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[For Bay] All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother
Scott didn't see a lot of his mom these days. With her work at the hospital, his at the vet clinic, and him spending half of his nights with his girlfriend, their paths just didn't cross all that much.
But they tried to have a nice, sit-down dinner together at least once a week, and when he got home from the clinic to a dark apartment with no note from his mom and no texts on his phone, he was concerned. He called the hospital to ask if she was there--maybe she'd just been too busy to even fire off a text, maybe something had happened and it was all hands on deck--but they said she'd left hours ago.
He frowned and walked toward her bedroom. Maybe she was taking a nap and had just lost track of the time. "Mom?" he called, rapping his knuckles lightly against the door, then a little harder. When no answer came he opened the door and stepped into the room.
It was empty. It was beyond empty. All of the furniture was still there (the original stuff, they hadn't really been able to afford to upgrade, and it hadn't been a priority for either of them), but there had been little touches added here and there, a picture on the wall, photos tucked into the mirror, a random scattering of jewelry and loose change on the dresser. None of that was here now. There were no clothes on the floor, the hamper was open and empty. It looked like a bedroom out of a model home, furnished to give a feeling of being lived-in but missing that spark that truly made it feel lived in.
His heart sinking to his stomach, he moved to the closet, throwing it open to find an empty rail. He felt tears sting his eyes, and he moved to the bed, dragging his mom's pillow into his arms to hug it there while he let himself give in to the sorrow that washed over him. Losing Stiles had been hard. Losing his mom was devastating. It was always them against the world, and without her, a part of his own inner strength seemed to flow out of him.
He laid there for a while, he wasn't sure how long, but it was nearly dark before he sat up, swiping his arm over his eyes to wipe away the dampness, and then pulled his phone out of his pocket.
Where r u? I need you. He sent the text to Bay and then got up, dropping the pillow back onto the bed as he went to look at himself in the bathroom mirror. His eyes were a little red, but not too bad. Other than that he looked no different, despite losing the person dearest to him. He thought that was wrong. He should look different, older maybe, or younger, but he was just him. Just Scott McCall, alone again in this stupid city that gave you the people you loved only to rip them away from you again when you least expected.
But they tried to have a nice, sit-down dinner together at least once a week, and when he got home from the clinic to a dark apartment with no note from his mom and no texts on his phone, he was concerned. He called the hospital to ask if she was there--maybe she'd just been too busy to even fire off a text, maybe something had happened and it was all hands on deck--but they said she'd left hours ago.
He frowned and walked toward her bedroom. Maybe she was taking a nap and had just lost track of the time. "Mom?" he called, rapping his knuckles lightly against the door, then a little harder. When no answer came he opened the door and stepped into the room.
It was empty. It was beyond empty. All of the furniture was still there (the original stuff, they hadn't really been able to afford to upgrade, and it hadn't been a priority for either of them), but there had been little touches added here and there, a picture on the wall, photos tucked into the mirror, a random scattering of jewelry and loose change on the dresser. None of that was here now. There were no clothes on the floor, the hamper was open and empty. It looked like a bedroom out of a model home, furnished to give a feeling of being lived-in but missing that spark that truly made it feel lived in.
His heart sinking to his stomach, he moved to the closet, throwing it open to find an empty rail. He felt tears sting his eyes, and he moved to the bed, dragging his mom's pillow into his arms to hug it there while he let himself give in to the sorrow that washed over him. Losing Stiles had been hard. Losing his mom was devastating. It was always them against the world, and without her, a part of his own inner strength seemed to flow out of him.
He laid there for a while, he wasn't sure how long, but it was nearly dark before he sat up, swiping his arm over his eyes to wipe away the dampness, and then pulled his phone out of his pocket.
Where r u? I need you. He sent the text to Bay and then got up, dropping the pillow back onto the bed as he went to look at himself in the bathroom mirror. His eyes were a little red, but not too bad. Other than that he looked no different, despite losing the person dearest to him. He thought that was wrong. He should look different, older maybe, or younger, but he was just him. Just Scott McCall, alone again in this stupid city that gave you the people you loved only to rip them away from you again when you least expected.