Psychotic (boyxboy)

Chapter Five

A/N: trigger warning: sexual harassment

Scott had given up trying to get out of the room for the moment and was focusing more on his bloody torso. He opened up his closet and pulled out a couple of shirts, cursing the fact that he didn't keep towels in his room. A heavy sigh escaped and he slowly wrapped several shirts around his body, noting them to keep them in place. 

Once his makeshift bandage was completed, Scott moved towards the bed and sat down, staring blankly at the window, wheels turning. Maybe he could climb down from the window? 

He quickly brushed that off. That was impossible. He didn't have a fire escape (which he will definitely complain about in the future, if he survived this), he was very high up (fucking gravity), and he was a rather large guy (fucking genetics). Scott groaned and threw another fleeting glance towards the door. He scowled and grabbed a book off his nightstand, took one brief glance at it, and hurled it at the door. It hit the door with a loud thud and fell to the floor soundlessly. He swore and shook his head, placing his head in his hands. 

He wasn't getting out for a while. 


Okay, so he was right. Definitely right. Scott hurled his final pillow at the door and sank onto his bed once more. He had been stuck in here for hours. He sighed and fell back onto the mattress, wishing he hadn't decided to throw every fucking pillow he had at the door. What did he expect was going to happen? The door to magically open? 

Scott strained his hearing, trying to hear what Mitch was doing out there. He hadn't heard him since he was locked inside the room. His room. How embarrassing. 

Scott sighed and let his eyes slide shut. It was probably a terrible idea, but he was tired. Struggling took a lot out of you, y'know?

Mitch walked back into the apartment, holding a plastic bag. He ripped his sunglasses off his face and threw them, the cheap plastic landing in some corner in the living room. He dropped the plastic bag on the counter in the kitchen and pulled out the inhabitants, setting them on the counter. 

As soon as he was completed, he examined his new supplies. It felt odd purchasing something again. When was the last time he bought something with actual cash? He couldn't remember. Mitch grabbed the largest box and lifted it up until it was level with his eyes. 

Hair dye. 

He wrinkled his nose and fingered his dark locks. He would really rather not dye his hair; he was quite fond of it. But he needed to be able to get out of the house without anyone immediately recognizing him. Maybe he should change his hairstyle as well? 

Deciding to think about it, he pulled out a pair of contacts and shuddered. No. He wasn't going to do it. With a shrug, he tossed the newly bought contacts into the trash. It wasn't his money he spent anyways. 

Mitch strolled over to the sink and leaned over, reading the directions silently. Fuck, he had to bleach his hair. With a long sigh, he found a pair of gloves, pulled them on and got to work. 

A little over two hours later, Mitch was observing his hair silently. The purple looked alright, he supposed. He pulled out a ring and tilted his head up, checking to see if the holes had close up. Unfortunately, they were quite small. With a growl of annoyance, Mitch ripped his new piercing out of its container and put it on. Immediately, his eyes began to water and he hissed in pain. The piercing was on. 

Mitch smirked, looking back at his reflection. His face felt whole again. With a hum, he left the bathroom and checked the time. Several hours had passed, much to his surprise. With a shrug, he wandered back over to the barricaded door containing his Scott.