The Secret Holder

XII. All Blood On My Hands

The pain is the same, throbbing, hurtful. I don't want to see them. I don't want to look at them. But at the same time I can't pry my eyes away from him. The things I'm hiding from him are the greatest.

School is a carbon-copy of the day before. Scott is communicating with Deaton and is trying to come into contact with any other were-coyotes. The search will be a failure, I'm sure of it. Malia is the only one.

What's going to happen? I ask myself. Will they break-up? Scott reminds me that I should try to think for Stiles, and not selfishly.

On my way to my first class, I receive a call.
"Hello?"

"Is this Lydia Martin?"

"Yes."

"Are you the daughter of Natalie Martin?"

"I am."

"Your mother was found here in Orange County. She was burnt beyond recognition in her car, and all four tires were slashed, and claw marks on the windshield. We can assume until we get the tests back from forensics that she was driving along a country road in the dark, some coyotes scared her, and she ran off the road...Ms. Martin?"

"Yes?"

"You can drive down to our station here in Santa Ana, or we can have these files transferred closest to you, in Beacon Hills?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll drive down this afternoon." My heart stops in a late reaction. I can't breathe. I can't.

"We're sorry for your loss. We'll be in touch if we find out more."

"Thank you." I hang up. I notice that during this entire call, I had been walking, but now I'm clutching a wall for support. I start to walk again, and as fast as I can to the bathroom. On my way there I pass by an empty classroom, but the door is left open. I think nothing of it until I hear voices.

"You know I'll always be there for you," Stiles breathes.

"But...my mother and my sister, I-"

"It doesn't matter to me. I love you now. I'll always love you,"

Then silence.

My breath hitches in my throat again. When I walk into the bathroom, class is in session. I shut the stall door and curl up on the dingy toilet seat, my body already shaking from my strangled sobs. Every time the phone call and his words replay in my mind, a new set of tears burns through my eyes like a flame. How could I be so stupid? I just hope that they're all too far away to even hear me. I sit here for an hour and think over and over again, everything; From the beginning.

My mother. She's dead.
Stiles loves her. He always will.
My mother's dead. I'll never see her again. She'll never hug me and tell me it's going to fine again. She'll never answer her phone again.
He'll always be there for her, even if it means he forgets me.

I'm just as much of a killer as her. If I had tried harder, then maybe I could have saved either of our mothers. But I failed instead.

___THREE hours later___

I'm hoping that by now, my eyes aren't looking as red as they did thirty minutes ago. I managed to redo most of my makeup, so that it doesn't look like I've been crying.

"I overheard." Scott mutters, an awkward look crossing his face.

"What are you talking about?" He heard? He knows my mother is dead?

"Malia and Stiles have become rather serious," Kira says, glancing at Scott.

"What does that have to do with me? Why are you looking me like that? Stop!"

"He told me Lydia, you can drop the defensive act." She laughs derisively. How could this happen? Her and Malia are friends, and Kira could easily slip it to her.

"How could you tell her? I told you to not tell anyone!"

"I couldn't help it, Lydia!"

"But I said-"

Scott interrupts, his words poisoning."Yeah, Lydia. You said. Not everything is about you sometimes. I can't just keep secrets from everyone...My mom, my girlfriend. Maybe you should think about what it's like for me."

My bottom lip trembles, and I feel like a child. "You don't know...anything,"

I'm not taking any more from him. I stand up, and let my once again tear-filled eyes rest on Scott's one last time before I leave. He knows nothing about my mother's death, let alone how she was killed. He has no idea how much pain it causes, seeing Stiles drift away from me slowly, and care less and less about me everyday. He doesn't know what it's like to not be able to say goodbye to someone who's already gone, or to say goodbye to someone who's not even dead.