saving mitch ↠ scömìche

eight ↠ i'm sorry

and don't you forget
the only thing that matters
is your heartbeat going strong
Pentatonix | Take Me Home

Mitch Grassi's POV

I felt like I wanted to cry; like I needed to. But I couldn't. I couldn't, in fear of ending up doing what I shouldn't be. I already know I'm worthless, why is everyone so stuck with telling me?

I heard a knock at my door and I widened my eyes. Don't answer. Act like you're not home.

"Mitch?" Scott's voice was heard. Him? Of all people?

I stayed silent and didn't answer as he knocked one more time. I heard shuffling and then a door opening. What the fuck, Scott? You have a key to my house? I thought.

I curled into a ball while I tried not to sob. I heard light footsteps before I saw him entering my room. "Mit—Mitch," he said softly, closing the door and sitting next to me. I shifted and hid my face by stuffing my face into my knees (but failed).

"What do you want? I don't want to see you right now; I don't want to see anybody," I whispered a bit harshly. He looked taken aback, "I can see you don't want to, but you need to," he said before wrapping his arms around me and letting me sob. I was practically on his lap as he rubbed my back reassuringly. He hasn't even asked what was wrong yet.

We stayed silent for awhile, the only noise being my occasional sob and sniffle. He pulled me closer and I was a bit surprised. Suddenly, my heart beat increased and I felt like I was on cloud nine. He stared into my eyes, a concerned emotion plastered onto his blue ones, another also there that I couldn't decipher.

"Mitch," he said, our faces oddly close. I stared at him, "Yeah?"

He quickly looked to my lips then back to my eyes. "I..."

I urged for him to continue. He frowned a bit, then smiled softly and concerned again but it seemed fake. "I want to know what's wrong."

My heart dropped. What?—Oh, right. I looked down at my lap which was basically on his. I was sitting on him. "Where do I even begin?" I laughed humorlessly.

"Start anywhere. I can listen, but stop whenever you need to," Scott said, lifting my chin with his finger. I nodded as his hand went to mine, holding it. Ignore the fire in your hand, Mitch. Tell him, my inner voice had said.

"I actually had a decent childhood," I said. "Everything... it wasn't bad. It was good.

"But the moment I turned 14, my mother died. She had cancer; a lung one. My father decided that, even though I was a confused little eighth grader, that I was the reason she had died. I was the reason she was so stressed and needed to smoke, that I was the reason that her lungs failed and lost oxygen. And well, now that it's sort of stuffed down my throat, became lodged in my stomach, and carved into my brain, I'm starting to think I actually am that reason.

"But the thing is, news spreads fast in LA. Everyone found out. Travis did. Strangers did. Hell, I'm sure even animals did. It was on the news; the radio. Anywhere that could talk about anything. That Mitch Grassi caused his mother's death.

"And you actually might've thought it would've died down after a year or so, right? Well, if anything, it just got worse. I'm honestly super shocked on how you haven't heard, yet, Scott.