Lost Cause » Void Stiles

18; tempest

"I don't believe you're crazy."

"Then you're stupid."

"I believe your brother did something to make you snap, so why don't you tell me what that something is? Tell me why you killed him. Why you killed your parents. Why you killed Lydia." Stiles gaze shot towards the strawberry blonde for a split second, his eyes welling with tears again at the fresh memory. "What did they do to you?"

Lita rolled her eyes, annoyed by the boy's persistence. "They didn't do anything to me."

"You're lying." Stiles insisted. He knew when people were lying, he could tell— he couldn't hear their heart rate like Scott, but he was observant & Lita looked like a liar. "Tell me."

"Fine, Stiles, you want to know what they did? My parents beat me. Every fucking day— they hit me, they used my back as an ash tray for their cigarettes. My breakfast before school was a shot of vodka & a slap to the face. Evenings at the Mitchell household consisted of me working like I was hired help, and if I refused, I didn't get supper. Or lunch. Or anything." Lita snapped, her voice monotone & her expression hard. "Lydia picked up where my parents left off. She called me every name in the book & made a habit of mentioning how sickly thin & pale I became."

"Lydia wouldn't do that."

"She wouldn't? Well, she did. She & her boyfriend Jackson. A day didn't go by without one of them making a mockery of me in the halls. I was a joke because of them." Her monotone was eerily cold, something that Stiles couldn't seem to decipher hidden within it. The look in her eyes was different, something he had yet to see on her, and he didn't know if it was good or bad.

"What about your brother?" Stiles questioned, dropping the topic of his deceased friend. "What did he do?"

"Our parents were gone for the weekend. They left Wes with the instructions to hit me if he caught me anywhere near the fridge, they didn't want me getting fat— as if that were possible. It must've been around one in the morning, I was up in my room, reading a book, when he came in. He didn't say anything, he just— he came in, and he.." Lita trailed off, her gaze meeting Stiles'. He looked sad, sorrowful— he felt sympathy for her, for what he thought she'd gone though. Lita wanted to keep going, continuing on with her story, but could no longer hold back.

Her cold façade dropped as she cracked a smile & began to laugh at how easily Stiles had fallen for her pathetic sob story. Lita didn't think he was that gullible, but on this rare occasion she'd been wrong, judging by the look of anger & confusion he now wore. She couldn't tell which overpowered the other, the anger or the confusion.

"I can't believe you actually fell for that." She giggled, the sword in her hand easing back a little. "God, you're so fucking gullible. One little sob story & you're practically my bitch. No wonder I got you to give into the nogitsune so easily. You seriously thought I had a reason for all of this?"

Stiles remained silent.

"My parents were no different than any others. They didn't hit or starve me— I was average. Probably why Lydia ignored me. Jackson still fucked me though; honestly, I'm surprised she didn't try to kill me for that, it happened while they were dating." Lita didn't doubt Lydia had been aware of it, but chose not to believe it. Why? She didn't know, nor did she care. "Eh, too late now."

The psychopath shot a glance towards Lydia. A dry laugh escaped her cracked lips. "Y'know, I'm pretty good at this serial killing thing. If one of your friends doesn't tear my throat out, it may be my new hobby. It's not as hard as I thought it would be. It's actually really easy. Like breaking glass. I've noticed over time that people bare eerie resemblance to glass— push 'em out a window, they shatter. Stab 'em, they shatter. Not literally, unfortunately, but they still leave an annoying mess that's hard to clean up. I mean c'mon, everyone hates sweeping tiny little glass shards up off the floor, just like everyone hates scrubbing blood off the walls. Blood stains are a bitch—"