Scomiche One Shots

Suicidal

Mitch couldn't take it anymore. The pressures of being a celebrity is never talked about, no one except other celebrities could ever understand. Models on the runway are forced to stop eating and when they do eat it's barely anything at all because their agents are on their backs about their weight all the time. Actors are brought up - especially child actors - into a world where they have to maintain their child-like appearances for the views and have to be perfect at all times, often growing up hating their profession and moving into the world of recreational drugs and alcohol. Singers are introduced to a world where many hate them and hate on them and their families and friends just for associating with them. The pressures of society are some of the hardest things anyone can go through - especially the famous people of the world.

And Mitch couldn't bare it any longer. It was too much, too fast and too hidden from his friends and family. So, here he was a three am writing this letter for Scott and his band mates because he couldn't take the stresses of life any longer. No one had noticed he'd stopped eating - needing to lose weight because the comments below his pictures and their videos tells him to - nor had anyone noticed his deep self-hatred. It just hurt that no one thought to help him, or even look at him long enough to notice something was wrong, whether it be from the sullen look in his eyes or the lack of passion when writing, recording or performing. And nothing hurt more than realising his friends didn't really care about him. 'Did any of you notice that? No, because I'm not important enough to know any of you, I'm thankful for all you've done for me, but I'm going now,' he thought to himself sadly as he began the letter.

Hey, guys. 

I guess you're wondering why Scott's got this letter and I guess to deserve to know why, although I really shouldn't have to tell you. It's funny how no one noticed, not even you, Scotty Buckets. But I understand, I became someone that no one should know. I didn't understand it at first, I guess I knew subconsciously, but now I do. It's why I've left. Please keep this band running, keep your dreams alive. Find a new tenor, anyone would be better than me. I'm just dead weight you carry around because you haven't found a way to tell me to leave, but now you don't need to, I'm gone. 

None of you will see me again, not you, Kit, not you, Avi, not even you, Scott. Neither will Mike and Nel and I've sent a letter to them a week before you get this. In fact, no one will ever see my ugly face again, not an outsider and not me, because I'll be dead by the time Scott wakes up. It's three am as I'm writing this and I'll be dead by four. It's alright, I don't blame any of you, don't blame yourself. 

Isn't it funny how many celebrities are hurt by the voices of their viewers, Jesy Nelson; Demi Lovato and even Beyonce just to name a few were hurt by their past, present and future, but I'm not hurt, oh no, I'd never be hurt by that. What hurts me is that I hate how fat I am, so I stopped eating - the fans noticed and complimented it - I hate how I lost my best friend (that was you Scotty Buckets) and gained a new silver best friend who helped make all the pretty marks on me and I hate how I hate myself because I never thought the fame would get to me in this way.

Please don't blame yourself, get a new tenor and move on. I'm not worthy of your tears. My will is next to my body on my bathroom floor, but just in case there's too much blood on it, I left everything to Scott - use some of the money to buy Alex that ring we were talking about - , and my dresses to Kirstie. I left my instruments to Kevin and I left Avi the brown box under my bed. He'll know what that means. I left $500,000 to Mike and Nel.

Goodbye, guys. I love you all so much more than you'll ever know. 

Lot's of love, Mitchy.

Mitch folded the letter and placed it in an envelope before sneaking into Scott's room. He gently shook the blonde awake, laying next to him and slipping the letter under the pillow so it wasn't seen. Scott woke up enough to barely open his eyes before wrapping his arms around his best friend and falling back to sleep. Mitch held himself there for a few minutes before gently pulling away, placing the pillow with his letter on in his place. He knew Scott would find it when he woke up and would read it thinking nothing of it, but that's alright. It was his time. 

He went back to his room, leaving the door unlocked before going into his bathroom, grabbing his will, and grabbed the pills he'd bought for this, the knife he stabbed through his thigh before downing the pills and letting himself fall into a sleep - a sleep he'd never awake from. He watched his body from the ghost-like form he has now become before going into Scott's room, watching over the blonde as his guardian angel. He adores that blonde so much that God appointed him as his angel the second he decided to commit suicide.