Found

Twenty Two

I showed up at the hospital, later than I would have liked, and rushed in, heading straight for the receptionist.

"Yes?" She asked, plastering on a fake smile.

"I'm looking for Mitchell Grassi. They just brought him in. Or, at least, I'm looking for his family." I said. I didn't know if they were here already or not.

She typed something in and then directed me where to go. I headed to the room she told me about and found his parents, sitting there, Nel leaning against Mike as she cried.

As we sat in the hard hospital chairs, awaiting news on Mitch, Kirstie and Jeremy showed up. Kirstie rushed over and wrapped her petite arms around the Grassis, Jeremy standing beside me.

She cried with them, while I tried my hardest to not cry. I had to be strong.

As I shifted in the plastic chair, trying to find a position that was slightly less uncomfortable, something crinkled in my pocket.

Confused, I lifted up enough that I could pull it out. The paper I swiped off of his desk.

Quietly, I unfolded it and began to read it. I could see the tell tale sign of his left handed-ness, the words smeared, and couldn't help but trace over the scribbled words on the paper with my finger.

My heart stopped in my chest as I read, letting my eyes skip over the paper, all the way down to where my name was written.

'Scott, I know you tried your absolute hardest to keep that promise to made to me. I never really forgot, but I didn't trust that you really meant it. And yet you kept it, even though I am a difficult bastard. A slutty whore.'

I fought the urge to crumble the more in my hand As I read that. Why could he not see what his worth to others was? That he was none of those to any of us? While he was not perfect, he was never anything less than a beloved friend and son. Never once had any of us ever thought of his as and of the words he called himself. I forced myself to keep reading.

'But you never seemed to care about that. You helped as best you could. But in the end, it was useless. I was a lost cause from the start.' He was never a lost cause. Not to me. Why could he never see that? Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I didn't tell him enough that he meant something to so many people?

'You know, when you left, after I picked a fight with you, everything just kind of want black for me. Thank you for everything Scott. Even though I didn't deserve it.' He deserves everything I have him and more.

Staring at the paper, I couldn't help but feel like this was my fault. I couldn't see just how troubled that soul behind those broken eyes was. I couldn't tell just how much he struggled.

I stood up and walked over to Mike, Nel, and Kirste huddled together, simply dropping the note between them, before going to sit back down, scrubbing at my eyes and tears began to fall. I let them, let them fall as I sat back down and dropped my head in my hands.

I didn't say anything after I gave them his note. There wasn't much I could have said, so I held my tongue. The hospital, though filled with bright lights and bustling staff, was somber.

I didn't like it. Not one bit. I felt so useless. Mitch was God only knows where, fighting for his life, and I was just sitting here, doing absolutely nothing!

I tried to occupy my thoughts away from Mitch, letting it drift to memories.

"Fuck!" Mitch swore as I wiped his wrist. Ever since I found out, this is what I did. Every day, I checked his wrists.

I wanted to tell him that if he stopped doing this, it wouldn't hurt when I cleaned them off or checked them, but I held my tongue, instead, uttering a apology as I swiped the hydrogen peroxide cloth over the cuts again. I could still see the scar that ran up his wrist, a constant reminder that I almost didn't save him. That I almost lost him again.

"Damn it! What the fuck are you using?" He growled, trying to pull his wrist away from me

"Hydrogen peroxide. I'm cleaning them out, just in case." I answered, studying the puckered, angry skin. God, I wished he wouldn't do this to himself. Couldn't he see how this destructive habit was affecting him?

Blowing gently on the wounds, I set the cloth down and began to wrap his arm, covering his thin forearm in a layer of thick gauze.

I quickly shook my head, trying to banish that memory. No. I couldn't dwell on that. No matter how hard I tried, every memory I had where I was trying to help him put of that pit. It only drove closer to home how bad I failed at trying to help him.

If he didn't make it through this, his name would be the newest addition to the list of Suicide victims. People would call him a coward, or make fun of him that he couldn't keep going. All because they would never know the feeling of being so low that you saw no other way out but to go towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

I prayed that that wouldn't happen to him. That if he didn't manage to make a come back, people would have at least some idea of how bad he struggled while he was here. I prayed for the best outcome, no matter if he lived or died.

I sat there, in silence, listening to sniffling, watching as people came and went, until I somehow managed to slip away into sleep, my mind still on how Mitch would be received no matter his choice.

~°~
I lied. From here, there are only like two, three chapters. Please don't kill me?

Oh, and stay sexy
-Scomiche❤💛💚💙💜