Comfortably numb | Stydia fanfiction

Chapter 4

There is definitely something different about, Jackson.

An hour after Lydia's parents have left the house, she finds him standing on her doorstep, with that same super creepy, menacing, look he had in his eye, back when he had first suggested that the two of them have a date night. "Let's go to your room," he says, the second she opens the front door.

"Umm . . . OK . . . nice to see you too," Lydia quips, as Jackson walks past her up the staircase.

She has no choice but to follow him.

The minute Lydia closes her bedroom door behind her, Jackson cups his hands on either side of her face, and starts kissing her on the mouth, aggressively, hungrily . . . like Stiles was kissing her in the dream, except not like that at all. In her dream, the kisses were all about adoration and romance . . . wanting and needing. Jackson's kisses seem more perfunctory and purposeful, like something she read about in biology class . . . predator and prey. And it doesn't take a genius to figure out, which one of the two Lydia is in this situation.

"Hey, slow down there, tiger. Don't you want to take your coat off first?" Lydia manages to utter, in the one spare minute, when Jackson's mouth is not glued to her own.

"Why? Isn't this what you want . . . what you've always wanted . . . to be with me?" Jackson says in Lydia's ear.

His voice sounds strange, almost alien. And every "S" sounds exaggerated, almost like his tongue is too big for his mouth. Plus, she's hearing hissing sound again. It's getting louder, with each passing moment.

Lydia stops to think about Jackson's question. Is this really what she wants? A few days ago, she would have yes, absolutely. To be popular and beautiful . . . to date the captain (OK . . . co-captain) of the Lacrosse team . . . it was what every teenage girl wanted . . . wasn't it?

So, why was every fiber of her body screaming at her to escape?

Lydia, you are just being stupid. She chastises herself. Life isn't all hearts and diamonds, like it is in your dreams. This is your real, flesh and blood, boyfriend. So, you better get used to it.

Lydia sighs and turns her focus back to the kissing. She hugs Jackson close to her, and reaches her hands up the back of his tight black t-shirt to caress his skin . . . something he'd always seem to enjoy, back when they first started dating. Wait a minute? Are those scales?

Lydia tries to address the subject tactfully, which, admittedly, is unusual for her, since she's always been more of a blunt-speaking kind of girl "Sweetie, you really need to start thinking about a more regular moisturizing regimen. Your skin is a little . . . scaly. I have these great lotions that . . ."

All of the sudden, Jackson hisses loudly in her ear, and swipes the back of her neck with his fingernail. Lydia gasps, as she moves her hand to the back of her neck, and finds it slick with blood . . . her blood. "Jackson?" She inquires, nervously.

Jackson's entire body stiffens. The moment, he realizes what he's done, his eyes widen and fill with tears. Suddenly, he's the Jackson that Lydia remembers . . . vulnerable, human. She remembers that time, freshman year, when he first admitted to her that it was his lifelong dream to find his biological parents. His face then, looked just like it looks now, sad . . . scared. It makes her want to comfort him and protect him.

"Hey, Jackson. It's OK. You just got a little over excited. That's all. It's just a scratch. See? I'm fine!"

But when she reaches her hand out, to touch his face, she's shocked to find that it doesn't move at all. In fact, her entire body has been rendered completely immobile. Suddenly, her legs give out from under her, and she falls to the floor. But she doesn't feel herself collapse. She doesn't feel anything at all.

"Jackson!" She says, biting her lip to fight back the tears that are welling up in her eyes. "Something's wrong. I can't move. You have to call an ambulance. Please!"

Jackson looks at her, in horror, his entire body shaking. Suddenly, he's doubled over, but Lydia can't tell whether it's pain or fear that's making him this way . . . maybe a little of both. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, before dashing down the stairs and out of Lydia's house.

"JACKSON! DON'T LEAVE ME! PLEASE! I'M SCARED! JACKSON? SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Lydia cries out, her eyes blurry with tears.

Stiles is pacing around the back of Lydia's house, when he hears Lydia's screams. He's in the front door, up the stairs, and outside Lydia's bedroom, faster than he ever thought was humanly possible. Maybe love is its own kind of superpower.

"Lydia," he says breathlessly, as he takes a giant puff of his inhaler.

"Stiles," Lydia replies, trying in vain to fight back her own tears. "How did you know . . . how did you get in here?"

Stiles smiles, eager to deflect the tenseness of the situation with his usual go-to weapon of sarcasm. "Come on, Lydia. Your hide-a-key? Your parents really need to beef up their security measures. I mean, that big fake looking rock with the key hole in the bottom that your dad bought at Home Depot? Everyone on your block has the exact same one."

Lydia nods, because it's the only thing she can do. "You know, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually really glad you're here," she offers.

"Umm . . . thanks . . . I guess?" Stiles replies, jokingly.

It's not until that moment that Stiles realizes that Lydia is topless, or, at least, she might as well be for the damage that Half-Kanaima Jackson did to her shirt, during their recent makeout session. "Woah," Stiles utters lamely, as he obediently averts his eyes. (Though he does take a peek at her through his fingertips once or twice . . . well . . . maybe more than twice.)

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's not pretend like this is the first time you've seen my boobs, OK?"

Stiles blushes ferociously, and gets a stupid grin on his face. Of course, she's right. "Well, yeah, but if you want me to turn away, while you . . . ah . . . step into something less comfortable, I can do that for you," he mumbles.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Yeah, see, I would, except I CAN'T MOVE . . . LIKE . . . AT ALL!"

Stiles stops dead in his tracks. "Wait a minute . . . you're paralyzed? But I thought you were immune to the venom. That day in chemistry class, when Derek . . ."

"Um, I have no idea what you're talking about," Lydia interrupts in frustration. "All I know is that I'd really rather not be wheeled in on a gurney to my senior prom. So, if you'd walk your bony little fingers over to a phone, and dial 911, I'd really appreciate it."

But Stiles is still lost in thought. "It doesn't make any sense," he muses.

"STILES! PHONE! DIAL! NOW!" Lydia yelps.

Stiles turns his attention back to Lydia. "Oh yeah, that . . . it's just a reaction to the venom. It should wear off in a couple of hours."

"So, what . . . you're like a doctor now?" Lydia retorts.

"No . . . I . . . uh . . . know from personal experience, actually. Listen, it's a really long story," Stiles offers, as he kneels down next to Lydia, and delicately places a shred of her ripped shirt, over her exposed boob.

Lydia notices the gesture, and is grateful for the small bit of dignity Stiles has offered her, under the circumstances. "Well, it seems I suddenly have a lot of time on my hands. So, you might as well tell me everything now."

"Ahh . . . you've got a point there," Stiles says with a smile, as he gently brushes a strand of red hair away from her face. God, she's beautiful. He thinks to himself.

Then, Stiles' cell phone rings. It's Scott. Dammit!

"Umm . . . hold that thought," he says nervously.

"OK," Lydia replies. "But Stiles?" Lydia calls after him, as he walks to the other end of the room to take the call.

"Yeah?"

"Please . . . um . . . don't leave me. OK?"

Stiles sees the sadness and vulnerability in Lydia's eyes, and, in that instant, falls in love with her all over again. "I won't," he says, resolutely. "I promise."