Black Webs

Not About Angels

"You could still be,
what you want to,
what you said you were,
when I met you.

You've got a warm heart,
you've got a beautiful brain,
but it's disintegrating."

xxxxx

t w e n t y - f o u r

L y d i a

Lydia's eyes flew open.

They opened to a dank, dark high-rise ceiling. She felt something cool against her spine, it was when she realized that she was completely restrained that she began to panic. She was strapped to a steel bed, her chest, her feet - she was jammed.

Lydia turned her head; Scott was on the other side of the room, strapped to an identical bed, breathing heavily, his pupils dilated in fear. Everything had a strange dreamy feel to it; she saw things in a foggy blue hue; as if she were wearing tinted glasses.

Scott looked even more distressed than she was; he was struggling against the straps, writhing like a dying fish. Lydia exhaled in frustration.

"Do you actually need me to remind you that you're a werewolf?" she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"We're in Stiles' head." Scott said, like Lydia didn't already know that.

"Yes Captain Obvious," she groaned. "And you're a supernatural creature with supernatural strength."

Scott stopped struggling to gawk at Lydia. She looked him right in the eyes, hoping the ice in front of his irises would melt.

"Break. Free." She urged.

Scott did as he was told, he strained against the straps, it took him a couple of minutes, but he succeeded. Panting and rather pink-faced, Scott fumbled over to her and undid her restraints.

"What now?" he asked, dumbly, even though this was his own brilliant idea, as Lydia rubbed her sore wrists. "I don't know," she then admitted.

"This is my first time in someone else's head."

Scott sighed, and nodded, taking a couple of steps ahead of her, he looked like he wanted to open the door in front of them; it was large and rusty, but surely dream doors didn't work the same as real-life doors.

"Just stay behind me," Scott said.

Lydia nodded weakly. And then the blue fog got foggier and black spots danced in front of her eyes, Lydia felt disembodied for a couple of disorienting seconds, and then the door was swung wide open, and Scott McCall was gone.

Lydia felt panic shoot up her chest and into her throat, her pitter-pattering heart was now torrential. "Scott? Scott!"

Gone.

Lydia ventured out of the room, despite the tumult in the pit of her stomach, and the way her nerves were racing wildly. Momentarily, her surroundings bubbled and fizzed, melted and remolded themselves, giving Lydia motion sickness even though she remained unmoving.

Now she was in a hallway, it looked like she was standing in somebody's house, a wooden door in front of her stood ajar; she pushed the door slightly open wider and took a step in to take a look at what was going on.

Lydia realized she's just stepped inside a child's bedroom. It had light blue walls, an aquarium in the corner, lots of crayon drawings stuck up everywhere, and baseball bedsheets. Pearly curtains danced in the wind coming from outside, light, sleepy rain pressed against the window, a tree's branch was lurching, casting twirling shadows in the room.