Scömíche One Shots

Why'd You Go

A/N: IM SORRY IN ADVANCE. I LOVE YALL. PROMISE.

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"Hey, Mitch! I have a surprise." I didn't get a responce. I should've known that something happened right then and there, "Mitch? Are you there?"

I heard nothing. Nothing at all, "Mitch? Come on, this isn't funny." I heard the sound of water running. Oh god no.

I ran up the stares, getting to the bedroom door and attempting to open it. Mitch, oh god please. Please be okay. I'm begging you.

I fumbled with the doorknob, getting in and seeing something I didn't want too.

Mitch was laying in the tub, unconscience. The water was an unpleasent color of red, "M-mitch? C'mon. Wake up." I nudged his arm, pulling him out of the tub and laying his head in my lap, "Oh my god, no. No."

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I can't believe it. He's dead. He died. Mitch is dead. Why did he go, it has to be my fault. I was gone to often. I wasn't there for him. I practically killed him. I killed my boyfriend.

No, I couldn't... he was taking the medicine right? He said he was, and he wouldn't lie to me. That means it had to be me. Why would he lie to me? I killed him.

I knew he was depressed, I should've been there. I was a terrible boyfriend.

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"Hey, Scott? Have you been okay? I mean, with Mitch and all-" I hated the question. The entire thing. I wanted to snap, ask them how they think I am.

"Yeah, fine. I'm fine." They always gave me uneasy looks.

"Are you... sure...? You don't sound okay..." I huffed.

"Yes! I'm fine! Jesus." Kirstie put her hands up in defense.

"Fine, whatever. Last time I care."

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I'm not trying to get rid of others, they just seem to not actually care. I don't want pity. I want to be alone, go on with life and die in the end.

I obviously don't deserve love. I killed my first true love, and I don't want false love. The kind that you're just in for sex and a sense of well-being. It wouldn't be worth it then.

I still can't get over the fact that I'm a murderer. I should go to jail like all the other criminals. Sentence me to death for all I care! I want to die anyway.

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"Hey! Another!" I yelled to the bartender. He shook his head walking over to be and taking my glass completely, "What the hell!"

"Sorry bud, you're cut off. No more tonight. Go home and get some rest, you'll have a killer hangover tomorrow." I sighed and nodded my head.

"Right. Okay, sorry." He shook his head, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Nah, I've had people who fight me. You need a ride? I mean, my shifts over." I declinded politelly, or as politelly as I could, and made my way home.

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Done. Done. I'm absolutely done. I've wanted to die for months, no one even cares! What am I waiting for!? The most human imterraction I've had in months was from that bartender, hell he's the most someone has touched me in months.

I mean, I've had one night stands, but I want more. So. Much. More.

I hope no one cares. I'm sorry to anyone who does.

Goodbye. Hope my life was well lived in a way.