***
Mitch laid on his floor in the kitchen. The floor was freezing, but he didn't care. He didn't care at all.
He heard the noise of the running dishwasher and the turning of the laundry machine.
"Literally if she replies, I'm gonna die."
"I'm dyingggg."
"DEAD."
"I'm so sick, I'm dying."
He used all of those phrases.
He used them to describe how he was feeling. You're laughing so hard, you're 'dying.'
You're so hungry, you're 'dying.'
You saw a hilarious post, you're 'dead.'
It wasn't a joke anymore. It wasn't a silly thing used to describe your feelings and emotion. It was real. People kept dying.
Mitch didn't notice the tears that were falling down the side of his head and into his ears.
He's dead. He's actually dead.
"Marcus..." Mitch mumbled. He couldn't take it, dying.
What if there isn't actually a heaven? What if you're stuck as a ghost and you're screaming and crying waiting for somebody to help you, somebody to hold you and help you and love you--someone to know you exist.
Or worse, what if there's nothing at all?
What if you're just gone. It hurts a person's head just thinking about it.
Being nonexistent.
"Marcus." He whispered.
He can't hug him, he can't love him, he can't...see him. Not anymore. No more birthday cakes, no more jokes, no more learning, no more cuddles, no more anything.
"Marcus..." Mitch sat up as his breath quickened.
He's dead.
Mitch stood up and quickly leaned over the sink to splash water on his face.
Teddy bear.
He needs the teddy bear.
Mitch practically sprinted into Marcus's old bedroom. He ran to his bed, afraid to touch it. Afraid to ruin something that held Marcus as he slept.
But the teddy wasn't there anyway.
He began to grow frantic as he searched the house for the teddy bear. His heart burning, his vision blurring, and his breath shortening.
He began gasping for air as he sobbed and covered his ears with his hands which were shaking violently.
"Marcus, Marcus, Marcus..." Mitch let out a heartbreaking sob filled with absolute defeat.
His mind panicked even more when two arms wrapped around him. Usually, during a panic attack such as this one, he'd kick and punch away. He's scream even more. The person's arms would feel like a choking device and walls would start closing in.
But these arms were different.
"Marcus!" Mitch screamed as he continued sobbing.
"Mitch, Mitch you're okay. You're okay, you're fine..." Scott whispered as he practically held Mitch. Mitch continued sobbing and trying to figure out what for do.
Scott was crying, too. Silently as he squeezed his eyes shut and held onto Mitch.
"My love, please...my love, please..." Scott said. Mitch's sobs eventually turned into small hiccups and whimpers, begging the world, begging God to give him back; to give Marcus back.
"My love, you're okay..." Scott whispered.
"I need him..." Mitch whispered. Scott just held onto him tighter before he let go.
he moved over to the couch. Laying down and Mitch falling down on top of him after.
Mitch wrapped his arms around Scott's stomach and rested the side of his head over his heart.
Scott felt something bumpy under the cushion of the couch, so he put his hand in the crack of it and pulled out the brown fluffy teddy.
He handed it to Mitch who first inhaled its scent, let out s sigh of relief as more tears began falling, and then put it under his head.
Scott wrapped his arms around Mitch.
Mitch was definitely taking the death of their three year old son the hardest.
***
