Moving on ~ Sequel of Travis (a scömìche fanfic)

Chapter 17

Mitch quickly slid the shaving razor horizontally across his lower thigh.

Little beads of blood surfaced.

His breathing was ragged, but quiet enough for no one to hear.

The cuts weren't too deep so he made much more than intended.

And tears weren't flowing out of his eyes this time.

This time, everything felt numb.

Mitch heard everyone shuffling and talking very quietly.

Probably about him.

How pathetic he was.

Another cut formed.

How pitiful he looked.

Another cut.

How stupid he acted.

Another cut.

How ugly he was.

Another after another after another.

****************

Scott's shoulders shook as he quietly sobbed into his hands.

Esther and Kirstie were both comforting him while Avi and Kevin knelt in front of him.

"I-I need to check on M-Mitch." Scott tried to say.

Everyone looked to each other.

"Scott..." Kevin started.

"Kevin, what if it was your mother or sister in there? Wouldn't you do everything in your power to make sure they're ok? That they aren't hurting themselves?"

Kevin put his hand on Scott's knee. "I would, Scott. But you got to understand that he needs space. To think."

Scott furiously stood up and walked to the beds.

He couldn't handle that his best friends were letting Mitch sit in that bathroom doing who knows.

As soon as he closed the door, everyone took action.

"Ok, so, what's next?" Esther asked as everyone gathered close together.

"When Mitch comes out, we will tell him everything," Avi answered.

"Yeah, about what we've been noticing lately. The bruises, the long trips to the bathroom, skipping meals," Kevin added, almost choking up.

"But what if Mitch doesn't come back out?" Esther asked, worriedly.

"He will, I know he's not gonna die tonight," Kirstie answered.

Everyone sat in silence, waiting for Mitch to come out.

*******************

Mitch washed off his razor and placed it back into his toiletry bag.

He zipped up his suitcase and stood up slowly.

The little cuts started to sting from standing.

The small man dared not to look in the mirror as he pulled up his pants.

They didn't bleed as much because of how thin they were, so he didn't have to make an excuse for bloody tissue paper in the garbage.

Mitch buttoned his pants and looked around, making sure no blood made it to the floor.

Made sure everything looked clean and normal.

Once he gathered himself, he stood at the door and took deep breaths.