Chapter Fifteen: Regret

For a moment, I’m confused. Everything around me is so familiar and yet it’s so foreign. I recognize the lacrosse field and the bleachers. The woods outlining the field are the same woods I see on a daily basis. Yet, it’s all different. Like I’m experiencing it through someone else’s mind

That’s when I see her. She’s standing in the middle of the field, looking around at everyone with wide, terrified eyes. I stand from my seat just as her gaze diverts to a figure walking towards her. Recognizing this man, she turns to run. I run from the bleachers to pull the man away from her. To save her.

When I reach them, though, the scene changes. I’m standing in a lavender painted room and Lydia shoots up in her bed. I watch as she throws her blankets from her and cry out at the sight of the mud crusted into the sheets. She’s crying.

“Leave me alone,” she pleads.

As though appearing by magic, the man leans forward. He studies Lydia, intrigued by her reaction to him.

“Unfortunately, I can’t. At least, not yet.”

“Are you real?” Lydia asks.

“Interestingly, that question can also be answered ‘not yet.’”

Lydia squeezes her eyes together, desperately trying to block him out. I want to go to her. I want to comfort her. He leans in close to Lydia and his invasion of space frightens her even more.

“I promise everything’s going to get back to normal, Lydia,” he says and I narrow my eyes at him. I’m calling bull shit. “All you have to do is every single thing I ask.”

He runs his clawed fingers down her. Lydia takes in a deep breath to steady her nerves. I launch forward when he digs a claw into her face. One moment, I’m preparing to separate the two and the next I’m standing in a living room.

Voices from the top of the stairs draw me closer. Lydia and the man are taking the steps one at a time. He’s holding one of her hands in his own. I stand at the bottom, listening to the mostly one-sided conversation.

“Timing is key here, Lydia. It all needs to happen by the next full moon,” he says.

What needs to happen? I beg him to elaborate. To give me some clue as to what he’s asking the strawberry blonde to do. So I can save her from the danger he poses to her. It isn’t until he speaks again that I realize I’m standing as close as I can get.

“Do you know what they call the full moon in March?” he asks.

The worm moon. I remember my father mentioning it to me once.

“It’s called the worm moon,” he says, confirming my thought. “They call it that because it’s the last full moon of winter and the worms would literally crawl out of the earth as it thawed.”

Lydia and I share a horrified gasp as his appearance changes. He is covered in dirt and worms crawl over varying parts of his body. I divert my eyes only to see a pile of worms covering mine and Lydia’s bare feet. They crawl in between my toes and I shudder.

“Kind of has the feel of a rebirth, doesn’t it?”

They walk down the stairs and I follow. Out of all the things Lydia could have said or be worried about, I’m genuinely flabbergasted at the words that come out of her mouth.

“But the full moon is on Wednesday. That’s my birthday.”

The sound of voices and music fill my ears. I look out the patio doors to see an ongoing party. In the center of it, is Lydia herself. She’s handing purple colored drinks to her guests.

“Exactly. And Lydia’s birthday is always the party of the year, isn’t it? Everyone wants to go to Lydia’s party. So, we’re going to make a very special party.”

“And what if I don’t?” Lydia asks, showing the first signs of defiance. The scene outside changes from lighthearted partying to bloody massacre. I feel the warmth draining from my body at the sight.

“I think it’s best that we just make the plan and stick with it. That way no one gets hurt,” he says and a white-hot fury wells inside my chest. My fists clench at my sides and I want to hit him. The urge is overwhelming and surprising. Never before in my life have I felt such anger.

“Why me?” Lydia asks, voicing the question that I’ve asked myself many times over. I frown. It won’t be the last time she asks that question either.

“Because Lydia Martin is not only beautiful, not only incredibly intelligent. She’s immune,” he says. His use of the word grabs my attention away from the girl.

“Immune to what?” Lydia asks.

“Oh, that’s right. They haven’t told you yet, have they?”

My heart sinks. Not like this. She can’t find out like this. Not from someone who’s terrorizing her and threatening her friends. I will him to shut up but he doesn’t. Instead he keeps talking and I’m forced to listen and watch as Lydia grows angry by her lack of knowledge of the supernatural.

“Bet you’ve felt like that last to know for a long time. Doesn’t feel good, does it? You deserve to know everything. I should probably just show you.”

He disappears. Lydia and I turn, searching for him. Her gasp feels my ear and I slowly turn. We stand, shoulder to shoulder, our eyes glued to the kitchen window. Outside it, more fearsome than any beast I’ve seen, is a werewolf with glowing red eyes. As he crashes through the window, Lydia screams.

…

I shoot up, rolling as I do. My hands hit the wooden floor of my apartment and I can’t help the sharp, unsteady breaths that escape my lungs. For several minutes, I lay there and try to calm my heart. Frantic knocking at the door snaps me out of my fear-fogged mind. I detangle my feet from the blanket and sheets and hurry to the door.

When I open it, I’m surprised to find my elderly neighbor. Her crinkled eyes seem to study me, as though searching for something. I smile as politely as I can.

“Are you okay?” she asks and I cock my head to the side. “I heard a scream. It was so loud. It’s almost inhuman.”

Realization dawns on me. When Lydia screamed in the dream, I must have screamed too. The result is scaring my poor neighbor half to death and possibly wakening her suspicion of all things supernatural. My polite smiles turns apologetic.

“Sorry, I had the TV turned up too loud. I’ll be careful to keep the volume down,” I say.

She seems to buy it. I close the door on her retreating form and slide down it. My head pulses in perfect synchronization with my heart. I contemplate calling Derek but I scratch the idea. He’s busy with his betas. There is another werewolf I can call, though.

…

Thirty minutes later and I hear another knock on the door. I open it to reveal Scott, Stiles, and Allison. Scott’s eyes narrow when he sees my disheveled appearance. I didn’t bother with fixing myself up. There’s too much nonsense in my brain to concentrate on much else.

I usher them in and the three take a seat at my kitchen table. It’s probably the first time anyone’s sat around it. I notice that Allison and Scott sit on either side of Stiles and remember Stile’s mentioning there being strain between the couple after the rave.

“I think we should tell Lydia,” I say, getting straight to the point.

Three pairs of eyes go wide and I watch as their jaws drop in identical expressions of shock. Stiles is the first to regain composure. He leans forward and clasps his hands together on top of the table. His hazel eyes narrow at me.

“Tell her as in tell her what I think you’re wanting to tell her. As in Scott’s a werewolf?”

I nod and open my mouth to say something but Allison cuts me off.

“I don’t think she’s ready to hear it, yet.”

“And when will Lydia be ready to learn about werewolves and kanimas?” I ask. “Is there ever a right time?”

“She has a point,” Stiles says and I’m relieved that one of them is considering my suggestion.

“Telling her could put her in danger,” Allison argues.

“She’s already in danger,” I say.

“We all are but we know what to watch out for. She doesn’t,” Stiles says.

The three of us look at Scott. Ultimately, it’s his decision. I invited Stiles and Allison along because both care about Lydia. Scott cares too but not as much as the two teens beside him. It’s his secret, though. I can tell her my side of it but how can I explain away the other aspects? How can I keep Scott out of it? He seems to realize that we’re all staring at him, waiting.

“I get where you’re coming from,” he says and I know I’ve lost the argument. “There’s too much going on right now to add Lydia to the mix. When we’ve settled things with the kanima, then we can tell her. Just not right now.”

Despite disagreeing, I accept his decision. I walk them to the door and watch as the three teens leave. As their respective vehicles pull away, dread feels my stomach. We’re going to regret this decision. We’re going to regret it deeply. I only hope I can stop whatever’s happening before it’s too late.

A/N: Peter's an ass. Even in death. I honestly found it ridiculous that no one thought to tell Lydia about the supernatural. Especially when everyone could see that she was changed somehow. Anyways, I'm excited about the next chapter.