kiss the boy | scömìche

chapter thirteen

WARNING: mentions of suicide

Scott is confused.

He remembers scheduling a get-together with Mitch the day he heard Mitch's song, but Mitch is nowhere to be found.

Scott has been waiting for at least ten minutes, anxiously checking his phone to see if Mitch texted him that he couldn't make it or something.

Scott: Mitch?

Scott: where are you

Scott: we're supposed to meet today, right

Scott: are you ok

Mitch never replies.

Scott frowns, checking his calendar. Maybe they are supposed to meet tomorrow.

Scott's frown deepens when he sees that they are, in fact, supposed to meet today. Did Mitch forget?

Scott sighs, deciding to go to Mitch's house to see if he's there. Deep down in his consciousness, Scott is worried that Mitch disappeared again, and he doesn't want that to happen. He's grown quite fond of the boy.

He gets into his car and goes to the familiar apartment. To his surprise and slight worry, the door is wide open. I'm sure he just forgot to close it. Everything is fine.

"Mitch?" Scott calls, creeping into the apartment. The hairs on the back of his neck tingle and he gets an eerie feeling as he walks through the apartment. Scott does not like this.

"Mitch, where are you?"

He rounds a corner and sees a door wide open, creeping inside. Scott takes a look around; a bed, a desk with some papers on it, a phone, but no Mitch. Scott sighs and exits the room, feeling himself get worried.

Scott turns another corner and sees another wide open door: the bathroom. "Mitch?" He rushes inside, the bad feeling more overpowering than ever.

There, in the middle of the floor, lies Mitch. Scott feels himself start to cry, immediately rushing to his side and falling to his knees beside him. He brushes away his tears and quickly feels for a pulse, trying to distract himself from the sight before him.

Mitch lies unmoving on the floor, a small blade a few inches away from his hand and blood pouring from eleven small cuts lining his right arm. His chest is barely rising and falling, his eyes closed. Scott bites back a sob as he realizes what he had done.

Mitch tried to commit suicide.

Scott puts pressure on the cuts as he fumbles with his phone, trying to dial three numbers before it's too late.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"Uh, my friend tried to commit s-suicide."

"Is he or she still breathing?"

"Yes, he's . . . he's breathing."

"Give me your location, we'll send someone right over."

Scott obeys and hangs up, concentrating on keeping Mitch alive. He doesn't care about the fact that his hands are covered in blood — Mitch's blood — or that he can barely breathe he's crying so hard.

All that matters is Mitch.