The banshee could hear the voices, her ears filled with them, but they were just out of reach to know what they said, yet they were the only thing she could hear. Voices everywhere, slipping in between every crack, following the cold tile walls, under the doors, echoes ringing down the halls, constantly, like an old film being played over and over.
It was maddening.
Lydia held herself, eyes glossy and unfocused, her red hair hanging limp over her shoulders. She properly probably looked like a drowned cat, but it was too much for her to put on her mask every day, that’s why she ended up in the worst place on earth. Eichen House.
“Lydia? Did – did you hear anything I just said?” Scott was sitting in front of her, worry shining out of his eyes. Lydia hated the way he looked at her, as if she was made out of porcelain, as if she’d break by him just being there. But of course she also knew there were truth to his concern.
“I’m sorry, what?” The banshee’s voice was hoarse, barely loud enough to be heard, as close to a whisper as could be. She swallowed and blinked a couple of times before she looked at the boys before her.
“Kira would have come, but she had a session with her mom….”
“And Malia, she-ugh you know she would have come to, but...but she’s not on your visitors list,” Stiles says with a sad smile, while playing with his fingers. He was restless, uncomfortable; his whole demeanour screamed it, loud and red.
Lydia had come to resent his voice, every time it brought her back to the basement. To void. She could feel his breath on her skin, his voice in her ear ‘I’m insatiable.’
A shiver ran down her spine, the hair on the back of her neck standing. Lydia knew she should feel bad for resenting him; feel bad for hating Malia. She just couldn’t deal with listening to Malia try and be human, to small talk and she certainly couldn’t deal with listening to her sister’s and mother’s screams of pure terror and pain, that clung to the coyote girl.
She didn’t feel bad. She didn’t feel bad for anything, because she didn’t feel anything else but and the cold pain gripping her heart.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, nodding and biting her lips, wishing whishing they’d just leave so she could get back to just…. Just what? She did nothing but stare out in space, well beside from screaming and throwing fits.
“You look well,” the werewolf said, smiling reassuring to her, trying to lighten the mood.
“He’s lying; you look like you haven’t slept in days. Lydia is everything okay?” Stiles leaned over the table, his thin fingers drumming the table.
“I-.”
“Don’t say I’m fine, because you’re not,” the boy cut her off, demanding another answer than the standard. They both knew that if the situation were switched, Lydia would demand other answers too. They were both too clever to play games like that.
“I haven’t slept well the last couple of days,” Lydia murmured, pursing her lips and fiddling with her fingers. Telling them the whole truth would only cause more worry than its worth, telling them that she had nightmares, night terrors and that the voices kept her awake, would only make them worry, make them think about her as they would go about their day. She would have them worriless. Half-truths kept them afloat, they all knew there were more to it but not putting words out there would only strengthen the delusion that this, was nothing major.
“Lydia-,” Stiles tried to press, like he always does, because he’s a good boy who wants everyone to be good. Maybe he tried to press because he was tired of their delusion, but it didn’t matter, because Lydia always ended everything when they came to close.
“I think you should go now,” she rose from her seat. This was how it always ended. But this time it was final, because Stiles wasn’t the only one tired of the illusion. Nothing ever happened at their meetings. They did them to feel better about themselves so they could think that they were better people than they really were. “I got you removed from the visitor list.” She turned to walk away.
“Lydia!”
“Lydia, wait, what do you mean you got us removed from the visitor list?” Stiles was shocked, angry even. Scott however was more baffled. It was like playing catch with a your dog, but you didn’t throw the bone, so it gets confused and have no idea what’s happening. He was literally a lost puppy. He was sweet, but naïve.
“Why would you do that?” the puppy asked, while Stiles repeated himself. They were both on their toes, tense and defensive.
“Because I’m tired,” this was harder than she thought. ”I’m so, so tired, I just want to be left alone. I can’t deal with helping you up hold the delusion that you haven’t already moved on one. It’s okay, really it is. Moving on is the good part, so you should do that. Forget all of this and go back to school, be normal.”
“But we’re not normal, Lydia. Nothing in this town is normal! We visit you because we’re concerned and want to help you!” Scott’s voice was reaching a higher pitch, and Stiles had started running his hands through his hair and shifting from one leg to another in frustration.
“Don’t! Don’t be concerned and I don’t want your help. Just leave me the hell alone.” Her voice had gone so loud; it was drawing unwanted attention. The nurses began getting in defensive positions and started to revaluate the situation.
“That is so selfish! We’re not here out of the kindness of out hearts!”
“Stiles-.”
“We’re here because that’s what friends do! They are there for each other, good or bad and it’s stupid to think otherwise. I’m here because I know what you’re going through, because I’m going through it myself. You’re not the only one getting hurt by the way; you’re not the only one going out of your mind, because of what happened. I hate seeing you here and not because you’re my friend, but because I think that it should be me in here, not you. Lydia, you might be losing your mind, but so am I and being here and putting up this façade every damn time is so freaking hard, because it could very well be me in here, rather than you!” Stiles rambled, fumbling and falling over his words. His hands were shaking and he kept looking at her with pure and utter guilt.
Lydia’s throat had closed, pain running through her and water pooling in her eyes. She held herself as if, if she let go, she’d fall apart and never be built up again. Cold clung to her bones, making them glass, whispers crippling towards her.
He didn’t know that she hadn’t just lost her mind a little, but she’s lost her mind fully, biblically. Ragnarock was raging in her head and she had no way to control it.
“I think its time you leave,” she said, her voice had become a whisper, thin and barely there. Before she could look at the two boys, she’d turn around and walked away, with a nurse on each of her side. The banshee could no longer hear anything, nothing but her name being yelled, with pleas and begging.
If she’d just turn around, she’d have seen Stiles frantically trying to get out of the grip of his werewolf friend and a male nurse, she’d have seen the boy broken, shattered.
Lydia would have seen the boy who had been sitting beside his mom, when she died. She’d have seen the corners of his soul and seen it crumble.
