#god almighty i hate the ending because ???? i didn't know how to end it tbh i could have written another 1000 words | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lydiacollins · 8 years ago

Text

bad before the worst | self para

DATE/TIME: Monday 27th February 2017 / 10pm+

LOCATION: Predominantly, Lydia’s workplace.

SUMMARY: Whilst working excessively late hours, Lydia’s world is turned upside down when she comes face to face with the possibility that someone very close to her may be directly linked to a case that she is currently working on. Already exhausted from how hard she has been working recently in a desperate bid to bring the case to a close for her own reasons, this revelation sends her spiraling into a panicked state where she makes a brash and impulsive decision that could implicate her future before retreating home.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of death/murder, panic attack, possible depictions of low mood? If any other come to mind then I’ll edit this post and adjust accordingly.

It is the small ding of a computer that stirs Lydia from her slumber. Completely dazed, she blinks a couple of times as she raises her head from the desk, immediately squinting her eyes as she instantly came face to face with the brightly lit monitor. She never recalls falling asleep, the only thing she remembers is telling a colleague that she’ll wait for the results of a potential suspect’s fingerprints to come up on the screen. And then she will go home. The colleague was waiting to go on an important date or something and God forbid if Lydia let her show up late to it. She was usually around until late anyway, hence why she offered. Overtime is her specialty these days, working extra long hours that weren’t necessary. However, it isn’t anything out of the ordinary. So she just considers it as her good deed of the day… or week. Maybe month? Whatever. Not like it was of any importance either way. She has more pressing matters to be dealing with.

But it is not the notification that the results were in, that woke her. Instead, it is the faint beep of her emails, notifying her of a new one incoming. Furrowing her brow, still a little disorientated, she wearily clicks the tab and sighs when it is just some spam that failed to reach the ‘Spam’ selection of her inbox. Straightening her back up, she elicits a yawn, a reminder that she should go home soon before she does an all-nighter and ends up being forcibly removed from her chair by her boss. Maybe it is a good thing, she thinks, that the stupid email forced her to wake. Not that she particularly enjoys it when her boss, or one of her other coworkers have to forcibly remove her from the building just so she could get a proper night’s sleep but she could hardly blame them for it. Sure, it frustrates her, but she could definitely see what they were coming from. If it were anybody else, she will most likely react in the same way. It would be hypocritical to think otherwise.

More recently, she has been spending more time at work. This case was draining her and she couldn’t wait for it to be over with, honestly. Sure, she was dedicated to her work and she enjoys it dearly but this case in particular hit her harder than most out of the others. Most likely due to doing things normally out of her comfort zone, that she never ever would have pictured herself doing. Sneaking evidence out, stalling so she could purposely smuggle it out, smuggle it back in and then proceed to get friend who is somewhat linked to the case unintentionally, to remove the evidence. It was something she never ever had to do. It was to protect her friend, and to also help find out what happened to the victim, to someone related to her. But she still has the niggling feeling at the back of her head, warning her that she wouldn’t get away with it so easily. These type of lies come back to bite you on the ass. She should know that. But that is what worries her; she would do it again for Robin, she is her friend and she promised herself to look out for her in every and any way she possibly can, but she is terrified of losing everything she’s ever worked for as a consequence.

Still she manages to put on a brave, unwavering smile as she walks in to work every day. Now she is more cautious, is on tenterhooks whenever something is said in a particular way, or they want to examine the evidence she took out and brought back in. Nobody notices. They work in a fast paced environment, finding out the who and the what and the where and the when and the why and the how. But it sure as hell doesn’t help when there is a jackass detective assigned to the case who comes up with his own theories without the evidence to prove it, someone who expects them to find something to back up his point with no questions asked rather than looking for alternative options. With all of this buzzing around in her head, she is tired. Lydia is absolutely exhausted, more often than not these days but she refuses to completely admit that she wasn’t feeling quite… right. When people ask how she is, she gives them a smile and says ‘I’m okay. Tired, but okay.’ It is not a lie, nor is it the complete truth. It’s more of a half truth, if anything. She is tired, and she is mostly okay. If she ignores -- which she does -- that she hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep in days on top of not eating properly, (Not proper meals, anyway. She has breakfast sometimes, the ‘most important meal of the day’ but that doesn’t usually consist of much because she feels too drained to put the effort into it) and the fact she barely has much of a social life due to how focused she is on work these days, not having any time to herself, then she thinks she is doing alright. People have worse things to deal with, after all. Therefore, if she sets all that aside, then she is okay. It’s what she does. Think of others before herself. She has to help with this case. She has to help bring this killer to justice. She has to do this for Robin. Her needs are not important at this time. That is how she sees it. It’s not like many people could notice it; the main way they can reach her is in fleeting moments of conversation whilst entering and leaving the apartment complex, or by text messages that usually take a while for her to come up with a reply because she is so absorbed in her work. Definitely not enough time to notice that to some respect, she is spiraling. As she barely notices it, she doesn’t see it that way. She simply sees that she is tired. And that’s what she shows to everybody else, that she is tired, but she is managing. She always manages. It’s life.

Lydia averts her attention back to the computer instead of swimming around in her thoughts. Like she reminds herself, she has a case to be working on, results to be looking at. Minimizing her screen with the emails on it, she hovers over to the results page, double clicking it to see if there was a positive match on a set of fingerprints found at the crime scene. When she sees the picture of the face staring back at her, she almost falls off her chair in complete and utter shock, pure horror engraved deep within her bones. The sign of colour on her face instantly drains; a knot tightens in her stomach; the sudden onset of nausea makes her feel queasy and she forgets how to breathe.

This couldn’t be happening -- couldn’t be happening -- couldn’t be --

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t isn’t isn’t isn’t happening.

No. Not him --

Anyone but him.

This can’t be real -- can’t be real -- can’t be…

It’s not it’s not it’s not.

Not real. Not happening. Not anything.

It has to be a dream. It has to be, she tries to convince herself.

But it isn’t, the voice of reality reminds her. It isn’t a dream.

That thought breaks her.

Lydia inhales a gasp of air as though her life depends on it, gripping the corners of the desk, squeezing tightly, as if forcing herself to keep a grip on reality. The room is spinning and she can barely breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything. A whole mix of cannot’s bash around as she is panic stricken. Then, in the midst of chaos in her head, she concludes only one thing: She is having a panic attack. Forcing herself out of the chair, Lydia stumbles into the corner of the room where she trips and nearly falls, dizziness completely consuming her. Why she chose to stand up, she wasn’t sure, but all she knows is that she can’t look at the screen. She can’t bear to see the face of her father looking back at her.

She scrambles to find the light switch with her hand as she panics, she tries to breathe but she can’t and she panics and her head hurts and she panics and her heart hurts and she panics and everything hurts and she can’t think because she can’t stop panicking. Her legs give way on her and she finds herself sliding down with her back against the wall. She manages to bring her knees up to her chest and she buries her head between them, trying to force air into her lungs with every breath she takes. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut; she wonders whether if she squeezes hard enough, her worries will go away. She knows it is not going to happen but she can’t help but hope. She has to do something.

But it’s too much. It’s all too much.

It truly feels like she is never going to calm down. Her hands tremble, her eyes sting with unshed tears which blurs her vision, and she tries to breathe, tries to calm down but she can’t. Lydia never has panic attacks unless it is severe. Anxiety is not something she really worries about. She hasn’t had a panic attack in years. But in this moment? The walls feel like they are closing around them and she is scared. She is terrified because her only living parent is potentially about to become a suspect in a murder investigation -- a murder investigation that she is working on. She is anxious and afraid because it feels like she needs to question everything she’s ever known.

She needs to breathe to think and she needs to think to breathe.

Nobody has ever died from a panic attack before, you’re not going to be the first either. No matter how much it feels like you’re going to, you’re not going to die. You’re not in danger, Lydia tells herself over and over as her breaths come faster, her chest physically aching. I’m only having a panic attack and it will be over in three minutes if I relax, she gives herself the reminder as she tries to control her breathing, tries to slow it down. Breathe in for five seconds through your nose, breathe out for five seconds, gently through your mouth. Repeat. The voice in her head is firmer, more determined. She has to do it. There is no other way.

Lydia isn’t sure how much time has passed before she finally calms down. It feels like an eternity but she knows it’s far less than that. Everything feels foggy, and inside, everything aches. But now it is bearable and she can finally breathe again, just about; there is just a heavy weight burdening on her heart. How is she supposed to get through this? On a case whereby not only her friend is tied to it, but her own father could be a potential suspect. And what were his fingerprints doing on the database in the first place? She’s too frightened to look or to ask more questions. If she asks questions now then how is she supposed to stay alive? After all, she doesn’t know what he’s capable of.

She tries to piece everything together. Focus her mind on this case, try and think logically. Try not to be biased. She wonders whether she should ask to be taken off the case. She should, she really should. It’s conflict of interest and she should have told them sooner. But she remembers her promise to Robin and she realizes that she can’t. Lydia keeps her promises. No matter what. Unless someone screws her over, then the promise is immediately voided. It doesn’t apply in this instance. She tries to think: at this point, there are two victims. The murder weapon for the first victim - the person who had some relations to Robin - was not retrieved, yet investigations proved that cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head. The same applies to the second victim. Only this time, the murder weapon was found at the crime scene, shoved into a bush -- clumsy. Upon examination, they came to the conclusion that the same gun was used on both victims. But there were more than one set of fingerprints on the gun, one of which belonged to her father, which lead to a whole other realm of possibilities that she needs to explore. Those are possibilities that cannot be solved overnight.

But it has to mean something. There is no way that this is pure coincidence. Lydia remembers helping someone review street cameras when the first victim was found and she recalls seeing someone who resembled her father so much it was uncanny. Never did she ever think it could actually be him. Is it? Or is she just trying to view the case in a completely different light now there is new information?

As if she can think of anything with a level head right now.

Forcing every ounce of energy left within her to stand up, she slowly trudged her way back to her computer, trying to ignore the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach as she refused to glance at the face that still remained on the screen. She’s not as close to her father as she used to be, but she still trusts him -- correction: trusted him. For the most part she avoids him because she always thinks of her mother when she looks at him which reminds her of the colossal guilt she carries around with her, for not doing enough, for not asking her father for help, for not being a better daughter. It’s not his fault, it’s her own. She takes full responsibility for every bad thing that happens in her life, that has happened in the past, that will happen in the future. Nothing will ever change that but it doesn’t mean it will stop hurting.

Wiping her eyes so that she can see clearly, she swallowed thickly, Lydia rested her hands against the table to keep herself upright, reminding herself to take breaths so she doesn’t trigger a second panic attack. Lydia can’t bring herself to sit down, she can’t bring herself to do anything other than stare blankly at the screen for a few moments. And then this inexplicable feeling washes over her, like an urge, the impulse itches at her instincts as she reaches for her bag underneath her desk, rummaging through it until she finds the USB stick she sometimes uses if she wants to review some files from home. Plugging it into the computer, she drags and drops every file into a folder she creates without hesitation. Really, she knows she shouldn’t, but it doesn’t stop her. She’s worked from home before. It’s not like anyone will find out. She transfers a copy of every single file in relation to the cases on to the stick so she can review them when she is at home. She has a lot of work to do.

She breathes deeply as she clicks back on to the initial results page. Her lip quivers as she meets the cold, hard stare of her father. She winces as she reads his name beside it. She is furious, heartbroken and betrayed. And once again she feels as if her world is crashing down on her. But before she can fall apart at the seams once again, Lydia talks herself out of it.

“There has to be an explanation,” She whispers to herself as she begins typing and tapping at the keyboard once again. She knows what she is doing, knows of the consequences, knows that this is a mistake that is going to haunt her. The desire and impulse to protect the people she cares about is admirable and very dangerous. She will go to extraordinary lengths to protect her friends, her family. Her father is still her family and she can’t bear to lose him. This was a man she trusts even if she avoids him like the plague. She can’t let him go down or become a prime suspect without finding out for herself first. She will never forgive herself. Especially if it’s for a crime he hasn’t even committed.

What if he’s being framed? What if he was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time? Her thoughts invade her like an infectious disease. This was her dad. Her blood. She can’t let him go down without knowing every piece of the story. So, in time of pure desperation, she changes the result. What if there’s a glitch in the system? What if it hasn’t been calibrated correctly? She changes the result to ‘No match.’ Inconclusive. Her hands shake as she saves it, albeit keeps the proper result on her USB stick. This is a recipe for disaster, the niggling voice in the back of her head reminds her. Lydia scoffs, muttering ‘you don’t think I know that?’ to herself. Then she thinks she should stop talking to herself there and then. Because isn’t that supposed to be the first sign of madness?

Her heart pounds against her chest as she closes every opened tab down. This is now the second time she has attempted to cover something up for the sake of protecting the people she cared about. The second time in the space of a few weeks…Weren’t these sort of things supposed to come in threes? She brushes that thought off as she logs off, turns her computer off and slips her USB back into her bag, zipping it up and slinging it over her shoulder.

The short brunette who is usually composed walks out of the building looking rather dishevelled. She looks… tired. It is probably unsafe for her to drive home tonight but what other choice does she have? It’s late at night and it is unsafe to be strolling along the streets of Denver so late by herself. The last thing she wants to do is to leave her car in the parking lot either. So she doesn’t. Instead, she lets the cold night air hit her as she exits the building, striding towards her car in the parking lot. Reaching for her keys, she unlocks the car door on the driver’s side as she gets in, bringing it to a close. Lydia sits there, contemplating her next move. She doesn’t want to go home, she doesn’t want to stay at work, she doesn’t know where to go. The chances of a nice place being open at this time of night was unlikely so why even bother trying? Lydia finds herself wanting to be with someone, to be in someone else’s presence but she also wants nothing more but to dwell on this by herself.

She thinks about calling Rae, or even James: her siblings. They would know what to do. She’s always aspired to be like them. They were so good, so brave, everything that she ever wanted to be. Then, she reminds herself that they never would have gotten into her position in the first place if it were them. But they could help her through it, she knew they could. They always have a solution. Always. Lydia decides she doesn’t want that. She is her own person too. She is a strong woman who needs no protection. Her older siblings have helped and protected her for her whole life, she wants to prove that she can do something for herself. She will find a way out of this. She has to.

Lydia thinks of her best friend in the whole world: Declan. They’ve been through everything together. He was her rock, just like she was his. With the amount of time spent at work recently, she hasn’t spent enough time with him as she normally does. She’s distanced herself from everybody lately so she could focus. It would be highly unfair to just dump all of her burdens -- burdens and problems that she brought upon herself -- on to him. Declan has been through so much in his life, had his own demons to battle, which she did nothing but support him through and through, ever since they were young. But even then at some point in their lives, her support wasn’t enough. Her mind thinks back to… that very dark time in her life that was also a dark time in his life where she almost lost her best friend. That terrified her. She cannot drive him- to that point ever again. She’s already been reminded once of what it’s like to nearly lose your best friend. She can’t go through that again. There goes that option.

Her mind drifts to Andrew which brings a faint, rueful smile to her lips. Lydia knows that she can talk to him, no questions asked. They were in a relationship now, they were together. It’s what people are supposed to do. Right? Talk about their problems with each other. She knows that no matter what, he would always be there for her regardless if they were together like they are now, or still in the friendship stage like they were before. And she was tempted to. Oh, god, she was tempted to. But she can’t, she physically can’t. They haven’t been together long and she doesn’t want to scare him off by revealing this side of her that he hasn’t seen before. The closest thing he’s ever gotten to that point was where he forgot to reply to her messages when she wanted reassurance he was okay after a horrific dream she had about him. But even then it was only very brief. They were always full of laughs and smiles, and she didn’t want to change that simply due to the feeble reason of executing some very poor decisions that were slowly driving her insane. The beginning of relationships were supposed to be full of smiles and laughs, not gloom and doom, which is what she fears will happen if she tries to alleviate even a little fraction of the weight from her shoulders. She cares about him too much to lose him so soon. It doesn’t stop her wanting to seek that comfort from him though, but she resists for now. This is a battle she has to fight for herself.

Many names come and go. Alongside every plausible option, Lydia comes up with a number of different reasons why it is such a bad idea to do so. The snarky side of her even had her dad as an option, which she has to bite back a humourless laugh directed towards herself. Her father. How was she going to do that? Phone him and ask him point blank whether he killed someone? There was part of her even tempted to break into to his office just so she could find something, anything that could clear his name, or even reveal the truth. If she confronts him, she cannot bear to think of what might happen if he feeds her nothing but lies to convince her that he is a good man. She can’t even fathom the incredible amount of doubt that will seep through her veins even if he does tell her the truth. More than anything, she wants to find out what happened but she is also too scared to know. What if the truth is worse than what she has already imagined? But what if it’s not -- and she falsely accuses him of a crime he didn’t commit? How could she live with the guilt knowing she outright accused her father of murder?

Lydia closes her eyes, takes a deep breath through her nose, exhales slowly from her mouth, trying to regain what remains of her. God forbid if anybody saw her in this state. She adjusts the position of the mirror so she could see how she looked, her nose scrunching up in disgust at the sight. Her hair is in a ponytail, one that started out neat and tidy and now looks as if she forgot how to brush her hair. She looks pale and she wonders if it is due to the stress, or if it because she might be coming down with something. Her cheeks are tear streaked, which Lydia ensures she wipes off quickly, along with whatever was left on with her make up. Now she wishes that she washed her face with cold water before leaving. Her eyes are red-rimmed and Lydia muses wryly that she has looked worse in the past. Wondering whether it’s worth tidying her ponytail, her eyes fixate on the clock in her car and she notices that it’s quite late. It’s not like anybody is going to see her. She has about enough energy to get home and find her way into her bed, even if it means not sleeping. She just needs the comfort of her pillows, her blankets, her home.

When she feels like she can make it home without getting into a crash, she turns the ignition on and she makes her way back to the apartment building. She stops as she drives past her father’s office building, and she is oh so tempted to break in. Maybe she should return in daylight hours, where there are people around. That way he couldn’t hurt her. Hurt her. Could he? Do that? The mere thought sends a shiver down Lydia’s spine, immediately forcing her to go home. To do something, anything like that, requires planning. And with her current state, she can’t. She’s already done enough damage as it is, covering up probable evidence that could give the police department a suspect. If anybody finds out what she’s done, she could get into a lot of trouble. Suspension, losing her job. Or even worse: jail. Plus there is still the possibility of getting her own friend into trouble -- although Robin did help willingly. It’s not like she forced her to. Better yet, she couldn’t bear that thought of putting her friend at risk. She’s already done enough and if she revealed what she found out to her, she was also risking losing her friend. What if she turns on her, or speculates that she’s in on it too? She couldn’t risk that. Not until she had more proof, until she knew facts rather than theory.

Lydia can’t find it in herself to worry about anything else. All she is focused on right now is getting home safely. Avoiding everyone, and getting home.

As she eventually arrives home after circling around the block for a couple of times, she enters the building after parking up, sighing in relief as she saw no fellow resident in sight. Fingers crossed she wouldn’t come across anyone, she jokingly thinks to herself, although there is no humour in said “joke.” Standing alone in the elevator as it makes way up to the fourth floor, she crossed her arms over her chest as she leans against the wall, reiterating one of the many things she often tells her best friend on bad days: When everything seems hopeless, just take it one day at a time. And if one day is too much, just take it one hour at a time. And if one hour is too much, just take it one minute at a time.

At this rate, she will have to start taking it one second at a time, let alone a minute.

She laughs at that thought, despite knowing full well it wasn’t funny. She laughs because it means she doesn’t have to cry. And she can’t cry; she’s done enough of that for one night. Instead, she will do exactly what she’s always done; bottle everything up, ignoring everything until it goes away, distract herself by any means necessary. One day, she is eventually going to break and she knows that but chooses to ignore it, as already specified. But for now, she has to hold on to something. She has to chin up and face the world head on, no matter what life throws at her. For now, that has to be enough.

#self para #p: bbtw #sp: bbtw #welcome to 4620+ words of angst :)#i'm not sure why i'm going with present tense for this self para??? i don't usually #i need to stop reading fic. that's why. lmao #god almighty i hate the ending because ???? i didn't know how to end it tbh i could have written another 1000 words #and now lydia is gonna go rogue and convince herself that she's fine :))) that everything's fine and pfft panic attack what panic attack #she bottles things up too much i want to smack her #i'm so nervous about posting this hi if anyone is reading this :)#i'm too dramatic i s2g #i've been staring at this for like 10 minutes before posting lksdjglakdsjglaskdg help #para: bad before the worst #para: self #para: 026

7 notes · View notes