Teach You How *Scömìche*

Chapter 17

SCOTT

A few hours later, Mitch and I are walking around, just enjoying each other's company.

I'm not sure where we're going, exactly, so I let Mitch lead the way without telling him.

We end up at a little park. There's a swing set, a few slides, and some monkey bars. That's it, other than some park benches and the trees scattered everywhere. It looks very beautiful covered in the glistening snow, actually.

Mitch walks over to the swing set, brushes off some off the snow, and sits down on a swing. He pats the one to his right, looking at me. So I sit down.

"I used to come here when I was younger," Mitch tells me, swaying forward and back, forward and back. "I would come here in the middle of the night, whenever things got too bad at home. My parents fought a lot when I was a kid, even before I came out. So I guess the divorce wasn't entirely my fault, but..." He shakes his head, staring off somewhere in the distance.

"I would come here and just sit on the swings and think about how awful my life was. I would be out here for probably a couple hours every time it happened. Until I felt it was safe to go home. It was always way past curfew when I walked back, but I really didn't give a shit. I still don't give a shit."

He pauses for a few minutes. "I guess the home I grew up in really made me the shitty person I am today."

"You're aren't a shitty person," I input quietly.

Mitch looks at me and smiles a sad smile. "And you're the first person I believe when you say that. I believe that you see something good in me, whatever the fuck that is. 'Cause I sure as hell don't know what it is."

"You are a good person, Mitch. You've just buried that by years of hating yourself and everyone around you," I say, being completely honest.

"And being a whore," he adds.

I shrug. "Yeah. That too." It was part of what I was thinking. I just didn't want to say it out loud.

Mitch smiles a little. "Thanks, I guess. For everything," he says, not meeting my eyes.

I get off my swing and kneel down in front of him. I put my fingers under his chin and move his face so he's looking at me. "You don't have to thank me."

I pull him in for a hug. He wraps his arms tightly around me and rests his cheek on the top of my head. "I love you," I whisper, "More than anyone or anything."

"I love you, too," he responds. I've noticed that he still won't say it first, and not very often. It doesn't bother me because I know he has trouble expressing his feelings, and I know that'll be hard to break.

We pull away from each other after a while and I sit back on the swing. "Do you want to come over tonight? You can actually come through the front door without having to worry about my parents," I suggest. I love having him with me during the night, pressed together and listening to each other breathe.

"Yeah. I don't think your parents like me, though." Mitch looks at me and grins.

I playfully roll my eyes at him. "They don't have a problem with you. They just don't like that I'm turning into more of a teenager when it comes to you."

Mitch snorts. "Oh. Well, that's their problem. They're going to have to deal with it," he announces.

"True, true," I laugh. But then suddenly something crosses my mind. "Do you think your mom should meet my parents?" I ask.

Some unreadable look crosses Mitch's expression. "Sure, I guess. I mean, it's up to them. Whatever."

I shrug and look down at my feet. "I mean, my mom was talking to my dad about it. They know it's just your mom. They don't know anything else," I explain.