A Twist of Fate SERIES (Pentatonix)

(12) Something Real

( SCOTT )

"Mitch, don't do this to me. Please wake up," I whisper under my breath, the words barely escaping my lips due to the knot that blocks my throat. I brush his sweaty hair out of his face, and then press the cool cloth to his forehead, willing it to magically relieve his fever and wake him up.

"911, what is your emergency?"

I've been in this situation before, and not too long ago, either. But what hurts the most is that I don't know how this happened. For some reason, I feel like I missed something, that this is my fault—even though I know the only reason I'm over here in the first place is because Mitch had texted me.

I swallow the lump in my throat, and then attempt to explain to the dispatcher what happened, although I sound so oblivious and so hysterical at the same time that I don't know how she can even understand me or believe me. My voice comes out scratchy, weak, and cracked, but I don't let myself cry—I won't let myself cry. The dispatcher tells me to calm down in a soothing, yet firm, voice, and then tells me that she's sending an ambulance.

I throw my phone down on the floor beside me, and then lift the cloth off of Mitch's forehead, feeling that it's already warm. I check his pulse again, still sporadic, and then return to the bathroom to run the washcloth under cold water once more.

"You can't do this to me, Mitchy," I whisper to him, kneeling down in front of his face as I put the towel back on his forehead. "I don't know what's wrong, but you can't leave me."

I just stare at him, telepathically willing him to wake up. To do something. Show some sign of life. I'm afraid that he's slipped back into a coma. And that can't happen.

What feels like centuries later, the doorbell rings and there's some pounding on the front door. I don't want to leave Mitch, for fear of something happening in the twenty seconds I'll be gone, but, reluctantly, I reposition the cloth so it won't fall, and then race up the stairs, two-by-two.

My heart jumps into my throat when I see Kevin and another paramedic standing on the front porch. I open the door, and Kevin comes inside first, saying, "Long time, no see, Scott. Where's Mitch?"

"Down in the basement," I reply, breathless, as I eye the medical bags in either of their hands. "I...I don't know what happened. I came home, and found him like that."

Kevin just nods as he walks down the hall. At the basement door, he turns towards me, and he says with so much confidence it's hard to not believe him, "We'll figure this out, Scott. That kid's a fighter."

They both go downstairs, and I look out to make sure nobody else is coming towards the door, not letting my eyes linger on the ambulance and the red and blue flashing lights. I'm experiencing major déjà vu, my heart heavy; I just did this, not even a month ago. It's twisted and unfair and fucked-up.

I retreat to the basement, and linger by the landing as Kevin and the other paramedic crouch down in front of Mitch. Kevin notices I've come back downstairs, and so he asks me, "You said you came over and you just found him like this?"

"Yeah," I say quietly, and then clear my throat. "He had texted me, like, an hour beforehand and asked me to go buy something for him. So, I brought it over, and that's when I found him."

Kevin nods distractedly, rummaging through his bag for something, while the other paramedic checks Mitch's eyes. Kevin produces a thermometer from his bag, and then takes Mitch's temperature, his forehead creased in concentration. After a moment, it beeps, and I hold my breath. "Fever of 103. When did he wake up from the coma?"

"Uh..." I wrack my brain, trying to remember. "Last Friday, but then he was hallucinating for a few days after that. He came home Thursday." Kevin nods again.