Scomiche Short-Story Drafts (Purplechick's Unfinished Thoughts)

Draft 9- Badass

Written 2020-2021

Mitch was enjoying his night immensely so far. Large hands that belonged to a handsome friend of his had found his swaying hips and he was on the verge of getting tipsy from the drinks that said man was buying him. Then a shoulder just had to collide with his and bring it all to an end.

His new drink sloshed in his hand and he hissed, momentarily gripping the site of sudden pain as he spun around to find who had done it. His dance partner stood a few inches behind him, confused as to what stopped their rhythm.

Mitch groaned when he was met with the glare of a familiar man. "Oh, it's you," he deadpanned. "Jason, if you keep popping up everywhere, I'm going to start thinking that you're stalking me." He dropped his hand from his shoulder and rolled it to rid the small throb.

"Stay away from my boyfriend," the man with sienna-colored hair demanded in reply. He crossed his arms over his chest in a childish attempt to be intimidating, but Mitch passed off his drink to his awaiting friend and mirrored Jason's stance.

"Come again?"

"I said stay away from my boyfriend."

Mitch's friend frowned once he heard clearly what this blooming conflict was about. "Boyfriend?" he asked Mitch in confusion.

"Not now," Mitch waved him off. He focused back on the whining guy in front of him. "How many times do we have to tell you, he's not your boyfriend anymore? You should have kept him from me months ago."

"So this is what you do; steal and manipulate good guys, just to cheat on them in turn? Who do you think you are? Karma?"

"I'd watch your mouth around me."

"Or what?" Jason shoved Mitch back into his friend, spilling the drink that the latter was holding onto the both of them.

Before Jason could get his hands up again to defend himself, a surprisingly strong punch was landing across his face, followed by a foot stomping against his stomach. Jason crumpled to the floor with a pinched expression, moaning in pain. The others in the club glanced over but minded their own business for the most part. They knew who Mitch's family was. No one wanted to interfere and potentially have to watch their backs for the rest of their days.

Mitch stood over Jason with a smirk. "Don't worry about what I'm doing with him. Just know that every night for the last six months, your so-called boyfriend has been in my bed and he's going to be there again tonight. Now, shut up and stay away from us. And please, don't make me remind you exactly who I think I am."

Mitch felt a tug at his wrist and looked to his friend with grimace. The man was obviously angered as well, but he was also dripping alcohol, too. Their night was over. His friend brushed off the droplets that hadn't absorbed from his shirt while shaking his head.

"Come on, I'll drop you home."

"Yeah, okay," the brunet sighed.

The two turned toward the exit but paused when Jason wheezed, "You're wr-wrong or you're lying. He has- hasn't been with you every n-night. I was with him j-just yesterday..." Mitch backed up and raised a brow at Jason's curled up body. "You think you're playing him, but he's playing you, too. Just leave him to me."

A humorless laugh left Mitch's lips as he bent down to Jason and gripped the collar of his button down shirt. "Now, what did I just say to you, bitch?" he growled into his face. He pulled his free hand back into a fist and—

Well, Mitch isn't exactly sure what happened in those following moments but the next thing he knew, he was forcefully being placed in his friend's car. He looked down at himself to see that his clothes and knuckles were splattered with fresh blood. The man beside him was complaining about how they wouldn't be allowed back there as he sped out of the parking lot, but Mitch wasn't listening. He leaned forward and got some napkins out of the glove compartment to gently dab his aching fist.