Neighboring (a Stydia story)[complete]

28. Mother knows best

Lydia's pov:
By now I knew that waking up in the middle of the night wasn't good. A bad feeling settles in my stomach as my eyes snap open, immediately glancing to where Stiles usually slept on his bed. Of course he wasn't there. I sit up, looking around the room and I automatically spy him sitting on the edge of his desk, just staring at me.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" I ask, rubbing sleep from my eyes. His hands are clasped together in his lap, his legs swinging slightly back and forth and to be honest it was kind of creepy.

"I-I thought I could go without them." He stutters, voice cracking and new this was going to be worse than I thought.
"You're medication?" I ask and he nods frantically, like if he didn't answer soon enough maybe he'd get in trouble. I bite the inside of my cheek, throwing the covers off my body only to find Stiles as tied me to the bed, much like the other night. My eyes widen and I start to claw at the material.

"Stiles, what the hell!" I shriek and silent tears start to fall from his eyes.
"It's been a few weeks. M-my mom used to skip her medication." He mumbles, "used to tie me to the  bed too." He reaches down, lifting up the material of his pants to show me the scar around his ankle.
"What about your emergency meds? Remember? Whenever you feel like this you're supposed to-"
"Flushed them three days ago." He interrupts as I continue to work on the knot.

"Stiles, please..." I trail of and he shakes his head, crying.
"See you don't get it. Nobody gets it. I'm no good for you. I-I'm not good for anyone. And that's why," he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out one of his pill bottles and holding it up to his eyesight. "I have these little guys. Take more than five and...well. You get it."

"STILES DON'T." I weep, begging and trying desperately to break my restraint. He hangs his head low as he stares at the tiny bottle. "Stiles, look at me. Look at me!" I cry and he obeys.
"You remember what you said to me this morning? Do you remember that? About me not leaving you?" I ask and he nods, looking down again.

"Well I don't want you to leave me either. Stiles, I need you! And I love you and if you're gone I don't know what I'd do with myself." I cry, watching him the whole time and I've completely given up on the rope as he silently cries himself. "Because if you do that...because if you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind."

He keeps shaking his head as if he doesn't believe it–as if he won't accept it. I try my best to breath normally, but it wouldn't come out. I couldn't. Not until I knew if he'd be okay. Stiles takes one last look at the orange plastic bottle before chucking it at the wall, the pills going everywhere and he starts to cry more than before, small whimpers escaping his lips.

"Can you please untie me?" I ask shakily. His gaze never leaves the ground as he shuffles over to me, quickly undoing his earlier work. Once he's done, I quickly embrace him and he breaks down sobbing, realizing what he'd done.

"You wanna go get you're dad?" I ask, pulling away to look at his face and he nods like a small child. "Okay. Okay let's go get your dad." I smile encouragingly but on the inside my heart was hanging on by a thread.
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"Obviously you're condition is moving along faster than we thought. We're going to give you a few options and I'm not saying it will be effective immediately but there will come a point in time when you're....worse and you're choice will be put to action then." The doctor says, handing Stiles a clipboard and a pen with a list. The boy studies it for a moment, depression washing over his face.

We'd gone downstairs and woken up Stiles father, told him everything that had happened while Stiles leaned on me, tears falling from his eyes. I rode with them to the hospital, Stiles in the back while I rode shot gun. Upon arrival, they did a few tests on him like he's done so many times before. Doctor told us that his actions and emotions were normal, given his disease. The only good news that was coming out of this was the fact that if Stiles did die, he'd be around his sixties although he would potentially be medically deemed insane or mental.