#marcyanomaly

Everything was numb.

Lydia was kneeling in the grass outside the Hale house, the fire still burning behind her. She could barely smell the smoke, but it felt like it was suffocating her, overwhelming her senses, leaving it so there was nothing but the feeling was all around her and inside her.

That must have been what Scott felt.

With that thought Lydia felt another sob wrack her body. Curling in on herself, her arms tightening around her waist, she felt like she was physically trying to hold herself together. Her phone buzzed somewhere in the distance, where she’d thrown it in a fit of anger. Most likely her friends were responding to the hysteric text she’d sent out. She’d told them where to go, though. There was no reason for her to try and respond. It’s not like her hands could stop shaking enough to reply anyway. Somewhere between here and her car were her heels, but Lydia could bring herself to care about them. Who needed a pair of heels when Scott was… Scott was…

Scott was dead.

Letting out a small half cry, half scream of frustration, Lydia ran her hands through her hair roughly and held on. She kept replaying his voice over and over in her head. She’d been there, right there, and couldn’t save him. It was all her fault. Leaning forward until she was curled up on the ground, Lydia let a few more cries escape into the grass. Surely someone would show up eventually. They’d worry about the texts or hear her scream and come to get her. Because without help she’s sure she’d never leave this spot. With a slightly hysterical laugh, she let out a small whisper.