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Lydia Martin personifies (eunoia) wrote in paradisolog,

Huffing indignantly, Lydia turned her back on the woman. There was literally nowhere to go on this stupid fucking island to get a moment of peace. Finnick wanted more from her, whether he was willing to admit it to her or not, than she was willing or able to give to anyone; Stiles was back in her shelter because she'd asked him to stay until the baby was born — stupid. Stupid idea — and the jungle wasn't safe. Comin here gave her an even more obnoxious audience: a total stranger. She felt backed into a corner.

Lydia's chest ached as she sucked in heaving breaths. Oh my God, is this what Isaac felt like in the freezer? she thought wildly, disconnected and admittedly awful. This wasn't that. This was a panic attack. Lydia felt boxed in and trapped and she was having a panic attack. This was fine. Lydia could fix this, she told herself, and she took in a deep breath, holding it.

She held it until she couldn't anymore and then gasped for air, clutching at the boulder because it was there to grab, and her shoulders started to wrack with brand new sobs as she broke down again. Fine, if this lady got her rocks off watching a mental breakdown, let her watch, then. Stupid, nosy bitch.