Teen Wolf Drabble
Title: Untitled Drabble
Pairing: Lydia/Jackson
Rating: PG/PG-13?
Word count: 580
AN: I wrote this for wolfpacking, Challenge 1.8 - Running Up That Hill
She feels like she’s choking on her screams, the constant pressure builds up in her throat, makes it hard to swallow as she fights to push them back down. Its agony, like running. Like running so fast, for so long, your lungs begin to protest. But she can’t stop, can’t slow down.
It's as if she’s invisible now, ever since that night.
She doesn’t feel like she’s survived anything, because if this is being alive, she would have preferred to have never have woken up.
Panic strums through her veins, the incessant ache of being on edge, of looking around corners. And the thing is, she doesn’t even know why she does it, can't remember why she needs to be afraid of the dark.
Its her own living hell.
She sleep walks through the school day, watches as people pass by her in one constant blur, and it's almost as if she’s watching her life in fast forward. Nothing and no one penetrates the world that’s crumbling down around her, she is always alone here, even when she’s surrounded by hundreds of people.
Forgotten.
She’s screaming inside, running, faster and faster everyday. She can't stop, doesn’t know how to stop. It’s a constant battle for control, she’s fighting for the last shreds of reality.
When is she dreaming and when is she awake? The two worlds collide, she feels as if she’s losing her mind, or rather, she has already lost it.
But then it all stops. Her heart slows, she is able to breathe again, she’s safe.
Her eyes track him across the cafeteria, they take in the broad expanse of his shoulders, the smirk of his lips. And it‘s okay now, because she knows those lips, knows the weight of them against her own, the taste of them on her tongue.
She is safe as long as she can see him, as long as he is there, nothing can touch her.
She has always been safe with him, knows he will protect her.
He saved her before after all.
And she almost hates it, hates him, hates that she’s become one of those girls. One that needs to be saved. Hates that she’s been reduced to this.
But she’s just so scared, all the time. And she’s just so sick of fighting it.
She knows she loves him, loves him so much that it hurts. She can't help it though, doesn’t even want to try, because he is the only thing in her life right now that she knows is still real.
He has always made her feel safe, is the only one she’s ever been able to lower her guard around.
Let in.
She watches him from her seat, feels her pulse jump against her neck. He doesn’t notice her, never does anymore. But that’s okay, she notices him.
He stands, lacrosse stick clutched in his hand as he makes his way out of the room, others from the team following in his wake.
Breath.
He blinks in and out of existence, obscured by so many people, in till he’s gone, door banging closed behind him.
Her hand clenches the bag in her lap, nails leaving crescent-shaped scars in the leather, and the sight sends a chill up her spine.
And she doesn’t know why.
Her hand moves to the neckline of her shirt and dips in, fingers clench around the cool metal of a key.
Breath. Breath.
She’s running again.
Just breath.
She starts to scream.
Pairing: Lydia/Jackson
Rating: PG/PG-13?
Word count: 580
AN: I wrote this for wolfpacking, Challenge 1.8 - Running Up That Hill
She feels like she’s choking on her screams, the constant pressure builds up in her throat, makes it hard to swallow as she fights to push them back down. Its agony, like running. Like running so fast, for so long, your lungs begin to protest. But she can’t stop, can’t slow down.
It's as if she’s invisible now, ever since that night.
She doesn’t feel like she’s survived anything, because if this is being alive, she would have preferred to have never have woken up.
Panic strums through her veins, the incessant ache of being on edge, of looking around corners. And the thing is, she doesn’t even know why she does it, can't remember why she needs to be afraid of the dark.
Its her own living hell.
She sleep walks through the school day, watches as people pass by her in one constant blur, and it's almost as if she’s watching her life in fast forward. Nothing and no one penetrates the world that’s crumbling down around her, she is always alone here, even when she’s surrounded by hundreds of people.
Forgotten.
She’s screaming inside, running, faster and faster everyday. She can't stop, doesn’t know how to stop. It’s a constant battle for control, she’s fighting for the last shreds of reality.
When is she dreaming and when is she awake? The two worlds collide, she feels as if she’s losing her mind, or rather, she has already lost it.
But then it all stops. Her heart slows, she is able to breathe again, she’s safe.
Her eyes track him across the cafeteria, they take in the broad expanse of his shoulders, the smirk of his lips. And it‘s okay now, because she knows those lips, knows the weight of them against her own, the taste of them on her tongue.
She is safe as long as she can see him, as long as he is there, nothing can touch her.
She has always been safe with him, knows he will protect her.
He saved her before after all.
And she almost hates it, hates him, hates that she’s become one of those girls. One that needs to be saved. Hates that she’s been reduced to this.
But she’s just so scared, all the time. And she’s just so sick of fighting it.
She knows she loves him, loves him so much that it hurts. She can't help it though, doesn’t even want to try, because he is the only thing in her life right now that she knows is still real.
He has always made her feel safe, is the only one she’s ever been able to lower her guard around.
Let in.
She watches him from her seat, feels her pulse jump against her neck. He doesn’t notice her, never does anymore. But that’s okay, she notices him.
He stands, lacrosse stick clutched in his hand as he makes his way out of the room, others from the team following in his wake.
Breath.
He blinks in and out of existence, obscured by so many people, in till he’s gone, door banging closed behind him.
Her hand clenches the bag in her lap, nails leaving crescent-shaped scars in the leather, and the sight sends a chill up her spine.
And she doesn’t know why.
Her hand moves to the neckline of her shirt and dips in, fingers clench around the cool metal of a key.
Breath. Breath.
She’s running again.
Just breath.
She starts to scream.