like clockwork ▸ allydia

8am

LYDIA MARTIN → ALLISON ARGENT
march eighteenth

⠀

first period. french history. your favorite class.

the desk next to me is empty. your desk.

i just realized: i have no one to pass notes too. i have no one to laugh at the teacher with. i have no one to help me sleuth for supernatural things in the textbooks.

we have a test today. a test on something called "la bête du gévaudan." you'd probably know what it is in a heartbeat. you'd probably ace this test. no question about it.

but me? i can barely see the questions because my vision is blurred with unshed tears. i set my pencil down and wipe my eyes a few times.

scott is oddly silent. his normal pen clicking has stopped. his feet are still under his desk. one thing though, is that his breathing has picked up. i can tell because isaac can hear it. and he's looking at me worriedly, pleading with his eyes for me to do something. anything.

so, i tapped scott's shoulder. he instantly went rigid under my touch. something's definitely wrong. stiles shifted awkwardly, leaning sideways to grab scott's hand, but scott flinched away.

he's standing now, leaving class. so is stiles. so is isaac. i guess it's my turn. i catch myself muttering a quiet apology to coach as i sprint out of the room.

i can hear coach finstock yelling for us. he's screaming about issuing detentions the next time he sees us, but no one is listening. we're all too busy following an angry alpha into what i think is the boy's locker room.

hold on, love. i have a feeling this will take a while.