Mitch POV
I kept seeing images of my parents, and then Scott, and then Kirstie and Avi and Kevin, and finally Trevor. I saw every memory I'd ever had, the good and the bad, watching clips of my life fly by like I was fast-forwarding through a movie. And then I saw nothing.
I kept hearing some sort of alarm going off, beeping incessantly, and my ears begged for it to stop. I searched the blackness that surrounded me for the source of the strange beeping, but there was nothing. Nothing but darkness.
And then a light appeared in front of me, and the beeping became more faint, eventually turning in to a hum.
Scott POV
It had been hours since they'd rushed Mitch into surgery. Too many hours. I'd watched the sun sink behind the horizon through the windows in the waiting room of the hospital, and now I could see the faint glow that meant it was about to rise again.
What could possibly be taking so long? Unless something had gone wrong. I hadn't gotten a full breath since yesterday, and the last time I'd spoken had been to the social worker. She'd come back to check on me a few times, and to let me know that Trevor was nowhere to be seen, but I couldn't bring myself to respond to or acknowledge her.
Once I'd given her the information she'd needed, it was like the ability to function had been sucked out of me. She'd offered me food and water a few times, but each time my lack of response was taken as a refusal. Eventually, I think she'd given up on me cause it had been a while since I'd seen her.
A doctor approached me some time right after the sun had finally appeared. It was a man, and his face gave no indication as to the nature of the news he was about to give. I looked up at him, my blank stare boring into him.
He breathed in deeply, and then delivered the news, "Mitch is stable."
Suddenly, the tenseness that I hadn't known was in my body flooded out. I felt like jumping for joy, or yelling, or crying, or all of the above, but I sat there, doing none of those things as I tensed for the doctor's next words.
"He's stable, for now." He admitted.
"For now?" I questioned, my throat dry after not speaking for so long.
He nodded. "We lost him a few times during surgery. He lost a lot of blood. He's stable now, but he's going to have to be monitored very closely. If he is kept from straining himself for the next few weeks, he should be on the road to a full recovery."
I looked at the floor, nodding.
"There's one other thing," the doctor said, his tone indicating that it wasn't good, "On his wrists were deep, deep cuts." The doctor informed me.
I nodded. "He used to self-harm, but he stopped a few weeks ago." I was confident in my words because I'd seen him in short sleeve shirts several times over the past few days, and there were no new cuts.
He shook his head, "No, not the scars, new ones. They were as fresh as the wound on his stomach. They contributed majorly to his blood loss. Do you know if these were self-inflicted?" He asked.
Everything inside of me seemed to freeze. I shook my head numbly, remembering the strips of fabric around his wrists that I hadn't asked him about. "Can I see him?" I asked.
The doctor nodded, "Of course, but please remember that he's not to be strained right now."
I nodded understandingly as the doctor lead me through a maze of hallways and deposited me outside of Mitch's room. I pushed open the door slowly and saw Mitch's small body lying on a bed in the middle of the room.
His eyes opened slightly as I walked in and shut the door behind me. I made my way over to his bed, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside him. I put my hand over his.
"How are you feeling?" I asked stupidly. I knew how he was feeling.
"Fine," he lied. "How are you?"
I couldn't help my eyes as they wandered to the bandages that covered his wrists. He noticed my line of vision and he sighed softly.
"Please don't ask what happened," Mitch said softly.
A tear rolled down my cheek. "Did you do it?" I asked.
Mitch shook his head slowly. "No, I didn't."
"Please, I just want to know what happened when he took you upstairs." I begged, "Please."
He tried to take a deep breath, but I could hear it being cut short by the pain that spiked through him. He then breathed a few shallow, ragged breaths before he began to speak.
"Not now," he moaned. "I can't talk about it."
I nodded, following the doctor's orders. I'd have to wait until he was better before I got the answers I needed.
