The Moon, The Sun, and Everything Else

To the Core // Scomiche

Scott’s POV

“Scott!” Mitch exclaimed, working hard to catch his breath as his body trembled against the bathroom tile. “It isn’t what it looks like!”

Tears welled in my eyes as I grabbed Mitch’s wrist. Without speaking, I yanked him up from his sitting position in a puddle on the floor, and I threw him in front of the mirror. 

“Shh...shh…” I hushed him as I held his wrists in mine. I rubbed his back as he dry heaved over the sink. Once he caught his breath once more, I locked eyes with his glassy ones through the mirror. I pumped soap onto his palms and led him in the act of washing his own hands. 

It was what it looked like. And I was stupid enough to not see it earlier. 

“Scott! Wait up!” I heard Kirstie yell. 

“Woah, what’s up? Don’t you have to be in there?” I asked, stopping dead in my tracks. My car keys jangled in my pocket as I stopped so abruptly.  

A panicked Kirstin stood in front of me, her stage manager headset still on, though she had her hand over the mic. They had their first dress rehearsal for the musical that afternoon. Little Shop of Horrors, and Mitch was playing Seymour. 

“Yeah, I do, but Scotty, I’m really worried about Mitch.” She basically fell into my arms, her eyes filling with tears. 

My heartbeat immediately started increasing. “Why? What’s wrong?!”

“He...Scott, you’re his best friend, you know him better than I do, better than anyone. Just please be looking out for him.”

“Kit, what are you talking about?” I asked, holding her by her shoulder as she tried to leave at the sound of mumbling through her mic. 

“I have to go...just watch out for him.”

And there I was, left in the school parking lot, wondering what she could have meant. 

Was Mitch okay?

So returning to the present, and Mitch had called me over to his house to review his songs and lines with him, seeing as the musical opened in a week. 

While I sat on his bed, listening to him sing beautiful songs as one of his dream roles, I took quiet bites of the nachos we had called in from GrubHub. 

“Take a break. Have some nachos. I can’t eat all of these myself.” I spoke through a bite, my mouth still partially full. He had just finished his opening monologue. 

“Fine.” He grumbled, sitting on the mattress next to me. I could tell he was stressed about his show. He couldn’t keep his chin up, he held his tension in his shoulders, I could tell. 

We sat and joked for a while, as I tried to take his mind off of this show. He laughed and broke a true smile a few times, but once the plate of nachos was finished, Mitch was quick to drop his smile and he excused himself. 

I nodded, not thinking much of it until he hadn’t returned in almost ten minutes. “Mitch?” I asked, gently going down the hallway. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t have used the bathroom that was connected to his bedroom.

I stopped at the door of the bathroom all the way down the staircase and down the first floor hallway. “Mitch?” I gently hit my pointer finger knuckle against the door, freezing when I heard gagging. I pushed the door open, completely and utterly worried and panicked. 

“Scott!” Mitch exclaimed, working hard to catch his breath as his body trembled against the bathroom tile. “It isn’t what it looks like!”

Tears welled in my eyes as I grabbed Mitch’s wrist. Without speaking, I yanked him up from his sitting position in a puddle on the floor, and I threw him in front of the mirror. 

“Shh...shh…” I hushed him as I held his wrists in mine. I rubbed his back as he dry heaved over the sink. Once he caught his breath once more, I locked eyes with his glassy ones through the mirror. I pumped soap onto his palms and led him in the act of washing his own hands. Once his hands were dried, he sniffled and I sat him down on the closed toilet lid. 

“Mitchell, do you want to tell me what’s going on here?” I folded my arms against my chest, standing before him. 

Mitch stared up at me, still trembling. His eyes were red and puffy, and I felt so awful for him. But I had to be stern with him. I had to get to the bottom of this. This is what Kirstin meant. Mitch rapidly shook his head, bringing his knees to his chest, curling into himself. 

“Mitchell Grassi, tell me right now why you're here with your hand halfway down your throat, right after we just finished eating!” I snapped, though I didn’t mean to be mean. “And maybe it’s not what it looks like, but that’s what it looks like to me!” I forced my tears back. 

“Please, Scott, don’t be mad. This is only lasting until the play is over, and then I’m done doing this.” Mitch stammered.  

“Mitchell, why are you throwing up what you eat? And why is the musical the problem?” 

He couldn’t seem to give me an answer. 

“Mitch…” I held a breath high in my chest before exhaling loudly. I looked up to the ceiling, trying to force back my tears. It didn’t work. “Mitch, you keep yourself too thin. I-I’ve been thinking about that recently. I’ve noticed when I hug you...and with what Kirstin said after school yesterday, and I just...I didn’t think you would be doing something like this.” I wiped my tears away. “How long?”

Mitch looked up at me. “What?” He began to cry a fresh round of tears. 

“How long have you been making yourself sick, Mitchell?”

“Couple months.” He mumbled, brushing his lightly sweat-stuck side bangs out of his eyes. “Since I found out I was playing Seymour.”

I exhaled loudly, rubbing my hands over my face. I grabbed Mitch’s hand and pulled him to a standing position. After learning him back to his own room and sitting him down, I disappeared into the kitchen. 

“Please? For me?” I extended the apple towards him. “To the core.”

I watched Mitch’s jaw clench tightly shut while he shook his head. 

“If not for me, then for Seymour.” I put the apple closer to his face. “I’m not afraid to tell Johnson all about this. She’ll put your understudy in right away.” I knew bringing up the director would make him snap. 

“Fine, give it to me.” He snatched the piece of fruit from my hand and took a deep bite from it. I knew it tasted good to him, he had to be starving. 

“To the core, all the way.” I reminded him. “Thank you.”