Mitch POV
I went into my bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. I honestly wished I could have just dropped dead right then. It would make everything so much simpler. Without thinking, I grabbed the scissors that were sitting on my bathroom counter and slid the blade across my wrist.
Blood trickled out and pain coursed through my arm, but suddenly I felt alive again. This was the first time I'd truly felt anything in months...and I liked it.
Within days it had become an addiction. I even went to the drugstore and bought disposable razors, ripping the blades out to use in place of the scissors. I knew that they would cause more damage to my skin, and somehow that excited me.
I started acting normal again, at least by everyone else's standards. I stopped hooking up with strangers and I started to enjoy life again. My hope was to eventually get to a point where I didn't need to cut myself anymore. I was wishful in thinking that some day I'd be able to feel again without having to physically harm myself first. But, instead, it seemed like the longer I allowed it to go on, the more often I felt the need to do it. It became an every day occurence, sometimes happening even more than once a day if I was feeling bad.
"...and that went on for a few months before you found out. I won't go into more detail." I concluded.
Scott just stared at me, his eyes slowly filling with tears. I gently reached up to his face and wiped away a few that overflowed down his cheeks.
"Don't cry," I whispered.
He breathed deeply a few times. "I just love you," he whispered, "so damn much. It hurts me worse than you'll ever know to find out that you were in so much pain and I didn't even realize it."
Tears flowed freely down his face now, but his words made something inside of me flutter. He loved me almost as much as I loved him. I definitely don't deserve anything close to him, but that just makes me so much more grateful that he wanted to be with me.
"I should've known! I should've done something!" He yelled, a desperate edge in his voice.
"I didn't want you to know," I whispered. "I was ashamed."
"Is that what you've been having nightmares about?" He asked.
I shook my head. "No, the one last night was actually about what happened right before you brought me to the hospital."
"Tell me," he urged.
I was hesitant. It made him this upset when I talked about the damage I'd inflicted on myelf. I knew he'd lose it when he found out what Trevor had done to me.
"Please," he begged. "I have to know."
I sighed, "I just don't want to upset you." I admitted.
"This isn't about me," he said softly. "This is about helping you. I love that you care so much about my feelings, but please just let me help you for once."
I took in a slow, deep breath. "Should I just start from when I got to his house?"
He nodded.
He pulled me inside, his hands big and rough.
"I knew you'd come," he said.
I tried to push aside the fear that was building inside of me as he dragged me toward the basement. He opened the door and shoved me into the empty doorway, nearly causing me to fall down the stairs. I caught myself, though, and walked downstairs, Trevor close behind me.
Once we reached the bottom, he pulled something out of his pocket and forcefully pulled my hands behind my back. He put a plastic zip-tie around my wrists and tightened it to the point where it had nearly cut off my circulation. He turned me back around to face him and before I knew what was happening, he knee connected with my stomach.
I crumpled to the ground, pain rippling through my body.
"Aw, did that hurt?" He taunted. "Imagine how I felt after you slept with me and then decided to never speak to me again!"
"I didn't sleep with you," I choked, "You raped me."
He laughed, kicking me in the stomach and forcing me onto my back. I gasped for air as I writhed in pain on the cold floor, my hands trapped behind me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, desperately wanting this to end.
He laughed and dropped to his knees, straddling me. His hands curled around my throat and slowly tightened, cutting off my remaining air supply.
"Please," I whispered weakly.
He just stared at me, pure anger in his eyes. He let go of my neck and got to his feet. I thought he was finally done until he pulled his foot back and kicked me hard in the side. I gasped loudly as the little air I'd had left exited my lungs. His foot came down again and again, hitting my side, my throat, my face, and everywhere in between. The pain was so constant that I didn't even notice he had stopped until he was halfway up the stairs.
"And then I didn't see him again until you got there," I said, tears welling up in my eyes at the memories.
"What happened after I came?" he asked, his voice choking.
"I- I don't want to talk about it," I said, the image of Scott's unconscious body being dragged into the room threatening to make me go mad.
I'd believed he was dead for the first few minutes and I never want to have to relive that.
"That's fine," he comforted. "Why don't we take a break for a little while? God knows I need one."
I nodded, my chest tight, knowing I'd have to tell him what happened next eventually.
