"Why am I never enough?" The words echoed in Mitch's ears as though they were screamed through cave walls. His breath hitched in his throat, and Scott's eyes welled with tears with the silent reaction. Mitch found himself becoming angry, an emotion that filled him with shame. He couldn't help it.
"How could you say that?" He asked, his voice becoming thick. Scott looked back at him, confusion written all over his face.
"It always ends with them leaving me."
"That has nothing to do with your worth."
"It's an awfully suspicious pattern."
"It's not a pattern, stop it."
"You left me."
The floor may as well have opened up underneath them and sucked Mitch right up. It felt as though he had been punched in the chest. He tried to catch his breath. He became more frustrated.
"I did NOT leave you." His voice wavered and he cursed himself for that. Scott let out that small, cold laugh again. Mitch hated that laugh. That wasn't Scott's laugh. That laugh felt cancerous.
"I finally had you, all of those years ago. When you agreed to give us a try, I had never been happier. You gave us all of one month before you realized that you deserved better than me. I get it Mitch. It's okay," Scott said as he sat up. "I wouldn't have lasted a month with myself, so kudos to you, I guess."
Mitch stood up and all but ran to the door. He shouldn't be this angry. He shouldn't be running away. Scott was telling him what was wrong, whether his thoughts were valid or not. They were making progress. It was painful progress, and he couldn't be more wrong about his memory of their time together, but it was progress, all the same. Mitch simply couldn't compose himself for long enough to keep it going any further. He had to get out of there. He shut the door behind him and heard a sigh on the other end.
"Exhibit A," Scott could be heard muttering on the other side of the door. Mitch opened up the flood gates and let the tears fall.
They didn't talk for the rest of the day. They tiptoed around each other, and it was clear that both men were waiting for the other to leave certain rooms before entering. At dinner time, Mitch heard Scott puttering around the kitchen. He hoped he would hear the fridge, the microwave, anything to indicate that he was eating something. Instead, he heard the faucet run for a moment, the sound of ice hitting his glass, and Scott retreating to his room again.
He stared at the time on his phone. It was 2:13 AM. Mitch hadn't slept a wink. He had never understood what it meant when people said they ached for someone. He certainly understood it now. He mulled over that thought for a moment. Why was this hurting him so much? Rationalization after rationalization crossed his mind. He settled on the obvious: His best friend was hurting, and Mitch is a good friend.
Becoming frustrated when the time hit 3:01 and sleep hadn't taken him yet, he groaned and hopped out of bed. He trudged down to Scott's room and knocked softly. Once again, there was no answer. Mitch hoped that he was finally getting the sleep he needed. Opening the door however, Mitch's heart broke again for what felt like the tenth time that day.
Scott's bed was empty.
Mitch wondered how it was possible that his eyes could still produce tears. He had been crying every hour on the hour for the entirety of the day. But here they were again, streaming down his cheeks, his breath hitching as he struggled to stay on his feet. He HURT. He hurt so badly.
Mitch crawled into Scott's bed and clutched his pillow. It smelled like him. Vanilla and cedar. Mitch didn't remember dozing off, but sleep took him quickly.
Mitch awoke the next morning to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. Opening his eyes, they came to rest on the taller man, looking confusedly at him from right inside the doorway. A new, disgusting hickey was painfully obvious on his throat.
"Who was it?" Mitch asked, angrily.
Scott ignored him as he grabbed clothes from his drawer. He turned to leave the room. Mitch sprung up from the bed and blocked his way.
"Who was it, Scott?" They played this game for a minute, with Scott zigging as Mitch zagged, determined to get an answer from him.
"Why won't you tell me who it is?" Mitch asked, sounding defeated. This seemed to make Scott angrier.
"Which one do you want?" he barked back.
Silence followed. They simply stood there, glaring at one another.
"Paul. That was Monday. Tristan was Wednesday. Last night was Jeremy. Enough information for you, yet?" He snarled these words, his face close to Mitch's.
"Who are they? Where did you meet them?"
"Out." Their faces were still so close, they could touch noses. A small lean forward and they could... they could kiss...
Scott's shoulders suddenly relaxed. His face softened. "When I can't sleep, I go to the bar. Have a few drinks. Let someone take me home. It's easier that way. That way, I can be the one to leave."
"You... you let them..."
Scott looked at the floor, embarrassed.
"They do whatever they want."
"Why?"
"Because at least they want me." Soft, gray eyes met Mitch's. They were haunting. When had they lost their beautiful blue? It was as though they were warning him that Scott had officially broken. Mitch reached up and cupped his cheek.
"I want you."
