The Internship

Chapter Eleven

A Letter That He'll Never Read

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'M SO FUCKING SORRY.

None of this is my fault, I should be happy.

But all I can say is I'm sorry.

Goddamnit, why didn't you just call?

Once every month, we work on a Saturday. It's a weird company protocol. And our company, being run by homophobic jerks, decided to make this Saturday that day. The day after the annual halloween party. Don't they know everyone will be throwing up, complaining, and sleeping? No work will be accomplished. Hell, some people will even leave early or not show up at all.

I woke up with a raging headache, and I'd barely had anything to drink at all last night.

I showered, got dressed, took some Advil, got my morning Starbucks, and was at work in record time.

I checked my phone to make sure Mitch hadn't called. I wasn't surprised that he didn't. Things had been horrible for us lately and I fucking called him a slut.

I was lost in my thoughts and didn't even realize that I'd made it to work.

I whistled Drunk in Love as I made my way to my floor.

"Good mor---"

I stopped as I realized Kirstie was crying. "Holy shit K. What's wrong?" I ran into her office and sat beside her on her couch.

"H-he. D-d-d."

"Who? What? Work with me Kit, I can't understand you."

"HE'S DEAD SCOTT!"

"Who?"

Don't be Mitch, don't be Mitch, don't be Mitch.

"Mr. Grassi. Mitch's ass of a father! He's dead and now I can't reach Mitch. I don't know where he is."

Is it bad that relief flooded over me?

"Okay Kitty, breathe," I said as my own blue eyes began to water. Mitch's dad was a dick, but he was still his dad.

"I'm worried."

Kirstie's crying became contagious and soon we were both holding on to one another, crying our eyes out.

"What's wrong with you two?" We both turned around when we heard Mitch's voice. "You look like a mess."

"Mitch! Baby I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" Kirstie said.

He scoffed. "I'm fine. Let's get some work done."

Kirstie and I exchanged worried glances. "Uh-- yeah let's work," I said.

I followed Mitch into his office. I stopped my jaw from dropping when he began to actually work. I knew Mr. Grassi was an absolutely horrible person, but him dying was still sad and a big deal.

"You're staring at me. Treat me like I'm soft, and you're out of here," Mitch said coldly.

"Yeah, sorry," I said, my heart breaking. We'd made a little progress last night but now he was shutting me out again.

-----

I don't know how Mitch does it. People came to his office all day. All of them, fully in a hangover, saying how sorry they were. They were all so sympathetic and none of them knew about the bruises that lay beneath Mitch's shirt.

He put on a smile though. Saying sweet things like "he'll be missed" and "oh, he's in a better place now". It hurt so much to see him so numb.

The owners of the company called and asked about signing the company over. They fucking wanted Mitch to give up ownership!