sing | scömìche

broken

i don't remember if i've addressed this but from now on i won't be censoring the curse words

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trigger warning: mentions of suicide

Scott rushed to the hospital as fast as he could. He even risked using precious money to pay for a taxi, too desperate to get to Mitch to worry about it.

As soon as the taxi driver pulled up, Scott practically threw the money at him and stumbled out of the car. He didn't look back as he rushed inside the building, letting the tears run freely down his cheeks. "I need to see Mitch Grassi," he forced out as soon as he got to the front desk, his voice breaking. "Please." The receptionist looked up in surprise, but she nodded and typed the name into her computer. "Sir, I'm afraid you can't see him right now," she said eventually, sympathy oozing from her gaze. "They're still working on him. You can wait here, I'll tell you when he's ready." Scott let out a small wail of despair, but curled up in one of the chairs and cried silently.

"What's making a pretty little thing like you so sad?" a voice suddenly spoke, and Scott looked up from his lap to see who spoke. When he laid eyes on an older man, his heart jerked with fear and he pulled his sleeves over his hands. "Please leave me alone," he whispered brokenly, not even trying to stop his tears. The man rolled his eyes and plopped down in the chair next to him, placing his hand on Scott's thigh. "I can cheer you up," he murmured in Scott's ear. Scott shivered and pushed his hand away, scooting away from him. "I said to leave me alone."

"Come on. Don't be like that. Let me make you feel good," the man insisted, setting his hand back on Scott's thigh and starting to inch up towards his crotch. Scott whimpered and pushed him away, quickly getting up to move to another seat. He just wanted to cry in peace.

The man grabbed Scott's arm and yanked him down onto his lap. Scott yelped and quickly tried to get up, his tears falling faster. "Please, l-leave me alone. My fiancé got h-hit by a c-c-car, I j-just want to s-see h-him," he sobbed, struggling in the man's grip. The man rolled his eyes and was about to slip his hand into Scott's pants when the poor boy was saved. "Excuse me, sir. Is this man bothering you?" the receptionist asked Scott, concern in her voice. Scott whimpered and quickly nodded, managing to jerk himself from the man's grasp. "I asked h-him to l-leave me alone twice," he whispered, wrapping his arms around himself. The receptionist nodded and called security, and Scott watched in silence as the man was taken away.

"You can see Mitch now," the receptionist told Scott once the man was gone, looking up at him. "He's in room 1A. Be quiet, he's sleeping." Relief washed over Scott and he nodded, his hands shaking. "Th-Thank you so much," he said gratefully, but the woman just smiled. "Don't mention it."

Scott shakily made his way to room 1A, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. When he went inside, his heart shattered. There was Mitch, lying broken and bruised on the hospital bed. His arms were covered in bandages, and his face screwed up from the pain every time he took a breath. However, somehow, he was asleep. Scott stuffed his hand in his mouth to keep from crying and slowly sunk into the chair beside him.

He told himself it was his fault. He didn't know how, but Mitch had gotten hit by a car because of him. He hated himself.

Scott wished more than anything that Mitch would be okay. Even if Mitch broke up with him right after he woke, Scott would still be somewhat happy because at least Mitch was alive. Sure, he'd probably kill himself, but at least Mitch was safe.

Scott wanted to take Mitch's hand, but he didn't want to risk hurting him. He simply curled up in the chair and set his head on Mitch's bed, closing his eyes. Mitch's presence soothed him to some extent, and he was able to drift off into a pitiful sleep.