there was an ache in her chest, and she wished it gone. they weren’t a thing, yet there she sat at the edge of her bed anyway, tears swelling down from red lids. she’d rubbed them so much the last half hour that they were sore now —- black mascara smeared in every which way, but she didn’t care. at least this way, if anyone from the downstairs party ventured into the room, they’d leave in a hurry. no one liked to deal with crying girls.
what she hadn’t been expecting when the door opened, was the familiar face of the one who put her in such a state. or maybe she had been expecting it —- just with a pretty little number attached to their arm instead. maybe that’s what she really wanted though. wanted them to bring some bitch in, set them down on lydia’s bed —- and fuck them where she could watch. maybe that was what she wanted, because that would have been an excellent we’re over than anything else. then again, they aren’t really together. are they ?? none of that really matters in the end, because their arms are empty handed —- so don’t ask her how that makes her feel.
looking up, pale fingers rush over the smeared remains of mascara, one last time —- and lydia martin fought the urge to run. from her own damn room. the only problem was, fighting that flight or fight instinct made her feel sick, and with all the alcohol in her system from the party —- from her birthday party —- she nearly threw up on the spot. she wasn’t looking for confrontation, and she didn’t not want to talk.
all she could think about was the way the other’s hands had danced on that pretty girl’s neck. how her eyes had shut in bliss, like it was something more than what it was. can still see that hand reaching down along a smooth knee, bare, long legs slipping open like they were going to fuck right then and there for all the party to watch. that feeling coiling around in her gut, something akin to REJECTION, but more accurately, simply, jealousy. jealous that it wasn’t their hand on her knee —- that they weren’t whispering whatever filthy words into her ears. and maybe she was being stupid. maybe she was being a brat. god, they aren’t even together. she knows !! but, well, it’s her birthday, isn’t it ?? shouldn’t she have been made to feel special —- the one supposed to get fucked backwards on her bed —- not finding herself sitting there alone instead, crying ??
❝ i’m mad at you, ❞ she finally manages. voice dry and sad and cracking around the edges, pale arms crossed tightly across her chest. ❝ like, really mad. ❞
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