It was a little after three o’clock in the morning and there Lydia stood, outside of Andrew’s apartment. Her arms wrapped herself, fingertips clutching at the fabric of her cardigan like she was holding on tightly to her grip on reality, balancing her phone in her left hand as she did so. A couple of moments before, she sent her boyfriend a message, asking if he was awake but to no response. It was stupid to be stood out here anyway, looking the way she did: hair somewhat disheveled, eyes rimmed red which implied she’d been crying (which she had -- out of frustration and out of letting everything build on top of her until she cracked), dark circles underneath them due to lack of sleep, looking rather pale and peaky. Was it selfish to disturb him this late of night? Absolutely. However Lydia was borderline desperate to be around someone’s comforting presence and he was the only person she could think of right now, that she wanted to be with. She would apologise to him, at length, later. She would make it up to him, Lydia promised herself of that.
Isolating herself from the world wasn’t a good sign; people kept showing up unannounced or she’d accidentally come across them when trying to sneak around town without being spotted and it seemed like most people were beginning to see through the facade she was putting on. Even replying to texts at a delayed pace, she knew that other people - even Andrew - were sensing something was wrong. And without another question, she clenched a fist and rapped lightly against the door, quickly wiping at her face as she felt some stray tears trickle down her cheeks, waiting to see if he would open the door whilst also partially wondering if she should just go home. No matter how much that thought came to mind, she couldn’t find the energy to move her feet. So instead, she waited.
@andrew-hale
