Outcasts [Book 1]

Nine

Stiles wakes up to Lydia looking up at him, a grin clear on her face. He grins down at her, the photo of her looking up at the stars still in his pocket. That all seems like it happened years ago when in reality it was about 5-10 hours ago. 

Lydia would honestly stay in bed with him like this all day, just staring at each other, but her dad was downstairs and she didn't feel like watching Stiles getting dragged out of her house by the ear. "I'm gonna make coffee." 

Stiles nods and gets up to follow her, but she stops him. "I'll be right back... just... stay." Lydia gives him another dog command, which he follows easily. She wonders if he takes other commands without question. 

Lydia finds herself having to pause to stare at the boy for the hundredth time since she met him. He flashes his pearly-white teeth at her. She turns and opens up the door, poking her head out first before stepping into the cold hallway. 

If this was a normal week for her, then Stiles could walk around naked and no one would notice but her, but she swears her dad literally has eyes in the back of his head. Which, now that she thinks about it, is possible. 

The carpet comes between her toes like the sand had. Lydia finds herself smiling on her way down the stairs. She expects to hear her parents arguing. Nothing comes. Strange. This needs to be investigated too. 

Its peaceful, and at the same time its scary. The house has returned to its perfect state, and when she says perfect she means perfect. When it all comes down to it, if she needs to, Lydia can easily return to her 'flawless' self. Anyone from the Martin family can, its a blessing and a curse. 

Its how her mom told her in kindergarten, 'its not a crime to be better than everyone in every possible way', which sounds shallow, but didn't when she was five. 

The whole house has been cleaned and the empty wine glasses are no where to be seen. Her dad isn't on the couch anymore, he's sitting at the kitchen counter, reading the newspaper while sipping coffee like the dads in the cartoons do. 

Her mom's hair is fixed up, in place of the sweats she normally wears, a red dress is there instead. She looks better than she has in months. 

Naturally, Lydia straightens up, realizing she had been slouching, and tries to look like her heart wasn't somewhere in her throat right now. She fixes her hair, all too aware of how Stiles had ran his hands through it in his sleep. With a final pull at her clothes to straighten them, she goes into the kitchen. 

Mr. Martin glances up once and smiles. "Hey Lydie." He greets, using the nickname he gave her when she was two. Lydia smiles back. "Morning." Lydia replies and goes over to the coffee pot. 

Lydia grabs two coffee cups. She starts pouring coffee into one of them, keeping perfect posture all the while. Theres a small thump from upstairs. Lydia stills nervously before chuckling lightly before her parents can question it. 

"I think I accidentally locked Prada in my room. I'll go let her out." That dismisses all suspicions. She quickly takes a handful of sugar packets and about seven of those small hazelnut cream cups and goes up the stairs, her parents not asking about the two coffee cups. 

--- 

"You don't have to come in." Stiles leans back against the door to his house. He scratches the back of his neck. No one ever comes to his house, so it wasn't a big deal before, but now he realizes how weird his house is. 

They were just going in to get Stiles' backpack before going to school, and he was spouting out reasons why she didn't have to come in the whole time they walked to his house. Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. 

He knows he can't argue with her. Stiles puts the key in the lock and opens up the door slightly. He hesitates, leaving the door partly open. "Fine, but its weird. Like, really weird. Like if you don't want to talk to me after th-" Lydia shuts him up with a kiss. 

This time, its not just their lips brushing against each others. He was in the middle of rambling, so when her mouth met his, his mouth was already open. Stiles lets out a quiet moan at the contact, tasting the coffee and sugar on her tongue. 

God, he's never been more glad to be out of juvie. 

He leans back against the door, hoping for some sort of support to help him stand up, but the door swings open immediately. Stiles stumbles, almost making them both fall over. Stiles gives her an embarrassed look and she smiles at him in reassurance.

Their look stops, and her eyes roam the room, quickly becoming wide. Lydia has the need to ask 'what the fuck is this' but knows that would be rude. Still, she has to bite her tongue not to say anything. He said weird, but she didn't think he met this.

All long the walls, floors, and every surface, there's photos of his dead sister hung up lazily. Smiling, laughing, doing anything. As long as its just her in the photos. In the spaces that aren't covered in photos of her, theres unlit candles. 

Lydia understands that people grieve in different ways, but its been like six years. Stiles runs a hand over his face as if that will help the blush go away. "I told you it was weird." He groans, already regretting this all. 

"Trust me, Stiles, I've seen weirder." Hence the time Tracy's whole back split open and her boyfriend started to grow wings in front of her eyes. 

Stiles stares at her questioningly and she raises her eyebrows. "Are you gonna get your bag?" Lydia makes a hand motion. He nods. He didn't get it at all. This was weird, he was sure it was weird, and she didn't care the least bit. 

It was like she had some sort of secret, though there was no logical explanation to that. Stiles considers for a brief moment that she's a vampire - she's vicious enough and, from the pictures he saw in her room, has been good-looking since she was born. 

Lydia listens to him climb the stares, her head whipping around multiple times. Damn it Scott and him planting ideas into her head even from a distance. She takes another glance around before carefully taking one of the pictures off the wall. 

She doesn't know how she's going to explain this to Stiles when he comes down and catches her creepily looking a photo of his dead sister. 

Lydia waits for a moment, and feels nothing. Literally nothing. Its like she's numb, everywhere. She feels as if she's been paralyzed. Lydia hears the floorboards creak from upstairs, signaling Stiles' return. She puts the photo back. 

A/N

You know you're in too deep (the type of deep that Stiles should be in Lydia at this point.. sorry, had to) to TW when the cast narrates your life. Yesterday Stiles and Lydia narrated me cutting fruit, it was weird.