I'm Sorry (Sequel to "No Feeling")

Chapter 6

Mitch POV

I sighed, sinking further into my bed, listening to the shuffling and groaning coming from my closet.

"Ugh, Mitchell freaking Grassi! Do you ever pack anything decently? Everything has to be ironed!"

I rolled my eyes. "Um, why do you care so much today?"

She spun around, looking at me. "About?"

"My appearance, duh," I retorted. 

She tut-tutted me and shook her head patronizingly. "Mitchell, Scott Hoying is a rich, famous CEO. Loads of connections. If you make a good impression, make friends, this could be great for you!"

Oh, of course Mar would see a business opportunity in eating breakfast.

"Need I remind you, the man I am fraternizing with punched our best friend in the head and knocked him out?" I said skeptically. 

I didn't know how to explain it, but there was something... off about Scott. Like, he had this strange way of looking at me and it made me uncomfortable. 

Mar sighed, coming over and sitting on my bed. "Look, I get it. I think he's kind of crazy. But so is the entire world. So sooner or later, we gotta get our butts in gear and flow with the crazy/"

I shrugged. Maybe she was on to something. Getting to know Scott could be my ticket to a lot of other high-profile names.

Sure, I was pretty popular already, but I was still small. This could seriously boost my career.

So, however reluctantly, I turned over my closet to the whims of Mar, and hoped for the best.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay? Okay... what?" She asked, puzzled.

"Style me. Blow me away," I answered. 

"Oh." Then she broke out into a grin. You know, the kind that makes you oh-so-concerned about your personal safety.

Mar jumped up from my bed, throwing me a worrying wink and glided into my closet.

I heard rumbling and thumps and "hmms" and hangers clinking against each other.

I sat back, staring at the nails Mar had taken time to manicure yesterday. I contemplated whether to ruin the neat white tips by biting them.

I was nervous to have breakfast with Scott, though, I could not think why. It was like, I'd see him in my mind, but it was filmy, there was an opaque top layer that I knew led to something greater, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

I... I wanted to impress Scott. This confused me. Sure, he was good-looking, but he was also a total fool that punched Kevin in the face without warrant. I told myself it was just because of his connections. I wanted to make a good impression.

I was about to drive myself crazy thinking about the guy, when-

"YES!"

I flew into an upright position, on my feet, startled from such a suddenly loud noise.

"Mar? Mar, are you okay?" I asked worriedly, staring at my closet but not daring to move. Mar didn't like me messing with her domain.

"Yes! I am perfect! How was I even conceived? How am I possible?" She mumbled, praising herself. She walked out of the closet, scrutinizing items she held in her hands.

She held them up for me to look at, and I nodded in approval.

She beamed her pride and thrust the items to me, turning and flopping onto my bed so I could change.

Slipping off my sweatpants, I exchanged them for black skinny jeans. Ones with no rips, as I was trying to make a good impression.

I slid on a comfy, tan, turtle-neck sweater.

I sighed happily. It was purely amazing what a good outfit could do for you.

"Lemme brush your hair, Mitchell!" Mar yelled from the bathroom. I heard the clatter of hair supplies being shuffled around.

I laughed quietly. "Coming, Mom!" I said.

I heard a playful growl from the bathroom. "I swear to God, do NOT patronize me, Mitchell..." She warned.

I rolled my eyes, trudging into the bathroom.

After I emerged, I felt great.

The amount of confidence you can have from looking okay is great.

I glanced at the time, 8:45. Just enough time to collect my life substance... Blood.

Ha! I thought to myself. As if. I glanced at Mar, seeing her stare out the window anxiously.

"Hey! I'm going to Starbucks." I called.

"B-but breakfast?" She stuttered confused and anxious.

"No, before breakfast." She breathed a sigh of relief. I had no idea this project meant a lot to her, although I could see why. If this went through, and Scott's and my collaboration was popular, Mar would be accepted into  the "manager hall of fame," if there was even one.

This was a big deal for her too. Looking back on it, I probably wouldn't have walked out of that door if my decision didn't affect her.

But it did, so blowing her a kiss and letting her wave goodbye, I waltzed out of the room and rode the elevator down to the lobby.

Walking out of the elevator, I slipped on my sunglasses. The natural light in the lobby was overwhelming, not to mention, I didn't want to attract any recognition.

"Hey, look! It's Mitch Grassi!"  Damn it, I thought. Too late.

Sprinting across the lobby, I dashed out the door and down the street, taking a long and twisted path to the nearest Starbucks.

I went down side roads and alley-ways. Mar would've had a heart attack at some of the turns I took.

Actually, I don't even know how I didn't get lost, but somehow I  didn't.

I guess my sense of direction has always pointed me in the direction of Starbucks.