Becoming A True Alpha (Teen Wolf)

Chapter 16: The Things We Bury

Chapter 16:

  Sometimes it isn't a triumph that makes a hero, but a tragedy.

A simple thought that occurred to me, just like it had to any writer of a good old-fashioned Greek Tragedy. I believe I have experienced the greatest tragedy a person can bare. Yet I taste bile at the slightest thought of calling myself a hero. I am not. A hero, no matter the tragedy, finds a way to scavenge triumph from it.

As I stare at the corpse laying lifeless before me, I know I haven't succeeded in either. I did not aided in the tragedy of bringing a life to an end and I was not victorious in saving their life. I can't feel more lost, knowing I am not the monster and I am not the saviour. I'm just a girl who is left to stand grieving at the grave of someone I loved.

If only I could have been the hero.

  The surface of the cold cement floor was the first thing I could remember. As if I had been falling through darkness and my body had finally hit the ground. But my mind is far away, still trapped within the endless obis of unconsciousness. I can move my fingers and wiggle my toes, but with no amount of strength can I open my eyes. It's as if part of me is still trapped inside a dream. Following the uneven drumming of my heart, quite possibly a nightmare.

"Help," I manage to croak. Crying for help is useless though. My voice barely travels over the gurgling of the boiler. But with no energy to do anything but plead, a suffocating fear clamps down on my thoughts. "Please someone...help me." I don't care about feeling weak. I only care about being found before my mind rots away with my body.

Then the panic begins to set in.

I deserve this, don't I? I pushed away everyone who has ever tried to help me and now there is no one left to extend a hand. No one to pull me up when I have fallen. I should be alone. It would be more than fitting to die like this. Trapped in my own twisted subconscious as my body lay vulnerable to attack on the basement floor. That's how a coward should die, with irony.

But with the sound of high heels clicking quickly across the cement floor, I realize it is not this coward's time to die.

A stench of sweet strawberry fragrance burns my nostrils as someone bares over me. I can all but imagine the girl standing over me, her fruity perfume matching the lush colour of her flowing red hair. "God dammit Lucy, get up!" She grunts and it isn't hard to picture her glossy lips poised in a scowl. But there was something missing from Lydia's voice. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

The fear that had once seized my mind had now taken my voice and I could do nothing but lay paralyzed beneath her.

Suddenly her fingers are gripping my jaw and she is shaking me. "Get up!" Her perfectly manicured finger nails dig deep enough to draw blood. The pain brings me to gasp for air. The reflex is enough to make Lydia compose herself and let go of my jaw. Then in a searing flash of white hot pain, the girl smacks her hand across my cheek.

The sudden burst of heat is enough to jolt me back to life. I bolt upright, sending Lydia scrambling backwards; her mouth slack with surprise.

I realize immediately why my head is throbbing worse than the side of my face. After lifting my fingers to the crown of my head and pulling back with a wince of pain, I find crimson red smeared across them. I had been hit on the head. How else could I have ended up nearly dead on the floor? But the memory is lost in the dull ache that fills my skull. I couldn't remember what had knocked me out and that terrified me.

"Lucy?" Lydia mutters, pulling me from my thoughts.

I lift my gaze to meet hers for the first time and I'm shocked by what I see. Lydia looks no different from her cashmere sweater to the high-heels strap to her feet. But her green eyes that usually held such a fierce essence were filled with tears. Red rimmed her eyes and flushed the top of her nose. Tear stains lay scattered across her face. Lydia had been crying. Water marked the soggy material of her skirt. Not just crying, treading water.