Working For Your Love (PG X PG)

I'm Sorry

Rio's POV

I looked over Mitch, my heart feeling like it was dropping down a million storey building. He had a weird, blue tinted tube that came out of some sort of oxygen tank, and went straight into the centre of his neck. While he was having his seizure, the doctor's said that his windpipe and part of his spine had been crushed from being held down. I knew Scott shouldn't have held him down...If he hadn't held him down then maybe Mitch would be able to walk again. He could still walk now, but his movements were very limited. The fact that his elbows would take forever to heal up was one of these limitations. I ran my fingers through his hair, tears rising up in my eyes. How was I meant to tell him about Scott? How on earth was I meant to tell him that Scott died? How was I meant to tell him that I was the one that killed him?! I don't think it had fully sunk in on me yet, to be honest. I was the one responsible for his death. I killed him so quickly without even thinking about it. I killed him so fast. All I did was turn up that morphine monitor to, what, twelve? I couldn't even remember what the overdose number was. Me forgetting didn't make it any better, though. In a way, it made it even worse. I killed him with a stupid overdose without even taking a second to think about it. Sure, I asked questions, but it only took me around five minutes to do so. After that I just got up, put an overdose of medicine into his body, waited until he died, turned it back to normal again, and waited for the doctors to come in. I still remember every word they said when they ran in. I still remember it...The tears that were in my eyes started to roll down the sides of my face. I hated myself. 

Mitch grabbed hold of my tensed hand and squeezed it gently. I squeezed it back. It was a miracle that he was able to do that. When he first awoke from surgery, his nurses said that he was probably never going to regain the ability to do anything again. They said that he was probably going to be paralysed for the rest of his life. He wasn't, luckily. The only thing that was bad about this whole thing, apart from the broken bones, was the fact that his windpipe was crushed and he was going to be forced to breath through a ventilator for the rest of his life. I felt awful. Why did we force him to go onto that ride in the first place? If one of us just stayed down on the ground with him, then he wouldn't have that seizure-inducing heart attack. He wouldn't have gotten so scared that his heart failed. He would be just fine. At the very least, Scott wouldn't be dead. He was probably depressed and never showed it, sure, that seemed like a logical thing, but this whole ordeal pushed him over the edge. It pushed him into a deep, deep pit that you couldn't climb back out of. When he saw Mitch having that heart attack/seizure, and when he saw him being taken to the hospital, he probably just wanted to end it all. That was the reason why he took that scalpel and cut his wrist open. He took that stupid blade, placed it against his wrist, and just cut it open. I still remember how he looked when he passed out on the floor. He was laying on his stomach, arms above his head, and his legs were all tangled up. When we were driving to the hospital, I had to hold his bleeding arm above his head to slow down the bleeding. I guess it didn't work, though.

I hated myself. This was all my stupid, stupid fault. I was the one who brought up the idea of going to the theme park in the first place! If I had just suggested that we went somewhere else, like to a museum of some sorts, then none of this would have ever happened! I closed my eyes, wiped the tears away with my free hand, and looked back at Mitch. He looked highly uncomfortable. He probably wanted to sit up. I grabbed the remote that was hanging on the rails that were on either side of his bed and showed it to him, as if I was asking if he wanted me to use it. He quickly nodded and weakly smiled. Despite him being alive, he was incredibly weak. The amount of morphine he was on was way to much. I would turn the dosage that was going into his body down, yet after what just happened with me basically helping Scott commit suicide, I didn't feel brave enough. I knew that morphine was just a painkiller-something to remove all pain whatsoever-but I was just too scared to do anything with it. Heck, I didn't want Mitch to die of an overdose yet at the same time I didn't want him being in pain either! All I wanted was him being, well, happy. I wanted him to be happy and free or pain. I had a feeling that wasn't going to happen though.