Love Sucks

Chapter 1: M.I.A

Spencer's P.O.V

It's been weeks since the incident at the Hale house. Derek's the alpha and Peter's dead, but things have gone pretty good in Beacon Hills. No mass murders, no more Werewolves, just regular teenager stuff. Scott starting to get better at controlling himself on full moons, and we've began to fully accept that there's no going back. We're werewolves, for life.

Scott told me about the little episode that happened last week between him, Allison and her dad.

"So let me get this straight..." I begin, picking myself off the floor and grabbing my water. "You two were completely secluded, making out in mom's car," He nods. "And he broke the window, literally pulled you through it, slammed you on the hood and held you at gunpoint while Allison begged him to stop, screaming that she wouldn't see you again."

"Never again." He corrects, zipping up his jacket.

"Right, never again. Yet you're still going out, all the way across town, sneaking into her house to make out?" I question, stretching myself out after my workout.

"Yep." He smiles his stupid smile, opening his window and hopping out. "Oh and Spence!" He calls from below as I poke my head out to see him. "We do way more than make out." He smirks before running into the woods.

"Jesus Christ! I did not need to know that." I shake the mental image from my mind as I walk back into my room. Strip out of my workout clothes and head into the shower. Hot water cascading around my body, washing away the sweat and soap. Forty minutes later, I step out, wrapping a towel around my waist and a small one hanging around my shoulder to dry my hair, barely covering my boobs as I head into my room. I quickly dry off and slip into one of Stiles' hoodies and a pair of sweats before heading back to the hospital.

Lydia's been in a coma since the accident but woke up about three days ago, and the doctors said she'd be fine but the bite is still healing. She can't be a werewolf, it would have healed the same day. Stiles and I have been researching supernatural creatures and there are hundreds to thousands of possibilities on what she might be. We can't ask Derek what she might since he's been M.I.A since he gained alpha status, so we're stuck to just sitting on our asses and waiting till she gets out.

The elevator dings and I step out, the steaming bag of Chinese food's scent lingering behind me as I make my way into Lydia's hospital room. I walk in to find Mrs. Martin fast asleep on the chair beside her daughters bed, fingers laced with each other.

"Natalie." I whisper, shaking her shoulder lightly. "Mrs. Martin." I say a little louder, her eyes snap open and quickly look into mine. "Hi." I smile.

"Oh you're back." She smiles, adjusting herself in her seat.

"And I brought food." I raise up the bag. "Thought we could take a break from the crappy hospital food for one night." I laugh.

"You are God sent." She laughs, taking out a few containers and placing them on the small table between us. "I don't know what either of us would do without you..." She smiles up at me, tears in her eyes.

"I'm just glad we have each other." I smile warmly at her as we dig into our food, a comfortable silence falling in the room.

"You guys better have saved some for me." Lydia croaks, voice raspy as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes, waking up from her nap.

"I picked up some spring rolls just for you Lyd's." I laugh, picking up the little paper bag and handing it to her.

"Bless your sweet soul Spencer." She praises, devouring every one before moving on to the fried rice. After a few hours of the three of us eating and talking and all the in-between, Lydia makes her way to the shower. Claiming her body is beginning to become one with her hospital gown. I walk out of the hospital room and to my surprise find Stiles passed out on the row of chairs outside the room. Head leaning off the arm rest, leg propped up on the wall and arm hanging off the chair. He looks way too comfortable for someone in that position... I quickly take my phone out and snap a picture of him, snickering to myself.