Time After Time

Lost in the Late Night

Scott stared up at the ceiling, the blankets draped over his body as tears lined his cheeks. The late night had only just begun, and the baritone was already drowning in its effects. His thoughts were never ending spirals that would swing and spin until Scott felt too nauseous to function, and then he’d finally be granted that one wish – to sleep. At least, that’s what he was hoping for, because he wasn’t sure how much worse he could get without making a sound. He didn’t want to wake Mitch up. He was too afraid to glance over at the younger man that he had presumed was asleep, and so, he instead kept himself busy, imagining blurred patterns on the ceiling above him.

His multiple thoughts were gradually blurring into a mess of nothing and everything and Scott felt as though his brain would burst. He couldn’t escape from it; it was pinning him down and tying him up. It had chased after him for so long. They are only memories, he tried to remind himself, but it was so pointless because he was aware of that. He was terrified of reliving those memories. He didn’t want to be put through it all again. The very thought of losing Mitch was enough to send his mind into overdrive, but the thought of being the one to find him was somehow worse. If Mitch tried to end his own life again, Scott would die. It didn’t matter if Mitch was successful. It didn’t matter if Mitch somehow pulled through because Scott couldn’t live with seeing the same scene twice. It was like that one scene from a movie that sets your skin crawling. It was the one scene that Scott relived every single day and he hated it. The idea of reliving it terrified him more than he could comprehend, but, as each day flew on by, he began to realize that it just might happen again.

Scott screwed his eyes shut and focused on inhale, exhale over and over to try and calm him, but the alarm bells in the back of his mind were still ringing. He felt sick as his limbs began to shake. Not now, he begged himself, but the panic had taken over. The incomprehensible and the obvious and easily-understood shared a border that had started to overlap. The room he was in felt more like a prison – his bed an electric chair. His brain was a kaleidoscope in black and white, abstract sadness under muted tones that swallowed all color along with all signs of life. Life was being sucked out of the blonde and being scattered across the room at an alarming pace, dizzying speeds and dizzying heights as the blurred border grew closer. He wanted to reach for the surface and pull himself free but the ropes would not allow him such an opportunity and instead dragged him back down again. Time wore on, slow, fast, soft, hard, fading and disappearing along with rapid breaths and pointless thoughts. The blonde finally made his escape, exhausted, worn down and terrified.

Despite how weary he felt, his tired brain decided to continue to torture the baritone. He remembered the hundred of red lines that adorned Mitch’s thighs, the lies the countertenor told and the way that everyone around him was so oblivious to the struggle. He could recall how he’d tried to tell Kirstie, and instead, had himself ended up spending the night in hospital under observation. They’d told him it was a one-off – that it probably wouldn’t happen again. They told him that he’d never feel that distress again, that it was probably just the shock of finding Mitch, and that his brain was trying to process it all. They’d all lied to him. He’d never told his parents, he’d never told anyone, really – except for the few times on tour when Kirstie had seen him. Scott always made sure to keep away from Mitch though. It was only recently that the brunette had been able to witness Scott falling apart, and it made the blonde feel even worse. He hated that Mitch was trying to help because it made it harder for the baritone. He didn’t want his boyfriend’s support because he felt as though he should be the one supporting the countertenor, not the other way around. Scott ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down the blonde locks before rubbing his face in a pitiful attempt to remove a few of the tears.

Scott was grateful that Mitch was asleep, yet he wished that he wasn’t. He knew that, when left alone with his brain, he would always end up panicking. He’d known for years that losing Mitch was the main trigger, the main cause, but how on earth could he explain that to the countertenor without upsetting him? He loved Mitch, and he wanted them to be together forever, but he also knew that they both had so many issues that needed to be resolved. Sighing, Scott closed his eyes and tried to find sleep again. After ten minutes of staring into the backs of his eyelids, the blonde gave up and allowed those baby blues the freedom to see again – even if he could only make out dark shadows in the dark room. Scott wanted to get up and walk around, but he knew that he’d never forgive himself if he woke his boyfriend up, so, instead, he continued his staring match with the ceiling. 

Scott hated these moments where he couldn’t lie to himself, these moments where he was forced to accept why he felt this way. But, at the bottom of his heart, he found that he was grateful to have found Mitch that day because, even if they were damaged, they were still alive. Mitch had been home alone and no one else would have come to check on him; if Scott hadn’t found Mitch unconscious, then someone else would have found him dead. The baritone definitely preferred having brunette alive – Scott knew that he would take any amount of pain and any amount of suffering if it meant he could keep Mitch alive.