Found

Twelve

Mitch's P.O.V
I gripped the paper tight in my hands, staring unseeingly at the words through my teary vision. My mother had handed it back to me after I had dropped it.

"We are so, so sorry, Mitch." The doctor said as I crumpled the paper in my grip. It was so much worse than I had ever imagined.

Quit crying. Why are you even surprised? It's not like you had any hope. I mean, why would you? It would mean your pathetic existence would be prolonged. Not like anyone needs that.

"Doesn't it take years for this to develop?" I heard the voice of my mother ask, the words shrill. "You said so yourself he has only had it for a little more than three years!"

"It does, if they person is living in a healthy environment. But, from what I know of his situation and other's like his, and looking at him, he was living in very very poor conditions. It speeds up if the carrier has poor nutrition and severe stress, both of which he has undergone." The woman replied. "I will go get the medication sent to your pharmacy. Mrs. Grassi, would you come with me so that I can explain to you what we plan of giving him, and let you decide? Mitch, you can stay here." She stated that as a question, and a suggestion, but both were a softly uttered order.

See, you are such a problem that people that deal with sick people like you all the time don't even want you around. Your mother seems relieved that you aren't moving around with her. What a fucking embarrassment you are! Now they have to pay for your medication, just to keep your sorry ass alive. You already know You are worthless. Don't push it.

I ducked my head, chin on my chest as my mother and the doctor left. I crumpled the paper up into a ball and threw it against a , crying out in anger and fear. I was going to have this for the rest of my life.

Maybe I deserved it. Maybe this is what happened to people who were sluts.

"It's not your fault. You didn't want this to happen to you." That is what everyone said. It's not the victims fault. But the moment you said you were a victim, it was "oh! I'll bet you were asking for it." or "it couldn't have been rape. You're gay." or their all time favorite "men don't get raped."

Now, not only did I have to deal with that, I now had a disease because of it. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face, letting tears fall.

I wanted to curl up in my room and just end it all. It would be easy. No one would care. I would never be able to infect someone else.

I don't know how long I sat there like that, but it felt like an eternity. Finally they returned. "Mitch?" The doctor asked and I looked up.

"Yes, ma'am?" I managed to croak out, watching them. My mother was crying. It was then that I wished more than anything that I was able to hug her. I wanted to, but the memories were always too much for me to handle.

"You mother has the instructions for your medication. Take it at the same time every day as much as possible. It helps manage." She advised. "Now, the appointment for next time has been set, and everything ride is taken care of, so you may go." The graying haired woman smiled and I slowly followed my mother out of the room.

The ride home was a blur of tears, nothing but distorted shapes seen out of my watering eyes.

I climbed out of the car and headed straight to my room. I was so drained. Nobody knew how much effort it took for me to do daily tasks. I just felt...tired and drained. I wanted to sleep constantly. At least, she. Is as sleeping, the voice was quiet.

I struggled in the morning to get my self dressed, brush my teeth, move. Struggled to eat, drink, do anything.

I laid down and curled into a ball as I cried.

Knock it off. Stop your crying? What? You actually thought someone would love a broken sex toy like you? Not just broken, but diseased. I don't even know why you hoped.

As much as I hated it, like always, the voice was right. I was infected, I was broken. No one would ever want me, love me.

As I laid there, hiding from the world, there was a quiet knock at my door.

"Go away!" I yelled, though it came out as more of a small mew tone.

"Mitch?" Scott's inquiring voice was at the door. "I have news for you."

Somehow, I managed to force out a sarcastic remark.

"Great just what I need today." Weaker, I added, "go the fuck away. I am in no mood to deal with it." I was feeling like crap, which made my tongue loose.

Oh! Suck it up! Everyone has it worse you. Quit making it about yourself. God, you're so fucking selfish. You are only around to make other's happy. You can't do that locked in your room, crying over the inevitable.

"Shut up!" I faded out. "Be quiet!"

I will keep talking until you learn. Maybe it's time someone taught you in the only way you will listen to. With a belt. Look at your skin. All because you wouldn't learn. They had to beat sense into you. I wish they would do that again. The sounds of your screams! I revealed in that! That's all you are good for now, you diseased whore.

"Shut up!" I screamed out. I was hearing their voices. I didn't have the strength to fight it. I laid there, letting memories flood over me, trying to convince myself that I was safe.

"Mitch?" The voice of my saving grace. The grace I didn't deserve. Facing the demons in my head was better than looking into those forgiving, warm, beautiful blue eyes. I didn't deserve to. "What happened?" His voice was near.

"Go away. I don't deserve your kindness. I'm selfish..." there was more to that statement I couldn't force past my lips. The bed dipped as I ran my hands over my rough, scarred skin, Scott's large hand joining in. Slowly, my brain went silent, until he ran his hand down my shaking arm.

"Don't touch me." I gasped out to him. If he touched me, he would taint himself. "I'm not worth your care. Especially not now. Tuesday's footsteps seem like the brightest ones out there anymore." I felt him tense under my grip.

"Never, ever let me hear you say that again!" Scott chided. "Now, I am going to hug you, because you need one. I am not leaving until I know you are better because I have no doubt this state of mind is what causes you to hurt yourself." His arms, like his words, were soft, gentle, but forceful at the same time. "Now, what has got you like this?"

Against my will, I began to tell him about all of the tests and everything. "The results came back to day..." I chocked out around my cries. "It's escalated."

"HIV escalates to..." I felt his arms tighten around me. "I am so, so sorry Mitchie. You don't deserve this."

I couldn't reply to that, only finished his first statement. "HIV turns into Aquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. I have AIDS."

~°~
Ew. I hate this chapter. I'm not a fan of it. *sigh*

Well, I did it. Mitch has AIDS. Been debating this one for a while. He got HIV back when he was LuLu. All information I have in this chapter about it is accurate.

Tell me honestly: How many of you saw that coming?(Those I told outright*cough*21acolbert*cough* can't answer)

Oh, and stay sexy
-Scomiche❤🍓❤