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Scott and Lydia, Wednesday night
Scott and Lydia work it out. Lydia's still going, Scott still doesn't like it, but there's significantly less tantruming on either end. Happy ending?
The first thing Scott had done when he managed to drag his migraine-hungover ass out of Lydia's bed, after what must've been a solid 24 hours of agony, was change and go down to the garage. And there he had been ever since, tinkering with his bike and one of the school's cars. They were better maintained now than they had probably ever been, and still he hadn't stopped.
He knew distracting himself like that wouldn't help. He knew it was a coping mechanism for his coping mechanism (which was to control everyone and everything around him). But it made him feel, if not better, at least more numb. But he couldn't hide down here forever.
So on the third day, he finally texted her to let her know where he was. Because that conversation wasn't over, and they were going to finish it. No matter how much Scott didn't particularly want to.
Lydia turned up some fifteen minutes later, pristine and pressed in a tulle skirt and Prada heels, to find him covered in grease and dressed in the appropriate costume: under-tank and beat up jeans.
To say she wasn't particularly looking forward to this conversation either would've been an epic understatement. But it had to be done.
She clacked over to his bike and leaned against the school car with one hip, crossing her arms. "There you are." She kept the, I don't suppose I'm lucky enough that you're really finished sulking, to herself.
He looked up from what he'd been working on. "Hey."
And Scott didn't really know where to go from there. He wasn't tactful on the best of days, and this wasn't even one of them. He stood up and awkwardly tucked his hands into his pockets. Okay, so he'd invited her down here, he guessed that made figuring out how to broach this particular issue his problem?
"I still don't like it."
"I didn't expect you to change your mind," she said with a slight shrug of one shoulder.
He wondered what she had expected, then. Because much as she could probably claim he'd been the one who had taken the last several days to ruminate on this shit, it wasn't as though Lydia had come and found him to talk about it either. She had given him the time, and she rarely did things without reason. "So now we're right back where we were."
"We're past where we were at first, and back where we were at the end of our last conversation," Lydia clarified. "I understand where you're coming from. Do you understand where I'm coming from--and please, do not start this 'you don't care like I do' thing. That's unfair and inaccurate."
"I understand where you're coming from." And Scott did. Damon, for whatever reason, was her friend. And Lydia had every right to be friends with whoever the fuck she wanted, no matter what Scott felt about them. She had every right to spend time with them, too. This trip, really, was just that.
He still hated it. He still wished she wouldn't go. Because this wasn't normal friend hanging out - this wasn't a trip to lunch or the movies - this was much deeper than that. Maybe not even to Lydia, but, Scott seriously suspected, to Salvatore. It wasn't like the other boy was particularly forthcoming about his past.
"And sure, I'm being unfair." This was said matter-of-factly. He would fight dirty, when it was important. And this...well, it was important to him. Lydia was. This relationship was. "But I don't know that it's inaccurate. I wouldn't do something that made you this uncomfortable, if I knew it did. Not unless it was life and death or something. This isn't."
This was what Lydia had hoped for--an actual conversation. They wouldn't get what they wanted out of it, but they could at least make some attempt at having a healthy, grown-up relationship. She didn't want to think it was doomed--ideally not ever but certainly not so soon.
"Just because I don't act like you, it doesn't mean you feel more. You wouldn't do something that made me uncomfortable--that's how you show respect and affection. I wouldn't ask you not to--that's how I show mine." Lydia cocked her head. "I don't keep my mouth shut about how you interact with Lil because I don't care. I do it because I respect your ability to make a choice."
"But you expect me to make the 'right' choice." At least, that was how it seemed. "I constantly have to prove that I'm good enough. So are they free choices, or are you influencing them right from the beginning? Maybe both, maybe you influence my decisions because I let you. Because I care about you, and I value your opinion. Maybe I understand that I'm not good enough, and so I get that I have to not suck.
"But I don't factor into any of your decisions. Or it doesn't seem like I do." And that was the crux of it, for Scott. That's what he'd meant when he'd said she didn't care.
"Wow, Scott." Lydia's eyebrows couldn't possibly get any higher. "We've been together officially--what? A month or two? And I'm already a callous bitch entirely motivated by my need to emasculate and control you. That's... impressive, even for me."
He felt himself start to lose his tight hold on his frustration. "That's not what I'm saying."
"If that's how you feel, then it's what you should be saying, because that's horrific." Yeah, Lydia definitely expected a lot of Scott, but this... wow. "If I expected you to make what I'd consider the right decisions all the time, I would've been angry you hadn't sworn off being friends with Lil the moment we got together. I'm sure there are other examples, but I think I just need a minute to wrap my mind around this."
Scott blushed, feeling unexpectedly ashamed - on top of being frustrated with the whole fucking situation - even though he couldn't have identified why. He sucked at this shit. At talking things out. It sometimes made him wonder if all of them would've been better off if he hadn't decided to try.
"Tell me you wouldn't be angry if I came to you and said I was going on a multi-day trip back to Anchorage with some other girl. Some friend of mine."
"I'd be disappointed you didn't ask me instead," she said, repeating the scenario from the other day. "But no, I wouldn't be angry."
He wasn't entirely sure he believed her. He also wasn't really sure what the point of this conversation was anymore. It was clear that Lydia had already decided. Why bother to keep putting himself out there and getting stomped on?
"Look. It's obvious you're going to go anyway, no matter much it hurts or bothers me," he finally said. "So...there you go. You've told me. I'm on notice, and won't report you missing or anything. I'll just look forward to the whole thing in the meanwhile."
"This is not healthy," Lydia said, pushing off the car. "I'm telling you now: I think what you're asking me for is crazy. I thought it was crazy of Lil to tell you not to go out to dinner with me; I thought it was crazy of you to agree.
"That's not love. It's suspicion and possessiveness. Yet I'm the one who's supposed to be controlling and cold."
Scott frowned. Suspicion and possessiveness - that didn't sound like what he was feeling. He felt hurt, and he felt...inadequate. Maybe that was what it looked like from her side, but dammit it hadn't been what he meant. He clenched his jaw shut, the muscles there jumping as he thought. He wanted to leave. He knew, somehow, that it might be the last time he saw Lydia like this if he did.
He hated spilling his guts. Every time he'd tried it, things had gone from bad to worse. But he didn't see another way out.
Finally, he forced himself to try and explain. "When you spend your whole life losing anything and everything important to you, it makes you want to hold on tight to those things and people that are important to you. So, yeah, I'm fucking possessive sometimes." With his friends (Jeanne-Marie could vouch for that), with his family, with his belongings.
"You're one of the most important people to me. Which means I'm fucking afraid of losing you. Because I always lose the people and stuff I lo....I care about. I'm sure it's unhealthy. I'm fucked up as hell. But I can't change it overnight."
That... actually explained a lot. And was nothing like what Lydia had thought was going on here. She sighed. "I shouldn't have said it like that. But this is why I get annoyed when you just try to say, 'Go ahead and do what you do and I don't want to talk about it.' Because half the time I have the completely wrong idea about why you're doing what you're doing.
"I really didn't know that was where this was coming from. It's the kind of thing I need to know."
Scott felt raw, exposed, and more than a little uncomfortable with it. "It's not exactly getting-to-know-you material. Not even for me."
"No, it's need-to-know material. And this is need-to-know time."
He looked down at the floor, and scuffed his already torn up and dirty shoe against it. "So...now you know. I guess. For whatever it's worth."
"Well I can at least stop accusing you of being crazy. Crazier than I already knew you were, anyhow." Lydia sighed and threw her hair over her shoulder. She got his crazy; he got hers. That was how it was supposed to work. You don't have to agree. You just have to understand.
"Gee," he murmured, "thanks."
Another pause and then, "So...where do we go from here?"
"I don't know," Lydia admitted. It was such a Scott question, but she never really felt the need to ask it, herself. She had places she wanted to go, and sometimes she even got there, but her eyes were, in general, on the prize. It didn't really apply, in situations like this. "You acknowledge my crazy, I acknowledge yours. I'm not going to be the girl who ditches plans because her boyfriend hates them, you're not going to be the guy who fakes security where he's not feeling it.
"I can try to help you feel it more," she offered, half a question. She wasn't sure how, short of doing what he wanted, which wasn't happening. But there must be something else.
"I...don't know how you could," Scott admitted, sounding as though the admission troubled him somewhat. "But, you know, I can fake it. I just don't want to, with you."
"I don't want you to. I know you don't want me to."
"This," he gestured between them, "might be easier if I did. If I acted less fucked-up." It was true, Scott was pretty sure. He wasn't positive, but hell, maybe some healthy grown-ass adult would be so secure in a month-or-so long relationship to not care that their significant other was going on a road trip with someone they'd slept with. He doubted it, but it was possible. If he'd just pretended that he was okay with it, they could've avoided this whole thing.
He'd have been pissed off anyway, sure. Angry. But that had happened anyway, and apparently with little point. What had he gotten for his confessions? Something that could've been anything from pity to disinterest. No impact, though. At least not a tangible one.
"No. If you acted less fucked up, that would be the death of this." She repeated his gesture. "That's what dishonesty does."
He reached to catch her hand and then, realizing how dirty his own were, stopped himself. "So...you know all my flaky shit now. Or at least most of it. Next time, it's your turn."
She smiled and took his hand. Honestly, she wasn't sure he wanted to touch her, before that little gesture, but now she knew he did, an invisible weight seemed to be lifted from her shoulders. "I have plenty to go around."
"I'm going to get you all dirty," Scott told her. Literally, since he was covered in engine grime. Figuratively, he suspected, too. He squeezed her hand gently. "And I'm sure you do. No one who didn't would be able to put up with me."
"So true." She took his other hand and pulled him closer. "But you are assuming I don't want to get all dirty."
He let her drag him over, even as it occurred to him what a strange picture they probably would've presented if anyone else had been in there. Him, looking like the grease monkey he was, in a wife beater and ragged jeans, covered in dirt. Lydia looking flawless.
It was kind of apropos.
Scott leaned in a little, so his lips were nearly brushing hers. "I'm still not okay with it."
"I know." Her lips did brush his.
He closed what little distance was left, and kissed her softly. One hand came up to cup her check, his thumb brushing over the soft skin there. When he pulled back, there were smudges on her face, and Scott couldn't but smirk slightly at her. "Told you I'd get you dirty."
Scott traced one thumb down the gentle curve of her neck. "I will spend the entire time being an obnoxious jackass."
She tilted into his touch, smiling again. "And I will spend the entire time reminding you that you're an obnoxious jackass. With nothing to fear."
He paused just over the thrumming heart beat on her neck and, after a moment, leaned in to place a gentle kiss there. Almost reverent. The taste of the dirt was metallic, bitter, but Lydia always tasted fantastic. "That's a big promise to make. And I know you know. But so do I."
She tilted her head for easier access and fisted the hem of his shirt in one hand. "I know what I want."
She wasn't afraid. If he decided he couldn't deal, she would... be sad. Incredibly sad. And not a little bitter. But he was smart enough that he should know better, be able to have better. And she wasn't going to compromise that for either of them. Ever.
"What do you want?" He asked softly, his lips brushing over warm, soft skin.
Because she had the feeling he really needed to hear it, she said immediately, "You." Then smirked, reaching up to rake her fingertips through the short hair at the back of his head. "And to get a little dirtier."
He shivered lightly as her nails gently scraped over the sensitive skin of his scalp and neck, and without even thinking he stepped in closer against her. Scott dimly wondered, even as his hands cupped her face again - leaving trails of grease and oil - how annoyed she'd be that he'd probably fucked up her clothes.
He wasn't all that worried about it, though. Lydia did annoyance pretty well. Besides, who the fuck could care about shit like that when she said what she wanted was...him? Scott was finally able to meet her eyes, and she meant it. No hesitation, no fear.
"We're in the garage," he murmured, not sure if he was reminding her or himself.
She smiled and gave a little hum; really, height difference had never been a huge turn on for her, but for some reason she loved it, with Scott. Just made him so... climbable. "So let's relocate?"
He nodded and then gave her another lingering kiss. "Yeah. Let's get the fuck out of here."
The first thing Scott had done when he managed to drag his migraine-hungover ass out of Lydia's bed, after what must've been a solid 24 hours of agony, was change and go down to the garage. And there he had been ever since, tinkering with his bike and one of the school's cars. They were better maintained now than they had probably ever been, and still he hadn't stopped.
He knew distracting himself like that wouldn't help. He knew it was a coping mechanism for his coping mechanism (which was to control everyone and everything around him). But it made him feel, if not better, at least more numb. But he couldn't hide down here forever.
So on the third day, he finally texted her to let her know where he was. Because that conversation wasn't over, and they were going to finish it. No matter how much Scott didn't particularly want to.
Lydia turned up some fifteen minutes later, pristine and pressed in a tulle skirt and Prada heels, to find him covered in grease and dressed in the appropriate costume: under-tank and beat up jeans.
To say she wasn't particularly looking forward to this conversation either would've been an epic understatement. But it had to be done.
She clacked over to his bike and leaned against the school car with one hip, crossing her arms. "There you are." She kept the, I don't suppose I'm lucky enough that you're really finished sulking, to herself.
He looked up from what he'd been working on. "Hey."
And Scott didn't really know where to go from there. He wasn't tactful on the best of days, and this wasn't even one of them. He stood up and awkwardly tucked his hands into his pockets. Okay, so he'd invited her down here, he guessed that made figuring out how to broach this particular issue his problem?
"I still don't like it."
"I didn't expect you to change your mind," she said with a slight shrug of one shoulder.
He wondered what she had expected, then. Because much as she could probably claim he'd been the one who had taken the last several days to ruminate on this shit, it wasn't as though Lydia had come and found him to talk about it either. She had given him the time, and she rarely did things without reason. "So now we're right back where we were."
"We're past where we were at first, and back where we were at the end of our last conversation," Lydia clarified. "I understand where you're coming from. Do you understand where I'm coming from--and please, do not start this 'you don't care like I do' thing. That's unfair and inaccurate."
"I understand where you're coming from." And Scott did. Damon, for whatever reason, was her friend. And Lydia had every right to be friends with whoever the fuck she wanted, no matter what Scott felt about them. She had every right to spend time with them, too. This trip, really, was just that.
He still hated it. He still wished she wouldn't go. Because this wasn't normal friend hanging out - this wasn't a trip to lunch or the movies - this was much deeper than that. Maybe not even to Lydia, but, Scott seriously suspected, to Salvatore. It wasn't like the other boy was particularly forthcoming about his past.
"And sure, I'm being unfair." This was said matter-of-factly. He would fight dirty, when it was important. And this...well, it was important to him. Lydia was. This relationship was. "But I don't know that it's inaccurate. I wouldn't do something that made you this uncomfortable, if I knew it did. Not unless it was life and death or something. This isn't."
This was what Lydia had hoped for--an actual conversation. They wouldn't get what they wanted out of it, but they could at least make some attempt at having a healthy, grown-up relationship. She didn't want to think it was doomed--ideally not ever but certainly not so soon.
"Just because I don't act like you, it doesn't mean you feel more. You wouldn't do something that made me uncomfortable--that's how you show respect and affection. I wouldn't ask you not to--that's how I show mine." Lydia cocked her head. "I don't keep my mouth shut about how you interact with Lil because I don't care. I do it because I respect your ability to make a choice."
"But you expect me to make the 'right' choice." At least, that was how it seemed. "I constantly have to prove that I'm good enough. So are they free choices, or are you influencing them right from the beginning? Maybe both, maybe you influence my decisions because I let you. Because I care about you, and I value your opinion. Maybe I understand that I'm not good enough, and so I get that I have to not suck.
"But I don't factor into any of your decisions. Or it doesn't seem like I do." And that was the crux of it, for Scott. That's what he'd meant when he'd said she didn't care.
"Wow, Scott." Lydia's eyebrows couldn't possibly get any higher. "We've been together officially--what? A month or two? And I'm already a callous bitch entirely motivated by my need to emasculate and control you. That's... impressive, even for me."
He felt himself start to lose his tight hold on his frustration. "That's not what I'm saying."
"If that's how you feel, then it's what you should be saying, because that's horrific." Yeah, Lydia definitely expected a lot of Scott, but this... wow. "If I expected you to make what I'd consider the right decisions all the time, I would've been angry you hadn't sworn off being friends with Lil the moment we got together. I'm sure there are other examples, but I think I just need a minute to wrap my mind around this."
Scott blushed, feeling unexpectedly ashamed - on top of being frustrated with the whole fucking situation - even though he couldn't have identified why. He sucked at this shit. At talking things out. It sometimes made him wonder if all of them would've been better off if he hadn't decided to try.
"Tell me you wouldn't be angry if I came to you and said I was going on a multi-day trip back to Anchorage with some other girl. Some friend of mine."
"I'd be disappointed you didn't ask me instead," she said, repeating the scenario from the other day. "But no, I wouldn't be angry."
He wasn't entirely sure he believed her. He also wasn't really sure what the point of this conversation was anymore. It was clear that Lydia had already decided. Why bother to keep putting himself out there and getting stomped on?
"Look. It's obvious you're going to go anyway, no matter much it hurts or bothers me," he finally said. "So...there you go. You've told me. I'm on notice, and won't report you missing or anything. I'll just look forward to the whole thing in the meanwhile."
"This is not healthy," Lydia said, pushing off the car. "I'm telling you now: I think what you're asking me for is crazy. I thought it was crazy of Lil to tell you not to go out to dinner with me; I thought it was crazy of you to agree.
"That's not love. It's suspicion and possessiveness. Yet I'm the one who's supposed to be controlling and cold."
Scott frowned. Suspicion and possessiveness - that didn't sound like what he was feeling. He felt hurt, and he felt...inadequate. Maybe that was what it looked like from her side, but dammit it hadn't been what he meant. He clenched his jaw shut, the muscles there jumping as he thought. He wanted to leave. He knew, somehow, that it might be the last time he saw Lydia like this if he did.
He hated spilling his guts. Every time he'd tried it, things had gone from bad to worse. But he didn't see another way out.
Finally, he forced himself to try and explain. "When you spend your whole life losing anything and everything important to you, it makes you want to hold on tight to those things and people that are important to you. So, yeah, I'm fucking possessive sometimes." With his friends (Jeanne-Marie could vouch for that), with his family, with his belongings.
"You're one of the most important people to me. Which means I'm fucking afraid of losing you. Because I always lose the people and stuff I lo....I care about. I'm sure it's unhealthy. I'm fucked up as hell. But I can't change it overnight."
That... actually explained a lot. And was nothing like what Lydia had thought was going on here. She sighed. "I shouldn't have said it like that. But this is why I get annoyed when you just try to say, 'Go ahead and do what you do and I don't want to talk about it.' Because half the time I have the completely wrong idea about why you're doing what you're doing.
"I really didn't know that was where this was coming from. It's the kind of thing I need to know."
Scott felt raw, exposed, and more than a little uncomfortable with it. "It's not exactly getting-to-know-you material. Not even for me."
"No, it's need-to-know material. And this is need-to-know time."
He looked down at the floor, and scuffed his already torn up and dirty shoe against it. "So...now you know. I guess. For whatever it's worth."
"Well I can at least stop accusing you of being crazy. Crazier than I already knew you were, anyhow." Lydia sighed and threw her hair over her shoulder. She got his crazy; he got hers. That was how it was supposed to work. You don't have to agree. You just have to understand.
"Gee," he murmured, "thanks."
Another pause and then, "So...where do we go from here?"
"I don't know," Lydia admitted. It was such a Scott question, but she never really felt the need to ask it, herself. She had places she wanted to go, and sometimes she even got there, but her eyes were, in general, on the prize. It didn't really apply, in situations like this. "You acknowledge my crazy, I acknowledge yours. I'm not going to be the girl who ditches plans because her boyfriend hates them, you're not going to be the guy who fakes security where he's not feeling it.
"I can try to help you feel it more," she offered, half a question. She wasn't sure how, short of doing what he wanted, which wasn't happening. But there must be something else.
"I...don't know how you could," Scott admitted, sounding as though the admission troubled him somewhat. "But, you know, I can fake it. I just don't want to, with you."
"I don't want you to. I know you don't want me to."
"This," he gestured between them, "might be easier if I did. If I acted less fucked-up." It was true, Scott was pretty sure. He wasn't positive, but hell, maybe some healthy grown-ass adult would be so secure in a month-or-so long relationship to not care that their significant other was going on a road trip with someone they'd slept with. He doubted it, but it was possible. If he'd just pretended that he was okay with it, they could've avoided this whole thing.
He'd have been pissed off anyway, sure. Angry. But that had happened anyway, and apparently with little point. What had he gotten for his confessions? Something that could've been anything from pity to disinterest. No impact, though. At least not a tangible one.
"No. If you acted less fucked up, that would be the death of this." She repeated his gesture. "That's what dishonesty does."
He reached to catch her hand and then, realizing how dirty his own were, stopped himself. "So...you know all my flaky shit now. Or at least most of it. Next time, it's your turn."
She smiled and took his hand. Honestly, she wasn't sure he wanted to touch her, before that little gesture, but now she knew he did, an invisible weight seemed to be lifted from her shoulders. "I have plenty to go around."
"I'm going to get you all dirty," Scott told her. Literally, since he was covered in engine grime. Figuratively, he suspected, too. He squeezed her hand gently. "And I'm sure you do. No one who didn't would be able to put up with me."
"So true." She took his other hand and pulled him closer. "But you are assuming I don't want to get all dirty."
He let her drag him over, even as it occurred to him what a strange picture they probably would've presented if anyone else had been in there. Him, looking like the grease monkey he was, in a wife beater and ragged jeans, covered in dirt. Lydia looking flawless.
It was kind of apropos.
Scott leaned in a little, so his lips were nearly brushing hers. "I'm still not okay with it."
"I know." Her lips did brush his.
He closed what little distance was left, and kissed her softly. One hand came up to cup her check, his thumb brushing over the soft skin there. When he pulled back, there were smudges on her face, and Scott couldn't but smirk slightly at her. "Told you I'd get you dirty."
Scott traced one thumb down the gentle curve of her neck. "I will spend the entire time being an obnoxious jackass."
She tilted into his touch, smiling again. "And I will spend the entire time reminding you that you're an obnoxious jackass. With nothing to fear."
He paused just over the thrumming heart beat on her neck and, after a moment, leaned in to place a gentle kiss there. Almost reverent. The taste of the dirt was metallic, bitter, but Lydia always tasted fantastic. "That's a big promise to make. And I know you know. But so do I."
She tilted her head for easier access and fisted the hem of his shirt in one hand. "I know what I want."
She wasn't afraid. If he decided he couldn't deal, she would... be sad. Incredibly sad. And not a little bitter. But he was smart enough that he should know better, be able to have better. And she wasn't going to compromise that for either of them. Ever.
"What do you want?" He asked softly, his lips brushing over warm, soft skin.
Because she had the feeling he really needed to hear it, she said immediately, "You." Then smirked, reaching up to rake her fingertips through the short hair at the back of his head. "And to get a little dirtier."
He shivered lightly as her nails gently scraped over the sensitive skin of his scalp and neck, and without even thinking he stepped in closer against her. Scott dimly wondered, even as his hands cupped her face again - leaving trails of grease and oil - how annoyed she'd be that he'd probably fucked up her clothes.
He wasn't all that worried about it, though. Lydia did annoyance pretty well. Besides, who the fuck could care about shit like that when she said what she wanted was...him? Scott was finally able to meet her eyes, and she meant it. No hesitation, no fear.
"We're in the garage," he murmured, not sure if he was reminding her or himself.
She smiled and gave a little hum; really, height difference had never been a huge turn on for her, but for some reason she loved it, with Scott. Just made him so... climbable. "So let's relocate?"
He nodded and then gave her another lingering kiss. "Yeah. Let's get the fuck out of here."