She woke him in the middle of the night for what seemed like the millionth time since this girl had invaded his life. It took a few shakes, but they were violent and frantic enough to get him to sit up sleepily. Her breathes were wheezy and sounded so painful it hurt even him. Stiles grabbed ahold of her, stroking her cheek, attempting to calm her in case a panic attack should arise. What was going on? What was happening? He was desperately trying to calm her down but nothing was working and she sounded scared and hurt all at once.
"Lyds, what's wrong?" He asks, pushing hair behind her ears while searching her eyes for an answer. The girl taps at her throat with one hand frantically, the other holding something up for him to see. He squints in the dim lighting before turning on a bed side lamp. He wish he hadn't. Blood tainted her lips and speckled the tissue in the hand that wasn't held to her wheezing throat. Finally he understood. The coughing that had been going on, something was definitely wrong.
With a loud curse, Stiles fumbles from his bed and drags along the girl with him downstairs and to his fathers bedroom.
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He didn't like hospitals. Hospitals were a place for death and pain, neither of which he wanted Lydia to experience. The chairs in the lobby were not comfortable at all, his ass hurting despite the constant shifting he'd done since four this morning. And he was alone, no one on his left or right but he was surrounded by death. It screamed at Stiles, told him which rooms he'd be visiting that night, who he'd drag down to hell with him.
Death scared Stiles shitless.
Someone yelled from down the hall making him flinch before releasing a breath. He leaned over, elbows resting on knees, hands in his hair and his eyes closed tightly as he was capable. Stiles. Hated. Hospitals.
"Stiles," the boy lifted his head to see his father. He nodded his head towards the back and in an instant, Stiles was on his feet. Mindlessly he followed the man past seven rooms until arrive at Lydia's on the right.
She smiled, a weak and rough "hey" leaving her lips and he almost fell to his knees. The girl was so pale and small from her place on the bed, her eyelids heavy with a needle in her arm and breathing nibs in her nose. He almost automatically knew she felt weak. And she hated that. Stiles clears his throat and sits at the end of the mattress, jumping up and down slightly.
"This seems comfy." He chuckles, averting her gaze by looking down at the white bed sheets. Mr.Stilinski says a quick goodbye from the doorway before leaving the two teens alone.
"It's not, really." Lydia rasps. She moves over towards the edge of the bed and Stiles gets the message, lying down next to her.
He shifts slightly. "Hm...yeah, you're right."
Lydia smiles again before scooting closer to him, resting her head on his chest while letting out a single little cough. She yawns. "They gave me some sleeping medication." She informs him as his hand goes to play with her hair. He doesn't answer back, twirling strawberry blonde locks between his fingertips with his eyes trained on the ceiling. One word circled his mind.
Tuberculosis.
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Authors note:
Short chapterrrrrrr....but you know why. WHOOPS.
Comment, read, enjoy!
-Chloe
YOU ARE READING
Lydia's Shy (completed)
FanfictionShe'd been providing for herself since the age of fourteen when her parents had died tragically in a car accident. But now, two years late at the age of sixteen, she finally has a place to call home. Lydia was shy. Very, extremely, inevitably, shy...
