"No, I don't want to go in there again!" Stiles whisper hisses to Scott, who held the pizza money in one fist while the other pushed Stiles towards the door. He argues back how were they supposed to know what she liked on her pizza to which Stiles would assure that everyone liked plain pepperoni.
But there he was, knocking on her door again and just like before, there was no response. He debates knocking again but decided against it and pushed open her door while folding his lips into his mouth. She was sitting criss-cross on the bed with a large book in her lap and her hair tucked behind her ears.
"I was just wondering what you like on your pizza?" Stiles holds the money up as proof and she glances down at her novel.
"Anything is fine, really." Her sentence was rushed as she eagerly tried to get the boy to leave. He nods, closing the door while repeating the words in his head. It was the first time she'd spoken and he noted how small she sounded, matching perfectly with how small she looked. Behind the door, Lydia couldn't seem to focus on her book, mindlessly turning pages without actually retaining any of the plot causing her to flip a page or two back. This was all so new to her. She'd been alone for what seemed forever and now suddenly someone she doesn't know at all gives her a place to sleep and eat and, well, live.
No one in her life had ever done that for her and she cut her thoughts short as to not cry. Crying made her feel weak and she had done too much of it in her short life. The doorbell rang, startling her and she didn't realize how long she was actually thinking until the noise echoed through her ears. There was the sound of a door being thrown open before the thudding of several footsteps races past her door and bounded down the stairs towards what she was assuming the pizza delivery boy.
Lydia rubs the goosebumps on her arms in an attempt to warm her skin, wondering if it was her room, the whole house, or even just herself that was cold. Then again she tended to get chilly easily and the temperature probably wasn't even that bad. Her eyes wander around the room, recalling the fact that her jacket was basically of no use, and her green orbs land on the maroon sweatshirt still hanging from the back of the desk chair. Sliding off of the mattress, her footsteps are soundless as she grabs the hoodie and folds it neatly.
As Stiles and Scott made their way back upstairs, a slice of pizza already hanging out of Scott's mouth, they never noticed Lydia's door barely closing. Both boys stop immediately upon entering Stiles' room again because there, laying on the end of his bed, was his lacrosse hoodie.
"She's so goddamn quiet." Stiles mumbles, taking hold of the jacket before placing it on top of his dresser.
"How long is she staying?" Scott asks, taking a seat on top of the desk while Stiles opts for the actual chair.
He shrugs. "Dunno. Could be a few weeks, months. We've never done anything like this before."
The conversation stops immediately upon hearing the squeak of her bedroom door, the floorboards creaking slightly on the stairs as Lydia made her way downstairs for food.
"Not gonna lie, this is some horror movie type shit." Scott greedily bites into his second pizza slice.
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"Hey Da–whoah, what the hell is that?" Stiles was downstairs for half a minute when his father walked in with a large box full of lord knows what.
"People have been donating stuff like crazy for Lydia. Half the weight in this box is books." Mr.Stilinski groans, setting in down on the counter as his son opens the fridge.
"Good luck getting that to her. She doesn't willingly open the door unless there's pizza downstairs or if she knows we're in our rooms." Stiles informs.
The sheriff sighs. "This isn't new information you're telling me. The girl has social anxiety and hasn't exactly lived with anyone since she was fourteen."
Almost automatically Stiles' brain started giving him all the information about social anxiety he knew, spitting out words to the front of his mind like 'fear of being judged' or 'rapid heartbeat' and other symptoms he could recall. Wow Dad, Stiles thought, thanks for making me feel like a jackass. "Hey, kiddo." The man grabs his attention. "If you're uncomfortable with this all, just say the word and we'll figure something else out. It's going to take some adjusting but at least give it a couple days."
Stiles nods, understanding that his father just wanted to help as much as possible. Honestly the boy didn't mind; she was quiet and in the four hours she'd been here, he had only seen her twice, plus minimal word exchanging. After asking where Scott was and Stiles explaining he had gone home thirty minutes ago, Stiles bounds up the stairs to his room. Passing by that closed door made him flinch. It's like shifting all the furniture half a centimeter to the left; you know something is off but you can't particularly place it. In this case, the closed door was the something off.
Stiles was just thankful his father hadn't set up Lydia's stuff in–
He shakes his head to rid himself of the thought but as he closed his door, he glanced directly across the hall to the third room on the second floor, a place Stiles was glad Lydia hadn't discovered yet. Sometimes he went in there, mostly when the sheriff wasn't home or when he was desperate for a memory but other than those few moments, he seldom ventured to the room whose paint color was slowly fading from his mind.
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Authors note:
Looks like y'all are liking it so far...that was an odd sentence.
Comment, read, enjoy!
-Chloe
YOU ARE READING
Lydia's Shy (completed)
FanfictionShe'd been providing for herself since the age of fourteen when her parents had died tragically in a car accident. But now, two years late at the age of sixteen, she finally has a place to call home. Lydia was shy. Very, extremely, inevitably, shy...
