Complex » Stydia

1.

entry for  stydia writer role.

Start of Time - Gabrielle Aplin
Disappear - Mikky Ekko
Where's My Love - SYML

STYDIA AU

A soft moan escaped Lydia's plump lips as she collapsed against the pillow, the numerous feathers inside the silk covers was like a cloud of contrast between her aching headache and comfort the cotton brings. Baffled by the swarm of thoughts wandering her mind, she gripped the edges of the lilac sheets in despair.

Her delicate strawberry-blonde hair was tied into a tight ponytail, although usually, she would sleep with it loose and untensed, the last thing she needed was strands of her long hair itching against her neck.

Releasing a puff of air, Lydia sat up straight with insomnia, the flashing images of his face unable to leave her mind. The dimmed lighting made it easier for her to release her emotions without the fear that somebody may be watching, even if her door was closed.

Her eyes burned with tears, shaky breaths were radiated with regret and disturbance. As the choke of a sob escaped her, she slapped a palm against her mouth as her fingers shook with a growing ache. Lydia cried silently to herself in pure turmoil and the desire of something she'll never have.

She visualized the crisp paper in her hands, the ink written words crippling against her already shattered heart. His almost illegible writing having been like she had been hit by the impaired state of deja vu.

Hidden underneath stacks of folded textbooks and piles of pencil crayons laid a crumpled piece of paper which she had received before she had graduated university. Lydia was only nineteen when she was torn into the unbreakable void that Stiles Stilinski had created.

His disheveled hair which, when he was nervous, would run his hands through frantically while tugging at the ends. Gleaming dark eyes with eyelashes that touched the bottom of his eyebrows curled at an angle that made Lydia jealous. Thin fingers that he would constantly get insecure about, although when they were laced between Lydia's, made her feel his pulse through his palms.

Now she was twenty-four. Those days of lust and desire were in the past. The times where she would fantasize about what the next day held; the safety and empathy he provided her. No longer can Lydia wake up with an arm wrapped around her waist, no longer can she trace the definite tracing of his jaw.

When it was over, Lydia had cried and isolated herself from men in hopes of being reconciled with him again. But she found him. Lydia Martin had seen his face for the first time in years; his features not having changed since they were teenagers.

Unable to maintain anymore composure, Lydia trampled over the duvet tossed onto the floor and reached for the paper. Her body convulsed as she tried not to drop any of the books, which would wake her parents up.

She lived in her own minuscule apartment, just a couple hours away from Beacon Hills. But Lydia was visiting Beacon Hills, California, to see her parents, which she hadn't seen for a long time since she moved into her own place. The memories alone had been haunting Lydia every night she stayed there. This was the room that Lydia had lost her virginity to him, where she had undercovered the truth about what his real name was, where she had fixed the broken bond of trust between them.

Lydia held the sheet between her hand, the top wavering in the hair as there was a contrast of pressure at the bottom. She had read the note so many times she could recall every word in it and was able to visualize just how Stiles would have looked at her when he claimed it.

Shutting her eyes, Lydia recalled the writing out of raw memory.

"Lydia, you're my everything. I can't even describe it, you're just everything to me," She mumbled incoherently, the tinge of a smile crossing her face as she understands how cliche the starting phrase is. "When I first met you, we were what? Fourteen?"

It seemed like just months ago she had turned thirteen, yet when she looked back at it, it had been eleven years since she was thirteen.

"God, Martin. We were both so different back then," Lydia whispered, continuing to recall what was written on the sheet. "I mean, you were just as beautiful, obviously. But you were so closed off and was just ruthless on the outside and vulnerable on the inside."

There was a slight pause in between as Lydia chewed on the inside of her cheek, her eyes still shut, "Lydia, now you're the most considerate and admirable person I've ever met."

She couldn't help but note that Stiles' letter had been written when they were eighteen, which was six years ago. Chances are, most likely, that his thoughts on her had profoundly differed. It would be a miracle if Stiles had still thought of her like that; with such radiance and delicacy.

"But, I can't go on like this," His voice buzzed like an echo within hers, an extreme thundering in her heart. "I just—Lydia, please just don't-don't call me. I don't want to talk to you."

God, when she first read that note, it was like she had been struck by lightning. Nothing she could comprehend or deliberately focus on; the only thing in her mind was that one line. I don't want to talk to you.

It had haunted her for weeks afterward, eventually causing her to isolate herself in an attempt to get over him—to move on.

"Delete me from social media, remove my number and please just throw out anything that reminds you of me. Lydia, after graduation, I'm leaving. Don't ask where and don't ask why. Because I will not tell you," The whisper had barely managed to escape her dry lips, the plumpness in them now coated in a shed of tears which had dripped onto them.

Even as she says the words for the millionth time, there was nothing he could have said to mend the way Lydia felt. Not a day went by where she didn't torment herself for still missing the presence of someone who she had met eleven years ago.

Stiles could have been a father, married and living and serving a wonderful family. He probably forgot about the luminescent strawberry-blonde which he had graciously stumbled upon in the parking lot that one morning.

"Chances are, I won't return back to Beacon Hills. If you go to my house, I told my parents not to answer if you or any of our friends ask where I went. Maybe you will eventually find out where I'm leaving, and if you do, don't come searching for me."

The words were like shattered pieces of glass piercing her already broken heart. Lydia had been perplexed at how someone who she thought she had known to the core would simply write on a piece of paper and expect her to be okay.

Lydia was the opposite of okay.

"I love you, Lydia Martin," She breathed hoarsely, clenching her fists and digging her short nails into her palms. "Never forget that, Martin. I love you."

It was as if Stiles had been talking directly to her as Lydia shook her head, the memory making her look sort of telepathic.

"I love you too, Stiles."

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hey guys :)

im christina

in case you didn't know. this story is an entry for  @stydiacommunity-so i can try to be a stydia writer, which hopefully will become a reality.

chances are, i will continue this story. but this entire account is a backup to my main account imperialstiles so yahhhh if any of you like this book then follow me bc. . . boi im bad at self-promo. . .

although this story is an entry for @stydiacommunity , i still want to dedicate this book to the following people: 

46VioletWolves tobiasfetish aestheticirwin hiddenfortitude voiidstiiles y'all are my teen wolf squaddddd :))

 anyways hope you guys liked this chapter (: remember to vote for the chapter if you do

christina xox