Found

Eighteen

Mitch's P.O.V
Warning: Self Harm, Voice
Cold. Everywhere. It was painfully cold. That was the first sensation I remember. So very cold. Then, a faint light reached me as I was floating in the darkness.

I pried my eyes open, but the moment they were, I saw where I was, illuminated in the pale halo of a street lamp. Memories pushed their way into my sleep fogged brain, still faint, but enough for me to want to get out of here.

I shivered, forcing myself to sit up. "Fuck!" I croaked out as wave after wave of pain coursed through me. I looked around and found my clothes in different places around the alley, thankful and not, that my socks and shoes were still on.

It took me forever to get my clothes gathered up, having to fight through the pain as cold tightened muscles refused to work properly and I was sore everywhere, especially my ass.

I could barely see out of my left eye, that whole side of my face tender and no doubt bruised. I scanned the alleyway for anything that would cause me harm, specifically people, but it seemed as though I was the only one out in the frigid December air

Adjusting how I was sitting, swearing the whole time, I, at last, succeeded in pulling on my boxers and pants. God, it hurt! I gripped the edge of a dumpster and pulled myself to my feet. Almost instantaneously, I emptied the contents of my stomach into the large metal can.

Finally got you you deserved, Whore. And yet, here you are, complaining about it.

I gripped the edge of the Dumpster, trying to ignore the mocking voice. I couldn't deal with it right now.

No fucking way I'm leaving! You need stability in your life.

Sighing, I stumbled forward, nearly crying out in pain with every step. It hurt to move, let alone walk and try to yank a shirt on at the same time. Finally, I was at the head of the alley, clothes on. The sky was dark, the only illumination come one from street lamps and neon signs.

I stumbled around, heading in any direction that would get me home.

Three hours, at least, had passed before I managed to find a place I recognized. For there, I at last made it home. The sun was up, and the driveway empty. My parents were gone. I didn't dare risk it though. No. If they were home, they would ask questions. I wasn't ready to deal with trying to avoid their prying questions.

I moved around the back of my house. One I managed to find my way up to my window, I pried it open, cursing like a sailor all the while, a cloud still in my mind, blocking a lot of things out.

I managed to get it open and fell through, sprawling out on the floor, a cry of pain escaping me as I laid on the carpet, trying to regain my breath. My skin was icy to the touch and I felt sluggish.

Damn Bitch! Got what you want and you are complaining about it. That man should have killed you. Ended your life so no one else has to deal with your slutty ass anymore. Wait! No! You should take it. Be a weight taken off everyone's shoulders. Do it. It'll be easy. So, so simple. Even you can't screw this up.

I found myself crawling across the floor, too exhausted to try and stand again. I was in a tremendous amount of pain, every movement hurt, every breath, every shuffle, everything.

I pulled out the box and opened it, staring at the contents.

I pulled out one of the razors I had managed to collect from several places, and set it against my skin. One. Two. Three. Four...I counted. Seven on each arm, the warm liquid almost scalding against my freezing skin. It felt almost like when you stuck you hands in snow, got them all cold and red, then ran inside to run them under water.

I wiped the small amount of blood on the shiny surface on my pants and replaced to the razor, careful of where my blood fell.

As I sat there, the fog in my brain thickening, I began to see the reason in the Voice's suggestion.

Maybe it would be easier to end it all, than to try and find the small specks of good in the ocean of bad, of uncertainty and pain.

Just as I reached a hand out for one of the pill bottles, bloody fingers brushing the white cap, the door slammed open. I was partially hidden by the closet door as I tried to stash the box back where it was. I made sure that only the right side of my face was visible, the left side covered in an ugly, throbbing bruise.

The intruder was Scott, blond hair disheveled, dark bags under his blue eyes. Then, he seemed to become aware that he was being watched, because he stopped whatever it was he was doing and looked around, eyes resting on where I was sitting, supporting myself up as well as I could with a minimal pain as was possible.

"Mitchie?" He asked and walked forward towards me, stopping the moment I shrunk back from him, flashes of the man replacing the familiar, warm face of Scott.

"No." I whimpered, arms going around my body, blood soaking into my clothes as I looked partially away from him, dropping my gaze. "Please."

"What's wrong?" I could hear the concern in his voice.

"Nothing."

"Liar. What is wrong, Mitch? Where were you? Why'd you leave? What happened?" He shot question after question at me as he moved closer, being careful as he knelt beside me. Then, I saw his eyes shift down to the box I had tried to stuff away. The lid was propped partially open by something, and it was easy to see all I held in the box.

Then I noticed something. Blood on one of the bottles. Scott saw it too, he must have, because his eyes turned to me.

"What the hell, Mitchell!" He stood up, turning his back to me. "Why the fuck would you do this, Mitch? And I can see the blood. How long until this," he waved a hand behind him in my general direction, talking about my cuts, "ends with you dead? You died once, and your parents broke down when they learned that they had almost lost their son, their child, and had to be brought back to life. Think of what your death would do to them!" Softly, he added something to his statement. It was so strange and quiet I was sure I misheard. "Of what it would do to me."

Way to go, fuck toy. Managed to piss of your one bridge to society. Way to fucking go! God! When will you stop screwing up so bad? Maybe if you weren't such a fuck-up, I wouldn't have to be here.

"Shut up!" I pressed my hands over my ears and shrieked out the two words. "Just shut the fuck up!" Over my screams, I could hear the voice laughing. Something in me shifted then, and I was just so angry. I don't even know why.

"Mitch?" I heard the simple question over everything in my head and I opened my eyes, looking at Scott, trying my best to hide the left side of my face. "Are you okay?"

"No! I'm not fucking okay! I haven't been okay in a long fucking time!" I snapped at him.

"Well you don't need to be rude about it!" He hissed back.

"Really? Well guess what! I wouldn't be in this mess of it weren't for you!"

~°~
Ooooooooo! Things are heating up. I hope you all are ready.

One Tuesday, about 3-4 days from now, I will be leaving for Girls Camp for the next 4-5 days, and Technology is NOT allowed. So! That means, much to my sadness, that no updates for at least that long. So sorry!

Oh, and stay Sexy
-Scomiche❤💛💚💙💜