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Lydia Martin personifies (eunoia) wrote in paradisolog,

Lydia took a deep breath and sighed it out again. She didn't get it either. She didn't get a lot of things in this place. How time displacement worked, why her friends were acting like strangers; why the hell Arva insisted on bringing Beacon Hills resident after Beacon Hills resident into this paradise when she knew that the goddess had to see that the dysfunctional former pack was nothing more than a thorn in the collective side of the rest of the community.

"That's not fair," she countered, her eyes focusing on his. "You can't do that, that's not fair. It wasn't your job to decide whether or not she was ready, she should have been responsible for that. And you had no way of knowing that she was going to end up so—" Lydia stopped short. Crazy, was the word that came to mind and it felt mean, so she didn't want to say it. "—difficult," she finished after the little hiccup. She understood some part of Isaac's frustration. She had thought that she and Stiles would've made a good team and that he would've been all too pleased to jump into the role. Instead, she was largely going it alone. Isaac asked after her more than Stiles ever did and he seemed to think that his mere presence in the shelter with her was enough. She couldn't seem to make herself come out and tell him that it wasn't, so she went with passive responses, putting him off. She hadn't had sex with Stiles since the morning they got the bed. She made no advances at him, she wasn't even interested. She didn't initiate conversations; she didn't curl into his side anymore when they slept. They simply existed in the same space. She'd pictured something so much different. So, on that front, she understood where Isaac's feelings were originating: disappointment where there shouldn't be any. "I know the feeling," she whispered, the words honest but still making her feel guilty and ungrateful when the reality was that she wasn't ungrateful at all. She thanked Stiles for every little thing...however few and far between those things were. But when she showed him gratitude, it was genuine. From the way Isaac had been talking lately, he wasn't even getting that much from Malia.

Seeing the little smile ghost over his expression, Lydia felt a little bit of accomplishment. So the heartbeats had worked. He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it, a gesture that felt so much more intimate than she was sure he meant for it to be. "You do not sound like an asshole," she promised. "You sound like a man at the end of his rope begging for a helping hand. I only feel bad that I'm not a very good one, because I can't fix any of it. All I can do is listen to you vent," she apologized in response.