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One

Mitch's P.O.V
It was about three weeks, if not more, before they let me leave. I was forced to stay in bed for a week of that, doing nothing but therapy and watching the TV screen.

I still found it hard to understand and respond in some ways, but I was getting better. The first few days, speaking was so hard. The words would come out jumbled and most people stopped talking to me. I was surprised, when Scott later told me what I had asked of him the moment my eyes opened.

"Please Scotty. Please never leave me alone."

It had been so clear, so cleanly stated. Yet, moments later, I had drifted off, back into a blissful, empty sleep. The next time I spoke, Scott told me, none of the words made sense. Just slurred words and jumbled sentences.

My next biggest problem was the lack of mobility in my right hand. Thankfully, I was left handed, but I did so many thinks with my right hand as well that it was so stressful that I could barely twitch my fingers. Granted, at first, I didn't even want to move my hands because my arms hurt so bad.

Weeks of physical therapy to try and regain some of the old movement in my hand, of constant Suicide watch, of speech therapy. So many medications, a lot I couldn't even name, followed me waking up. All of this, because I was stupid and let a voice in my head influence my decisions.

After I was sufficiently able to convey simple sentences, the doctors and police asked me so many questions. The one that kept coming up that I couldn't figure out why was if I came into contact with any men the night before I tried to end it all. Specifically, "Can you describe the man that raped you?"

My answer was always "I can't remember anything." At first, I don't think they believed me, but finally they stopped asking, and let the topic drop.

During the time I spent there, my family celebrated Christmas with me. I was mostly unable to relay a lot of my gratitude because of my speech impediment. It was a modest Christmas, but it was one of my favorites.

My Christmas gift to my dad was a simple hug. Insignificant to some people, mundane. But because I was always so irrationally afraid of him, this was my way of telling him 'I'm going to be alright, Dad.'

The night after Christmas, it was just Scott and I, sitting in the room, the TV on, though neither of us were really watching it, when Jeremy knocked on the door.

"Mitch? Scott? Can I come in?" He asked, standing at the door.

"Yes. Yes. Here." I waved him him, smiling widely.

He came in and pulled up one of the seats. He was staring at his lap and it was making me uncomfortable.

"Problem, Jeremy?" I asked, hand moving towards him weakly.

He simply smiled. "A bit, but it can wait if you are tired."

"I was sleeping for week. I'm not tired." I missed a word in that sentence. It sounded off. What was I forgetting?

"A week." Scott clarified and I have him a weak smile.

"Okay." He shifted in his seat and stayed silent for a bit. "I have been meaning to ask this, but I didn't want to seem selfish."

"Speak." I encouraged. I wanted so very badly to know what it was he had to say.

"I am here to ask for your blessing to marry your best friend, Kirstin Maldonado." He said at last and I made a nose of excitement, my heart heart beating fast with excitement. My Kirstie was getting married. She was such a lucky woman, and Jeremy was an even luckier man.

"Blething!" I slurred, excited, the impediment more pronounced. "Kirstie getting married!"

Jermey laughed. "Not yet. I still have to ask her. I just hope she will say yes." He was so nervous. It was so cute. I had once hoped, long ago, that a man would feel like this about me, but I didn't ever wish that anymore, because who would?

No. Stop it. No derogatory self view. Not again. I scolded myself as I watched Jeremy smile.

"Happy! Yeth." I confirmed, nodding energetically, then regretting almost the moment I did because I headache pushed at my brain.

Three weeks is a long time. So many things can happen in three weeks. We passed Christmas, and even new year. While I was surrounded with family and was watching the ball drop, Scott's hand gripped mine, his thumb over it. I looked at him, but it seemed like an almost absent minded gesture, something he wasn't even, consciously, aware that he was doing this. That was the moment I made a Resolution. A resolution to do my hardest to do better.

In those few weeks, I made a lot of progress in everything, from use of my hand, speech, and even being with my father.

My main motivator for all of this, though I never told a soul, was the bits and pieces I had heard in my dreams.

My next stop was an Institute, a place where I was to spend the next year or so of my life, learning to deal and cope.

It was going to be so hard, because I was always constantly checking myself that I wasn't knocking myself down, though sometimes, I didn't stop it. In fact, most of the time, I let to continue, because that's how it had been for me for years, the voices able to say everything, without a word of protest. But I got better. It was easier to drown them out as the days went of.

It would be hard because I would be surrounded by people I had never met before. Who knew what they would try to do to me. Would they try to have their way with me like so many had before?

Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as I thought. Maybe they would be nice to me. Respect my boundaries.

With these thoughts running through my head, I ready to go do this to get better.

~°~
And y'all thought I would just end it there. I thought about it, but you know what? I love y'all too much, and there is so much that has to happen.

I am tempted to write the alternate ending for Found in one of my books, it will only be a. Few chapters, but just to show you what could have happened. Yay or Nay?

Oh, and stay sexy
-Scomiche❤💛💚💙💜