Scott POV
A bright light woke me up. I squinted into it and blinked before realizing that it was the sun. Had I actually slept through the night? I checked the clock. 1:30 PM?! I jumped out of bed and walked quickly into the living room. I saw a note on the counter and picked it up.
Scotty-
I went to the store to get an actual ice pack for your hand and some Tylenol for the pain. Thought you needed the sleep so I didn't wake you. Be back soon. XOXO.
-Mitchie
I smiled slightly at his neat script and then set the note back on the counter. I'll admit that it did feel good to get a full night's worth of sleep, and then some. I stretched my arms up over my head and then brought my hand back down to look at it.
My eyes popped as I noticed that all of my knuckles and part of my fingers were almost a purply-black color and my hand was swollen, badly. I knew I'd hit that wall hard, but I didn't think I could have possibly screwed up my hand this bad. I turned it over, examining it from every angle. I couldn't let Mitch see this, he'd make me go back to the hospital. There was no way after yesterday's incident that I'd ever step foot in a hospital again.
I ran to Mitch's bathroom and searched through his drawers for his concealer. I came across his makeup pouch in the top left-hand drawer and as I lifted it up, I noticed something under it. Something shiny.
I set the makeup bag on the counter and picked up the small razor blade, examining it. I shrugged and reached over to throw it in the trash can, it must have fallen out of a razor. I didn't want Mitch to accidentally cut himself on it. I searched through his concealer collection, looking for one that best matched my skin tone. It was difficult considering how much more tan he was than me.
I heard his keys jiggling in the door so I quickly grabbed whichever bottle of concealer I had my hand on and began smearing it on my injured hand. It was going to take several coats to completely cover the bruising, and nothing could help the swelling, so I'm not even really sure why I was still trying.
As I was shoving his things back into their proper place, he walked into the bathroom, grocery bag in hand. He first looked at my face, frozen in shock, and then down at my poorly concealed hand.
"Scott!" He panicked. "Your hand!"
I sighed loudly. "I know it looks bad, but it really doesn't hurt at all. Just give it a few days. It'll go away on it's own."
"You're telling me that that doesn't hurt?!" He gasped, obviously in disbelief.
I shrugged, even though in reality it was quite painful.
"Don't you dare down play it." He warned, frowning at me.
I laguhed slightly. "I'm not." I lied.
"Are you sure you don't need to go back to the emergency ro-"
"Yes." I interrupted, not wanting to even hear the name of that wretched place.
He rolled his eyes. "Well I brought you an ice pack, keep it on your hand at all times."
"Yes ma'am." I responded as I always do when he starts to get bossy.
"And here," He said, reaching his hand into the grocery bag. "I bought you some Tylenol for the pain."
"It really doesn't hurt that bad." I protested.
He gave me his death glare and I reluctantly obliged, taking the two pills that he poured into my hand. I quickly threw them into my mouth and swallowed them without water.
Mitch groaned. "I don't understand how you do that."
I chuckled slightly at his comment. I was glad to have my Mitchie back. Or was it all just another act?
Mitch POV
I changed the ice pack on Scott's hand every half-hour while he napped on my bed. The feeling of panic that I experienced after coming home and finding him rifling through my bathroom drawers hadn't quite left me yet. My heart still pounded at an unusally fast rate. I was almost certain he was going to find my blades, but he hadn't said anything to me, so I just tried to act normal.
Scott rolled over on the bed, causing the ice pack to fall off his hand. I groaned playfully and walked around the bed to move it back into position. His hand looked disgusting: veins popping out, knuckles a sickly purplish color. It made me want to puke. He must have smacked that wall pretty damn hard. I wish I could let him punch Trevor that hard, but I couldn't allow my best friend to go to prison over something that was my fault.
I always left out the "my fault" part when talking to Scott because I already knew exactly what he would say to that. First, he would spend hour upon hour trying to convince me that what Trevor did was not my fault even though I knew it was, and then he would get even angrier at Trevor, pushing him over the edge, and making him do something moronic.
I sighed as I lightly sat down on the edge of my bed, careful not to wake my sleeping angel. I'd have to figure out a way to make him forget I'd said anything. The last thing I want is for him to carry around the same feelings of regret, guilt, and hatred that I do. It's no way to live, trust me.
I attempted to keep myself from looking at his handsome, peaceful face. He always seemed so carefree when he slept. I hoped he was having beautiful dreams, he deserved it more than anyone.
I stood up, wincing as the bed creaked, and then walked slowly into the living room. Wyatt walked by my feet, crying for food. I walked over to the kitchen where his food bowl was and filled it up for him. I petted his naked body as he chowed down.
"You're getting porky, Wyatt, you know that?"
