Stitches ~ Scömìche

Falling Onto My Knees

Warning! This may be triggering. I mention drugs, alcohol, suicide (although the word itself isn't mentioned), and a sense of hopelessness. Honestly I don't know what's really happening, this is just an what Mitch is feeling. If you have any questions, just ask I'll answer them to the best of my abilities.

~Jo

The apartment in London was lonely. Not lonely because Mitch was alone, more lonely because it was empty. Sad almost. As if something was missing from it. Or maybe Mitch was just using the apartment to reflect his true feelings. Because somehow he too left lonely and empty. Yet he wasn't alone. And he wasn't empty. He had Bowers, just as the apartment had people, and furniture.

Yet Mitch knew something was wrong. Something about London he supposed, put him off. He was uneasy. Jumping at every small sound. Never letting his eyes rest in one place. Barely slept. Bowers didn't notice. In fact they barely spoke.

Bowers was looking to start a life, meaning a job. He was inclined to support both of them. Not wanting to let Mitch work for a single penny.

And so Mitch was alone in the apartment. Left sitting by himself. Longing for something he knew he couldn't have. Longing for something he no longer knew if it existed. Love felt fantasy to him. And that was how he got by. Telling himself, over and over again, pounding the phrase into his head. What he felt for Scott wasn't real. It was something he had made up. Something he had wished to be real. But everything was fake. His whole life was a lie. Everything is a lie.

Mitch walked to their fridge, pulling a bottle of beer from the fridge. He popped the top off using his counter, not paying attention to where the cap flew off to because at this point he really didn't care. Mitch tipped his head back, draining the bottle in a single go before discarding the empty bottle on a tiny end table, already overflowing with bottles and cans. Mitch went to the fridge again, pulling another beer from the fridge and opening it the same way. Instead of draining it however, Mitch found himself walking towards the large picture glass window.

He walked toward it, setting his fingers gently against the glass and doodling absently against the foggy glass. He drummed his fingers, painting images of nothing as he sipped his beer. His mind felt as if it had a layer of paper between it and his body. Like he was no longer in control of himself.

"Is this what it's like to go insane?" Mitch yelled, throwing the now empty bottle to the floor, not even flinching as it shattered. He stalked over to the end table and swiped everything off of it. Glass shards of bottles were scattered across his floor yet he stood there, holding the neck of a broken bottle.

"If this is insanity," Mitch shouted again. "I wish for it to take me. For I no longer wish to live a lie." And the man walked across the glass covered floor not even looking down as the tiny bits of glass cut into his feet.

~*~

Bowers never returned that night. Perhaps a British girl had caught his eyes. Perhaps he had come home and refused to walk through the mess on the floor.

Mitch woke with a killer headache and aching feet. He didn't wince as he grabbed tweezers and pulled the silvers of glass from his feet. He dropped the bloodied slivers into a garbage can almost methodically feeling just as empty as he had the night before. Just less, insane.

He walked out of the bedroom and sept up the glass, pouring the shards into the garbage can, his face never changing expressions as he cleaned up the aftermath of the hurricane. It stayed neutral the whole time, not even a grimace as he knocked over the half intact bottle.

Leaving had hurt him.
Staying would have too.
He was in a whole that he couldn't climb out of.
Nothing would relieve him of his pain. Nothing could.
Nothing would.
Mitch was alone. Mitch would always be alone.

He could end it now. Relieve himself of everything. Yet he wouldn't. Deep down he knew he wouldn't. Deep down he knew he couldn't. Deep down he still thought there was a way for he and Scott to be forever. And deep down, he knew he was wrong.

But he wouldn't utter those words. He wouldn't wish for his life to be changed. He wouldn't wish for Abe to have never been born. He wouldn't wish for Alex to cheat on Scott. He wouldn't wish Mitchie had never been born. He wouldn't even wish his life wasn't so f*cked up.

No, Mitch was going to take it. He was going to find a way to get through this, whether it be drugs or beer. He would do it. He would heal himself and he wouldn't wait for his prince.

His methods may be questionable but he isn't here to make friends. He isn't here for other people to pity him. He is here to save his own life. He is desperate. Desperate to live, desperate to love... Although he had no reason for either.

Mitch should get better at being alone. He had Abe to thank for that. Abe made it possible for him to no longer crave human contact as he once did. Abe made it possible for Mitch to become who he is. And whoever that is, Mitch was going to except him with open arms. Dying was just apart of the adventure.