I became fully aware of how hypocritical I sounded. Here’s me, the prissy strawberry blonde who was ranting four hours ago about how damn tiresome his petitions and constant begging of signatures was. Seeing him like this, though, so defeated and almost heartbroken - I realized that maybe I should be a little more sensitive to him and his annoying activist causes.      Usually, there’s a group of us that goes to dinner. There’s Allison and Scott, Malia and Danny, and sometimes Aiden and Ethan come too. Scott is on the same club baseball team as Stiles, which is how I first met him. They’re friendly, but not friends that would spend time with each other outside of class or athletics. I came to conclusion that the reason why Stiles was always petitioning was because he was trying to get someone to care - whether about the cause or about him. Stiles Stilinski doesn’t have many friends here - his roommate who Allison had a thing with earlier this semester said they don’t even talk half the time, just cohabitate. That night, we had an extra guest at dinner. He wasn’t that bad when you got to know him, but I had only had brief conversations with him as we were in the same sociology class and he asked me to help him with a few papers throughout last semester. Seeing the way this boy’s eyes lit up when he spoke about environmental conservation and wildlife preservation and how our natural resources will continue to deplete unless we find an alternative made something feel like it was igniting inside of me.      Maybe in time, I’ll help Stiles get some more signatures on his petitions.

Here is a master list of links of my writing that’s been posted on this blog so far. I know I post a lot of photos and stuff like that, so some of these might’ve gotten lost in the clutter. Until I find a better way to organize this blog, this is what we have so far.;

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“I Needed You.”

“Petitions.” 

“If You Don’t Risk Anything, You Risk More.”

“Jealousy, Part One.”

“Jealousy, Part Two.”

“One Day.”

“Dreams.”

“Kappa Delta Boys.”

“Congratulations, Stilinski.”

“Don’t Tell Me You’re Afraid Of The Doctor.”

“Don’t You Dare Unzip Your Pants.”

“It Just Wasn't Today.”

“Twins.”

“The Antique Store.”

“A Cookie For You.”

“The Married Life.”

“Next Time, Take The Stairs.”

“Dancing With Cupid Tonight.”

“It Showed.”

“My Plan.”

“When I Let Go.”

“A Change.”

“Halloween.”