Toxic Waste

12. Pop Star

"What?" Stiles was now mildly confused. Ask him myself, the bastard isn't even here. But something must have sparked because he began to study Lydia. She seemed timid, exposed. "Oh my– you're Parks?" The girl bites her tongue with a nod. Some form of relief flooded over him. She wasn't hooking up with him because he didn't even exist.

"I, uh, ran away when I was seventeen. I started recruiting people-criminals- telling them I was this highly financed guys assistant. People took on right away and it was rough at first but obviously I'm doing pretty good."
"And no one else knows?" He asks.

Lydia pulls her feet up onto the couch. "You and Allison..." Stiles stares at her for a moment, her uneasy features and the way she bit her lip. Setting his mug on the coffee table, he squirms around and shifts his position until his head is in her lap. This causes her to chuckle, looking down at him with eyes as green as the brightest forest. His hand reached up to grab hers and he turns to lay on his side. He didn't want her to see him get upset, so instead he nudged their hands with his nose, his cheek against her thigh.

"You're not the only one with a screwed up Dad... When I was eight, mine got fired from his job. He was a heavy drinker. I'd been working two or three jobs around school to pay for bills ever since I was thirteen. He died and I didn't even care...I don't care." Stiles mumbles. "You're the only one I've ever told. You're the only one I ever really tell anything to."

Lydia smiled as he looked up to her again and she leaned down, capturing his lips with hers. She told him how it wasn't going to get easier, how he needed to be careful Friday. He promised he would.
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Friday came and he didn't go.

"Wait, what do you mean? I've been working my ass off for this!"
"But not enough." Derek held his position, arms crossed, glaring down at Stiles. The boy was devastated, no. Angry. The boy was pissed and punching Derek in the face for a total of two seemed like a good idea. If it hadn't been for that goddamn angel.

"Stiles, come help me?" Lydia calls from somewhere near the elevator. He gives Derek one last scowl before strutting away as everyone slowly filters out of the main door. The girl wasn't smiling, but she was still too joyful for him in this moment. As he reaches her, she grabs his forearms tenderly and raises a brow.
"What?" He bites causing Lydia to give him a warning look.

She was adorable when she tried to act official. Stiles sighs and looks to the ground. "Okay, okay I'm calm, what do you want?" A smile etches its way across his face as she drops her hands to his wrists. There was something strange between these two. The teasing of names had gradually went down, the sexy smirks turning into smiles, and the playful banter almost nonexistent. Stiles felt it, he could only wonder if she did too.

"Second floor. I don't care if you go up there and just sit and stare at the guns but I want you up there." She commands.
"Do I get a prize if I stay up there until lunch."
Lydia gives a laugh and an eye roll. "We'll see."
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Liam and Lydia played cards until around noon, when the elevator dinged open. Both sets of eyes turn to see Stiles making his way to there table and Lydia could tell it was not going to be good by the scowl on his face.
"You know what I've figured out?" He starts. "I don't need to get over my fear of guns. Sure I'll be working with a bunch of people who know how to handle them but that doesn't mean I need to!" His voice was stern, almost frightening.

"And you know what else I've figured out? I'm actually really good with knives. So screw this gun bullshit." Lydia couldn't help but think of him as child as he stomps upstairs and into his room, slamming the door behind his back. To say this pissed Lydia off would be an understatement. Liam settled in his seat as Lydia stood, knowing this would be a show he couldn't miss.

"We get it pop star, you're famous! BIG DEAL!" Lydia yells, opening her arms in a "so what" manner. Stiles throws his door open and leans over the railing.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks, white knuckles gripping the bars. She thought he was smart enough to infer but apparently she had to break it down.
"It means I'm sick and tired of your bullshit. You're not even trying! How long have you been here and all you've done is bitch about how you can't do it. Guess what? It's not easy. Never has been never will be so if you want to participate in our little family outings you at least have to fucking try harder." Lydia's throat felt raw and torn, her brain clouded with emotion.

He chuckled. Of course little miss perfect wouldn't understand. No one would understand. Stiles tried, he really did, but his anger got the best of him. The boy let out a frustrated growl, punching the brick wall by his bedroom door. He clutched his bleeding knuckles with a curse as Lydia ran up the stairs. "What are you, fucking stupid?!" She exclaims, grabbing his injured hand in her own palms.

He wondered why she cared so much.
"I shot the .98 caliber..." He mumbled as she examined his knuckles. This caused her to meet his eyes.
"A rifle?" There was a small snicker in her voice.
"It's a gun, isn't it?" His tone rose just for a minute before he sighs, relaxing. "I did everything you've always told me and I didn't even come close to hitting the target...so I got pissed." He almost seemed disappointed in himself.

She noted how he hadn't said anything about the noise.
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Authors note:

STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOUNG RN AND GO SEE NERVE BECAUSE IT IS LITERALLY THE BEST IVE EVER.
COMMENT, READ, ENJOY.
-STILL FREAKING SHOCKED