platonic ; stydia

bloody fists

Malia visited the house a week later when Stiles wasn't home. Lydia didn't answer the door even after fifteen minutes of her banging on it,"Lydia, open the door, i'm not going to hurt you!"
"you knew Stiles wasn't home so this was your perfect opportunity."
"maybe, but i just wanted to talk!"
"then we can talk through this door, what do you need Malia?"
"i need your advice, should i kill Kira or you first?"
Lydia felt her heart beat a little faster,"don't you touch Kira!"
"so you would like to be killed first?"
"i'll make you a deal."
"fine, shoot."
"if you kill me, you'll leave Kira and Scott alone, you have to promise."
there was a long pause until Malia answered,"okay."
Lydia opened the door and Malia pointed a gun at her stomach.
Stiles pulled up in the driveway realizing what was happening, he screamed,"Lydia! close the door!"
Malia then shot Lydia in the upper thigh, and scurried off. she fell on the ground and screamed as she touched her wound, covering her hand in blood. Stiles ran up to the front door, plastering a look of fear across his face.
blood started to pour onto the carpet, Stiles ran into the house and got an old t-shirt, wrapping it around her leg. he looked her in the eyes as she breathed heavy with tears streaming down her face, trying her hardest not to scream. he said to her,"hey baby, it's not as bad as getting ripped apart, huh?" he gave a short laugh as he picked her up and set her gently in the jeep. before they drove off, Lydia said faintly,"i love you, Stiles Stilinski. you treat me so well." her eyes closed, losing consciousness.
Stiles grabbed her face and slapped it gently, bringing her back,"hey, hey, no, no, no, you can't go to sleep baby girl." before she could say anything, he drove as fast as he could down the 25 speed limit road.
Lydia was in surgery and Stiles' world had gained a totally new perspective, hatred; hatred for Malia. he had never felt so much anger built up inside him. he absolutely hated her, Malia hurt one of the only things Stiles truly cared about. a harmless and innocent girl, shot for no good reason, by an evil, demonic girl. it was about an hour after surgery when Stiles got to see his girl. he walked in slowly, making sure that if she was sleeping, she would stay asleep. but she wasn't, she sat on the bed reading a book. she looked up and noticed Stiles and teared up,"Stiles."
he ran to Lydia and kissed her,"you worry me so much, Lydia Camille-Grace Martin."
she laughed,"it hurts a lot but i'm trying not to think about it."
"why didn't you call me, Lydia?"
she sighed,"i thought i could face her on my own, i'm sorry, Stiles."
he looked her in the eyes with great worry,"i just wish you would've called me. you probably wouldn't have gotten a bullet in your leg."
Lydia didn't know what to say so she changed the subject,"doctor said i could leave next week. i just need crutches."
Stiles smiled and grabbed her hand, not showing the emotion he hid inside of him,"that's great, Lyds. i'm gonna go to the bathroom."
Lydia excused him and he shut the door. he started to cry, holding on tight to the sides of the sink, blaming himself for what happened to Lydia. he repeated in his mind you did this to her.
he continued to repeat it until he punched the mirror, shattering the glass everywhere. Lydia heard him and screamed,"Stiles? are you okay? Stiles!"
the door slowly opened, his whole body was shaking, mostly his bloody fist. he looked at Lydia with fear,"i hate myself, Lydia."
"Stiles, don't say that. come here, love."
he walked over to her, a tear dropped from his eye.
"why did you say that, Stiles? why did you say you hated yourself?"
"because i did something really bad, Lydia. i really screwed up."