The Boy Behind The Glass • Stydia

16. shattering

C H A P T E R • S I X T E E N

Lydia has the nightmare again. It comes again, and again, and again. She wakes up repeatedly in cold sweats every single night, jerking up in bed with a shrilling scream on the tip of her tongue like clockwork. She walks barefoot through the woods, falls in the man-made grave, see's the body beside her.

She wakes up with dirt between her fingers and on the soles of her feet. It's maddening. Her mother comes in sometimes, bursting through the door to calm her down. On the nights she doesn't, Lydia calms down on her own, hiccuping her way to normal breathing. Her heart always beats like it's fighting to get out of her rib cage. 

She sees it when she closes her eyes; the shadows of the trees, the burnt carcass beside her in the grave. It flashes behind her eyelids like strobe lights, bright and blinding, throwing her off step every single time. 

It's all she thinks about. When she sits in class, her mind drifts and she sees the woods, the dirt, the body. She barely takes notes, she barely 

"—rtin. Miss Martin, are you listening?"

Her eyes snap up. The body is gone and everyone is looking at her. Mr Harris stands at the front of the class, beady eyes slitted through his narrow glasses, his lips twisted in a scowl.

"Yes, Mr Harris?" She croaks.

"Are you paying attention, Miss Martin?"

She nods. "Yes."

Mr Harris grunts, glaring at her a moment longer before turning back to the board.

Lydia lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding. She slouches, shoulders sagging and chest easing.

"Lydia," someone whispers, and she looks at the side to see Allison leaning across the isle towards her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Lydia replies, shaking her head. She knows she looks a mess; hair askew and messy, face bare from makeup and eyes framed by harsh, dark bags. Ever since Jackson broke up with her from the incident at her house, her looks have been slowly declining. Lydia knows she's ruining the reputation she morphed and changed herself so much to fit, but at the moment, she can't find it in herself to care. 

"Are you sure?" Allison asks, looking worried. Her eyes flick down to Lydia's notebook before back up to her eyes. "Do you need to borrow my notes?"

"What?" Lydia frowns. "I've been taking notes. . ."

She looks down and trails off. She hasn't taken a single note. Instead, her notebook is covered by a drawing of a tree.

"I. . .I-I—" Lydia stammers, breath hitching in her throat.

"Lydia, hey," a small, petite hand reaches across and takes her own, taking her eyes off the skeleton tree on her page. Allison is out of her seat, crouched beside Lydia's table. "What's going on?"

Lydia opens her mouth to reply, but the bell blares out above them and everyone is standing up. Harris is shouting orders that no one listens to. Lydia scrabbles to shove her book and pens into her bag, tucking the hair back that falls in front of her face. 

She dashes out of the classroom door and into the busy corridor. She doesn't know where she's going, but she just needs to walk.

A hand grabs her wrist, snagging her back. She spins, a get off on the tip of her tongue.

It's Allison, her brown eyes wide and filled with concern. 

"Lydia," she says. "What's going on? Are you alright?"