The next morning came, and when he woke up, something was weighing him down, keeping him from getting out of the unfamiliar bed. When his eyes focused, he saw that the weight was actually a whole human; Mitch Grassi. The first thing Scott noticed, though, was that they were both clothed in pajamas, indicating no sex happening. Then he saw the sleeping man’s peaceful face, and couldn’t bring himself to wake him up. Scott began to notice the smallest details, the way his lips moved into a smile as he dreamed about something sweet, or the way Mitch’s long, feminine eyelashes fluttered in his sleep, and Scott suddenly wanted to wake up to nothing different. He began to slowly fall back asleep, but the Italian began to stir, his eyes slowly opening.
“How the hell did this happen?” Mitch ask, his voice shockingly deep from sleep. “When did we fall asleep.”
“I have no clue,” Scott shrugged. “Just letting you, this doesn’t mean I am ready to try us again. I don’t think I am ready for any relationships, honestly.”
“I'm not either,” Mitch agreed. “It was just so… traumatic… with the last time I was in one. I keep pushing you away because I am scared of what is to come. You’re incredible, and so… so beautiful, inside and out. You’re so sweet and quite romantic, and I feel like Donny would’ve never compared to you. You know when to stop, and you know how to defend yourself.”
“What time is it?” Scott yawned, Mitch looking at his phone.
“Eight thirty,” he answered, putting his phone back on the table.
“Shit!” Scott panicked, Mitch letting him up. “I am supposed to be at class in 30 minutes, and it is 15 away walking.!”
“I have you an outfit ready in the bathroom and you can use my toiletries,” Mitch explained. “There’s also a toothbrush, toothpaste, brush, and your favorite cologne, ready for you. I'm letting you use my favorite Balenciaga bag, so be careful. Everything is packed, and I will watch Becca until you get back.”
“Are you sure we aren’t married?” Scott teased, the Italian sticking his tongue. “Better put that tongue back in that mouth or I will make you use it.”
“Well make me use it then,” Mitch smirked.
“I am running to late to make you,” Scott sighed, running into the bathroom and getting ready for the day.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
“That song sounds incredible!” Professor Johnson complemented. “For that being a sample copy, it sounds crisp and professional. It sounds better than most of the students that started in this class their freshman year, and I honestly can’t wait to hear the end product.”
“Thanks, Professor,” Scott smiled, sitting back down for the last fifteen minutes of class.
“She tells that to all of her new students,” a random red head spoke up. “I have gotten a 98% on every song I have turned in. It is practically impossible to top that.”
“I am not in here to be the top of the class,” Scott shrugged, remembering that her name was McKenna. “I just want to get out there and do what I enjoy, and writing music happens to be one of them. It’s a passion of mine.”
“Says the college quarterback who is attempting to look cool by making shifty music,” she spat. “I don’t see why the hell they let you switch your classes like that. It makes you seem over privileged. You Ariel literally a stereotype, a ‘cute‘ white guy, with blond hair and blue eyes, that grew up in white privilege home, that gets a full college scholarship to ‘afford‘ it. You take the scholarship from someone that actually deserves it, and you waste it on parties and women, and bullshit that frat boys do.”
“You know literally nothing about me, Bitch,” Scott growled. “I grew up in a home where my sister was raped by my dad, I was beaten by my dad, and my mom seemed to do nothing to get out of the situation. He abused me from the age of two until he almost shot me and rotted in jail. I dealt with such bad PTSD that I had to live in a mental hospital for two years. I had to finish high school in the hospital, and I didn’t get a sports scholarship. My psychiatrist paid for me in hopes I could make a life for myself. I had to work towards convincing the coach to let me try out, and it took four months before he let me do it. I lived in a frat house, but I hardly went to the parties there, because that’s not my version of fun. Now I have an apartment with a new friend of mine, my daughter, and her mother. I just found out the dad I thought I had was my uncle, and that my real dad had to change his name and leave the country. Just because you look like a wannabe cheerleader, doesn’t mean you have to be a fucking prejudicing bitch. Now if you’ll excuse me, class is over so I am going to live my life so you don’t have to worry about it. Goodbye, you fucker.”
Before McKenna could speak, Scott stormed out of the room, going back to his apartment. Scott forgot about the celebrations going on for the week, so when excited students started letting off some fireworks early, he went into a state of anger and panic. He began yelling and swearing, calling for Will then Mitch then Will then Mitch. No one came for him and he lost it. He went to his room, grabbing his sister’s old softball bat. He tried to calm himself down, but when he couldn’t, he swung the bat at his TV, completely shattering it. The next thing to go was his floor mirror, followed by vanity mirror, following the entire rest of the vanity, followed by the glass desk. He kept swinging the bat until his room was completely destroyed, doing the same to the office, and then the living room. He went back to his room and collapsed to the floor landing on the shards of glass.
“Scotty?!” Kirstie called out, walking into the room slowly before running to the man. “Oh my God! Scott, what the hell happened?!”
“I heard them,” he cried out, Kirstie pulling him into her arms. “I heard them all! I heard the gunshots. The gunshots that hurt Willy. They came back. The gunshots tried to get me. He is trying to get me. Don’t make Mitch come over. Jon is after me! He is going to kill Mitch and Becca! They need to stay away. They need to be safe.”
“It was just fireworks, Sweetie,” she reassured with a soft voice. “It wasn’t gunshots. Jon is dead. He died in prison, Scotty. He isn’t coming after you, me, Mitch or Becca. We will be okay. I want you to come with me.”
“Okay…” Scott sniffled getting up and following Kirstie to her room. Kirstie helped him into so pajamas, bandaged up his small cuts, and got him into the bed.
“I have to go for a minute,” Kirstie yawned.
“Please don’t leave me alone,” Scott begged, beginning to cry again. “The last time I was left alone, I almost killed someone…”
“Just get some sleep,” she whispered, putting on Disney lullabies. “I am making a few phonecalls and I will be back in to nap with you, okay?”
“Okay, Kitty…” he yawned, falling asleep almost instantly.
YOU ARE READING
Keep Me Coming: Book One of the KMC Series
FanfictionScott Hoying is one of the best players in College Football, with at least ten NFL teams wanting him, and he was only a sophomore. Everyone wanted him or wanted to be him, and he was incredible at what he was doing. The only flaw, in most of the tea...
