Page 93 of Lavender and Lightning

My heart sinks, dread pooling in the place it vacated. Lex and I talked about many things regarding Lydia’s safety, and the pile of secrets between us is not insignificant. Lydia is quiet for another moment or so, and I let myself enjoy this while it lasts.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” she prompts, pulling back to give me a heartbreakingly kind smile.

I furrow my brow in confusion, but don’t object when she helps me to my feet and guides me up the stairs and into my room. She leaves me to stand in the middle of my disaster of a room, bustling off to the bathroom. A moment later, the shower starts running, and she reappears. I’m so out of my depth, bewildered and fascinated as I watch her dart around the room, gathering dirty laundry in her arms and dumping it in my hamper. She straightens the bedding, fluffs the pillows, and even picks up empty bottles I’d dropped off the side of the bed. She looks up as she goes to the trash and smiles.

“Go on and get yourself cleaned up. You smell like the floor of a dive bar,” she says with a laugh.

“What are you doing? Why—”

“Shower first, then we’ll talk.”

“But—”

“Now.”

I blink at the stern growl in her voice, openly gaping. I’ve never seen her like this, so… focused. The alpha part of my mind, usually so ready to meet a challenge, only cowers meekly. She’s… she’s an omega, caring for an alpha. But—

“I will not repeat myself. Go,” she says, pointing to the bathroom door.

Too stunned to object, I follow her command. I don’t linger, and I feel noticeably better once the layer of grime and grief on my skin slides down the drain. Once I’m done, I turn off the water and wrap a towel securely around my waist before padding back out into my room. She’s been busy, straightening and cleaning my mess until everything is back where it belongs. Lydia found her blanket stash and has wrapped herself in the twin to her favorite emerald green one. She’s sitting up, but has cocooned herself in the soft material, even pulling it over her head so only her face is visible.

“So, now can we talk?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Are you going to get dressed first?” she asks back, her eyes drifting down my body before flicking back to my face.

I already feel more like myself, just by having her in the same room, so it’s easy to fall back into our old habits. I smirk and settle my stance more fully. “No, I don’t think I will,” I say at last.

She presses her lips together, and I wait, half hoping she’ll object. Lydia’s stubbornness and will are two of the many things I love about her, and it’s only now that I’m seeing them again that I realize how little she’s displayed those traits these last few weeks. But instead, she settles more fully into her blanket, fixing her eyes on mine.

“You were having a panic attack,” she states, leaving no room for denials.

I sigh and look away, face heating slightly. “I was. I’ve had a few this week,” I admit.

“Because I’ve been gone?”

“Because I didn’t know for sure you were safe,” I correct.

She hums noncommittally, but doesn’t answer. I let my arms down to hang at my sides, trying not to fidget too much. Being alone has given me the room to reflect, and my panic has always stemmed from my fear for Lydia’s safety, and not being there to save her.

“I know it’s in your nature to need to protect me, but there has to be a limit. I can’t…Wecan’t keep doing this over and over. It’s not healthy,” Lydia says, low and serious.

I swallow and start to turn away, but stop. No, I can’t hide from this. Not if I want any chance of repairing the trust between us. So instead of walking away, I move toward the bed, sitting on the edge facing the door. I’m close enough to feel the edge of the blanket brushing my side when I move, but I don’t close the distance. I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees, looking down to where my hands dangle limply.

“Doing what?” I ask dully, almost afraid of the answer.

Lydia scoffs, but I don’t turn. “We keep secrets, stop talking to each other. And then we fight when we should be talking. I fell in love with you because you listened to me, but now I’m not sure if I—”

When she stops short, I turn to face her, my brows drawing low. “I will always listen to you, Lydia,” I declare emphatically.

Lydia’s eyes are distant, looking at a patch of my duvet cover but not really seeing it. “But will you hear me, even when I say things you don’t want to hear? Because from what I’ve seen, you have a tendency to act first and ask questions later.”

I sit with that for a moment, and let the words sink in. She’s right, of course. Even now, my first impulse is to deny it, which only further proves her point. But as I consider, this feels too specific to not be based on something that’s happened. And then I remember that morning in the kitchen, when she and Lucas shut me out for the first time.

“After the break-in, you—”

“I caught Davis’s scent outside of my apartment,” Lydia finishes, looking up at me with stony eyes.

I blink, my mouth opening and closing as I try to form words. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I manage at last.

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