Hushed (Book 2 of the Silent Series)

Day Five

Major trigger warning: if mentions of self harm and suicide triggers you, please don't read this...

Like, I can't even believe these words came from me. I've never wrote something like this.

Mitch and Kirstie weren't at their apartment when Scott showed up, only a dead police officer in Mitch's bedroom, a bullet wound straight through his chest and blood splattered everywhere.

Scott couldn't breathe when he saw it, could barely pick up the phone to call the police for a second time.

What if it was Kirstie or Mitch were like that, just in a place that Scott couldn't see?

He was silently sitting on his couch, Avi constantly texting him and trying to get him to calm down.

But in all honesty, Scott was calm. He couldn't find an emotion, so he just decided on not having one at all.

The mental image of the police was something Scott could never un-see. The fact that he was completely dead without any doubt about it. And apparently he was their best officer, so Scott was screwed. He wouldn't see his lover and best friend ever again.

Scott felt the need to buy his own notebook, writing down what he felt every so often without his amazing friends.

It was already the fourth day, so Scott had four entries filled out.

Day 1:
My love, please come home. -S

Day 2:
Your eyes- I can't stop thinking of them, my love. -S

Day 3:
I come to your apartment everyday, my
love. -S

Day 4:
I miss you, my love. -S

And just like that, Scott was alone again. And when your alone, you have no one to keep you from the bad things, like "accidentally" taking too many pills, or "slipping" and dropping a knife onto your wrist multiple times.

But of course, Scott was too scared of death too do anything about it. Like he tried to take the pills, seventeen of them.

Then he stuck a finger down his throat and made himself vomit them up, scared that it might actually work.

And he had put a knife too his wrist, cut so deep that his vision had become awfully blurry. But then he took pain medicine, and cleaned it, then wrapped it to stop the blood flow.

And Scott was scared, because when you're alone, you can't control yourself, and no one is there to help and take control for you.

Scott had the scars of burnt skin on his stomach and chest from purposely burning himself, and he had the horrific memory of almost stepping off of the chair with a noose around his neck, but with everything he did to wish pain upon himself, he cured the pain out of free will, because Scott was terrified of death.

He was scared of lots of things, death only being one of the many. He was scared of tight spaces, and spiders, and even the ocean at times. He was scared of the dark, and he was scared of loosing loved ones, and sadly, the last of these things happened to him.

Scott couldn't take his eyes away from the blood stain on the couch. Why did he had to cause self harm on his new couch rather than the bathroom where he could hide something he was ashamed of?

Scott couldn't stop thinking of the noose, when he took his neck out of it and dropped it into the garbage.

Scott wanted to die, but he was too scared.

Because he was alone. And the worst things can happen to you when you're alone. He needed someone, he needed Mitch.

He needed the touch that made him not be able to find words, and the kiss that made him breathless.

He needed the voice of one that was unable to talk, the sound of one that could barely produce any. The inspiration and motivation of a mute boy that had actually figured out how to talk, and finally, he needed the love of the boy that had stolen his heart.

Scott couldn't find his emotions earlier, but he was definitely finding them now. He didn't know how defeated he could feel, the point of crying so much that he couldn't see. So worried that he actually thought he was going to throw up. Scared to the point where he couldn't breathe.

His bed seemed like the only solution, it was his only source of comfort. Scott had to resort to it for a feeling of safety, and frankly, his bed didn't make him feel safe at all.

It only worsened the situation, as he was laying under the blankets that he found his lover sleeping under when he got home from job searching, the covers that he cuddled and kissed a certain boy that meant everything to him.

Scott runs into the bathroom, opening the toilet and releasing everything resting in his stomach into it.

Then he started hyperventilating and thought to himself: God, give me a sign. Give me a sign that they are okay. Give me someone who can help me, and make me stop feeling so defeated.

But Scott didn't believe in God. Because he was a sin apparently, so praying was absolutely worthless and would get him no where.

"Fuck!" Scott yells, his voice harsh and cracking with every second it made a sound. He hadn't actually said anything for a longtime, and boy, it felt awful when he did.

It made his throat sore, and then he thought, maybe that's how Mitch feels when he speaks? Does it physically hurt him, but he pushes through to make others lives easier when trying to communicate with him-No.

Scott had to stop thinking of Mitch, but he couldn't even do that when Mitch was in the safety of his own home.

And so Scott was sitting on the floor of his bathroom, crying and trying to catch at least a little air to breath. He slowly started to get up, but gave up when he quickly fell back down instantly after trying.

Scott knew it was past midnight, and he uses his shaking hand to reach and grab his notebook, opening to the next page.

Day 5:
I want to kill myself, but I don't want to disappoint you. I'm scared, my love. -S