Scömíche One Shots

Vermont

Oh my god this is the longest thing I've ever written, but I was with someone! Luckyenough19 to be exact!

Its also on hers account, so go check her out! She's an amazing writer I promise.

Hope y'all enjoy!

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Scott and I never seemed like the most functional couple. I mean, I was a cutter and he was suicidal. But, we made it work. We always did.

That was until my parents decided to move me away from him. To move me away from the only stable thing in my life. Actually, to be perfectly honest, Scott wasn't even stable. I mean he was suicidal. But to me, he was perfect. Every single aspect of him. Absolutely flawless. And, not to mention, the only thing keeping me sane.

My parents moved me away from my boyfriend, my best friend, my one and only love, my everything. I came home from school one day to find them looking solemn, boxes already scattered around our house. They dreaded having to tell me. That was obvious.

"Sweetheart..." my mom's word trailed off. She was only this nice when she knew I'd be upset. "Your father has been relocated for work."

I stood in our entryway, facing her, only a strap of my black Jansport backpack hanging off my right shoulder. Indifferently, I asked, "Which means?"

She inhaled deeply, and said the words on an exhale, trying to make them sound happy. "We're moving to Vermont!"

My lips parted in shock, and immediately anger bubbled up inside me. "No. No!" I screamed as if it were a nightmare.

My mother turned to look at my dad, her face giving off she knew I'd act this way.

I threw my backpack to the floor. "When?!" I demanded, not exactly realizing I was yelling.

"Next week," she said softly, putting her weight into my dad. Right then, my mother was afraid of me. My very own mom couldn't look at me.

"Next week?! Are you kidding me?!" All of a sudden air escaped my lungs. "Scott," I muttered. I threw my heads in my hands, clenching my hair. "Oh my god, what about Scott?!"

My wrath had subsided, and now this void was filled with sadness. I was leaving Scott. I looked at my parents, tears involuntarily coming to my eyes. "How can you take me away from him?"

My mom did not say anything, just shifted the attention my father who hadn't spoken a word. He was looking at his son who had tears beginning to make their way down his cheeks, crying about his boyfriend, but my father's face stayed stern.

My mind was producing thoughts faster than I could process them. I had to see Scott. Now.

I gave it one last try, my begging turning into a whole other level. "Please," I desperately pleaded. "Please. I'll do anything. Just don't take me away from here."

"Mitch, go to your room," my father ordered. "But Dad, I--" I sniffled.
"Go." His tone was firm.

"Are you reconsidering moving?" Hope drenched my voice.

"Absolutely not!" He sneered.

It felt like a knife had stabbed me in the heart when he spoke those words. I darted down the stairs, my cries morphing into sobs. Through blurred vision, I found my room and closed the door, not noticing nor caring how loud it was. I went straight to my dresser, fumbling around in the drawers till I found my stash of blades and other things used for self-harm, hidden under my t-shirts.