Disgrace (A Scömìche Fanfiction)

Chapter Nineteen

I wake up the next morning to Scott singing at the top of his lungs from downstairs. I stay in bed for a few minutes, trying to stop my limbs from shaking. My breathing is ragged and soft, like how you breathe when you're sick with a fever. My heart is beating fast, and I'm drenched in sweat.

I woke up from yet another nightmare.

Eventually, I hear Scott thudding up the stairs, and I yelp with fear, quickly closing my eyes to pretend to be asleep. I hear the door open and I tense. "Mitchie," Scott's voice murmurs, and I feel his hand resting on my shoulder. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, refusing to "wake up". Not now, not yet. I clasp my hands together in an effort to keep them from shaking. I feel Scott's arms wrap around me and his soft lips pressing gently to the back of my neck. "Mitchie, wake up," Scott whispers in my ear, "I made breakfast."

I shudder involuntarily, and even though my back is to him, I know Scott is smirking. "I know you're awake, Sandra," he says softly. "Please, Scott. Just . . . I'll be down in a minute," I murmur softly, and Scott must sense the apprehension in my voice, because he gets up and stares at me for a few seconds before leaving.

As soon as he's gone, the tears flow again. I let myself cry for a total of thirty seconds before furiously wiping them away. "No more crying," I whisper to myself, chanting it in my brain as though my life depends on it. From this point on, I will not cry. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much I want to, I won't. People can't know how broken I really am.

I force myself to get up, throwing on a sweatshirt to hide the fact that my t-shirt hangs too loosely off my thin frame before heading downstairs. Scott is waiting for me at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. He's so immersed in his thoughts he doesn't hear me come in. I cautiously creep behind him, resting my hand on his shoulder like he did. "Scott?" I murmur, and he jumps. Seeing me, he puts on a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Hi Mitch!" he says enthusiastically, putting extra happiness in his voice to mask the waver.

"Scott. What's wrong?"

His façade disappears immediately, his face falling and the sadness creeping into his features again. He doesn't look at me. "Why should I tell you if you won't tell me?"

"I don't want to bother you with my problems, Scott."

"Neither do I."

"Mine are just stupid nightmares. I'll get over them. I care about you, though, more than you probably realize, and I want to know so I can fix them."

Scott finally looks at me, blue eyes shining with a familiar sadness that I know all too well. "You can't." His voice breaks as he says this, my heart breaking more with it. "It just hurts me to see you like this, Mitch. Pretending to be asleep so I won't see your tears. Waking up in the middle of the night, crying your eyes out because of a nightmare. Flinching away from me because you're scared I'll hurt you. Your shirt hanging too loosely off of your body and you trying to cover it up with a sweatshirt. It hurts, Mitchie." He noticed. I feel a lump form in my throat, but I swallow it. No more crying.

"I'm sorry, Scott."

Scott just wipes away his tears that he's trying to hide from me and musters a weak smile. "We should eat the food. It's getting cold." Slowly, keeping my eyes trained on him, I move to the chair across from him and sit down. We eat in silence.

What have I done?