Bloodlines and Hearts

Pain was nothing new to Lydia Bailey.

She'd learned early that some people were born to be prey, and some were born to hunt. For years, she'd been convinced she was the former—a walking target, invisible except when someone wanted to remind her how little she mattered.

The bruise on her cheek was still fresh from yesterday. Amber Miller's ring had caught her just right, leaving a perfect crescent of purple and blue that matched the loneliness etched into Lydia's bones. Her mother would notice—she always did—but she'd say nothing. Just another silent look. Just another moment of pretending.

Silver-dale wasn't a school. It was a battlefield, and Lydia had never learned how to fight back.

The morning was typical. Cold. Gray. The kind of morning that promised nothing but more of the same. Lydia adjusted her worn hoodie, pulling it closer, trying to disappear into the fabric. Her fingers traced the new bruise, a ritual of survival she'd perfected over years of being the girl nobody saw—until they wanted to see her pain.

The classroom buzzed with the usual noise, but something felt different. Different for Lydia, at least.

Mr. Harrison's voice droned on about medieval literature, but all Lydia could focus on was the overwhelming sensory assault. The strawberry shampoo of the girl two rows ahead. The leather of Janet's new shoes. The sharp scent of the pencil sharpener at the back of the room.

"Ms. Bailey?" Mr. Harrison's voice cut through her thoughts. "Would you care to share your interpretation of the text?"

Lydia blinked, her mind racing. She'd been reading the passage, hadn't she? But now, the words seemed to swim on the page. "I... I'm sorry," she stammered.

A crumpled paper hit the back of her head. Laughter erupted.

"Nice one, loser," someone muttered.

Nothing new. She was used to being the target.

Her ears—no, that wasn't possible. Her hearing couldn't be this sharp. She'd watched too many supernatural movies. This was just her imagination playing tricks.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison," Lydia mumbled again, her cheeks burning.

The bell rang. Sweet escape.

Lydia needed space. Needed to breathe. The wooded area behind the school was her sanctuary. Nobody ever came here. Nobody except her. Until today.

"Well, well. Look who we have here."

Amber Miller. Of course.

Her shoes crunched on the fallen leaves. Melissa and Janet accompanied her, like some kind of mean girl squad from a bad teen movie.

"We've been looking for you," Amber said, her voice dripping with that special kind of cruelty reserved just for Lydia. "Where is our assignment?"

Lydia stood, holding the straps of her backpack tightly. "I… I didn't have time."

Amber's smirk vanished. "Didn't have time?" she repeated, stepping closer. "Do you know what that means for us? We don't have time to deal with your pathetic excuses, Loser."

"You're such a waste," Melissa added, circling Lydia slowly, like a vulture. "Your dad should've released you in the trash."

"Oh my God," Janet chimed in, giggling. "That's so true! He could've saved us all from this disaster of a human being."

Amber's smile widened as Lydia's breathing quickened. Her chest rose and fell like she was struggling for air

"Look at her," Melissa sneered. "Daddy issues written all over her face. I'm sure he left because he couldn't stand looking at such an ugly, useless piece of trash."

Janet joined in, her words like daggers. "And your mom's just as pathetic. Probably works some minimum wage job, hoping you'll amount to something. Spoiler alert: you won't."

Amber stepped even closer, her breath hot on Lydia's face. "Nobody wants you. Nobody will ever want you. You're nothing. Less than nothing. A ghost. A mistake."

"Bet you can't even afford new clothes," Melissa laughed. "Everything's second-hand. Just like your life."

"I heard her mom can barely pay rent," Janet said loudly. "Probably gonna end up homeless. Some people are just born to fail."

Amber's final blow came with a cruel smile. "No wonder you're always alone. Who'd want to be friends with someone so pathetic? You're not even worth bullying. You're just... existing. And barely."

Lydia couldn't hear them anymore. Her ears were ringing, her vision blurring. Lydia was really struggling at this point.

"What's wrong with her?" Amber asked, raising an eyebrow. "You gonna cry, loser? Or maybe hit us."

Lydia hands began to tremble. But it wasn't from weakness.

Amber leaned in close. "I said, are you going to hit us?"

The first change happened in her hands. Fingers lengthening. Nails hardening. Something wild and uncontrollable erupting from deep within.

A growl—not human, not entirely animal—escaped her throat.

Amber's eyes widened. For the first time, fear replaced her usual contempt.

It happened fast. Lydia wasn't sure later how much was real, how much was instinct. Claws. Teeth. A blur of movement that sent Amber crashing into a massive pine. Melissa screamed. Jane tried to run. But something caught her.

When the forest went quiet again, they were all down. Scratched. Bruised. Terrified.

Lydia stood in the center, breathing hard. Her hands—normal again. Her body—human again.

By the time, Lydia was called to the principal's office, the story had already spread. Amber's parents were waiting, livid.

"This girl is a danger to everyone here!" Amber's father yelled. "She attacked my daughter! She should be expelled immediately!"

Principal Sanchez shifted uncomfortably. The Millers weren't just parents. They were the school's primary financial sponsors. Their donations kept the football program running, funded new computer labs, basically kept Silverdale High afloat.

The principal glanced at Lydia, his expression grim then back to his saviors. "Mr. Miller, we're taking this very seriously—" the principal began.

"Seriously?" Mrs. Miller interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Our daughter is traumatized! Physically and emotionally scarred!"

Lydia sat silent. Small. Invisible.

"Miss Bailey, do you have anything to say for yourself?" Principal Sanchez asked.

"I ... I didn't mean to," Lydia whispered, her voice cracking. "It just happened."

"That's not good enough!" Amber's mother snapped. "My only daughter is injured. And if you think I'm walking out of here without consequences, you're mistaken."

"Please, Mr. Miller-" Principal Sanchez began, but he was cut off.

"Don't 'please' me. If this school won't hold her accountable, the police will."

Lydia's stomach dropped as Mr. Miller pulled out his phone. "Wait—" she started, but the words died in her throat. Police? This couldn't be happening.

Not now. Not when every single one of her carefully constructed dreams was balanced on the razor's edge of her future. College. Her perfect application. Everything she'd worked for– was it all about to fall apart right in front of her?

"Please." The word barely left her lips, weak but desperate. But Mr. Miller didn't even flinch, too focused on making his call. Principal Sanchez sat frozen, avoiding her eyes—helpless, or maybe just unwilling. The Millers, with their deep pockets and power, always came first. Lydia had never stood a chance.

When they led her out, the hallway felt longer than ever with hundred stares and whispers following her.

"Witch!"

"Freak!"

"Murderer!"

The words felt like punches, knocking the air out of her. Her heightened senses picked up every single comment. Every hushed conversation. Every brutal accusation.

"Bet she killed her dad too," someone muttered. "Look at her. Total psychopath."

Tears slid down Lydia's cheeks. She couldn't tell if she was crying from fear or the weird way everything suddenly felt too loud, too bright, too much. The smells. The looks.

People were pointing. Phones out. Recording. Judging.

"I'm not like that," she whispered, rubbing her sleeve over her eyes but the tears wouldn't stop.

"Mom," she tried again, her voice shaking. "Please. Someone. Call my mom."

But no one paid attention. Either they didn't hear her or they didn't care enough to.

At the police station, Lydia was basically dying inside, wondering how her life had gone from bad to apocalyptic in like, two hours.

Until he walked out.

Not just walked. Strutted. The kind of guy who looked like he stepped straight out of one of those Korean dramas. Tall. Muscular. Cheekbones that could probably cut glass. The type of guy who wouldn't even glance in her direction on a normal day—and right now, she was definitely not having a normal day.

He was arguing with a girl who looked just like him—probably his sister. Something about "you can't keep doing this" and "we need to talk about this." But honestly? Lydia heard nothing. Her brain had basically short-circuited.

Their eyes met.

Time legit stopped.

In that moment, Lydia forgot she was about to be arrested. Forgot about the bruise on her face. Forgot about Amber and her mean girl squad. Forgot about everything.

He was... God, he was beautiful. Not in that fake Instagram filter way. But in a raw, accidentally perfect way that made her heart do this weird stutter-step thing.

"Lydia."

Her mom's voice crashed through her little fantasy world like a bucket of ice water.

Reality. Welcome back. You're the worst.