help. - a Scömìche short story

don't forget.

For months I am out of work, and it seems to be taking more of a toll on me than Scott. By the time March rolls around, Scott has a job while I remain unemployed. He has been paying to take himself to psychiatrical therapy and is getting better. Since the night after New Year's Eve, I haven't caught him trying to hurt himself, nor have I found any evidence of it. He seems like he is finally happy. Tonight, a Friday night, the clock tells me that it is 6:00, when he normally gets home. Growing more and more nervous by the second, I flop down on the couch and try to distract myself with the TV. I finally stop flipping through the channels when I get to Family Guy, but my gaze keeps drifting toward the front door. After 10 minutes, I give up and flip the TV back off, only to start pacing around the living room. Terrifying scenarios run through my head endlessly until the front door flings open and Scott calls, "I'm home! Sorry I'm late." I breathe a sigh of relief and go to sit at the top the stairs while he kicks his shoes off and hangs his jacket.

"You look cute when your hair's wet." I say, staring at his drenched hair and then behind him to the pouring rain outside before he shuts the door.

"Um, thanks?" He laughs, the sound reverberating in the mostly empty house.

"Come kiss me. It was a long day without you here. I missed you."

"You did? I guess I'll have to fix that." He climbs the staircase and pulls me to my feet before kissing every inch of my face, except for my lips.

"You missed a spot."

"Be patient, I wasn't done yet." He goes to press his lips to my cheek again, but I turn, catching his lips with mine. His giggles flow into my mouth while he wraps both arms around my waist.

"You should know by now that I'm everything but patient."

"Fair enough."

"Hey, Scott." I say quietly, leaning forward so that I am speaking right next to his ear.

"Yes?"

"You know what we should do tonight?" I hear him swallow hard and guide his hands up to my chest.

"What?"

"We should have Chinese takeout."

"Mitch!" I break out laughing, doubling over, while he attempts to shove me away. He walks away, shaking his head and chuckling. "I love you, but you're an asshole."

"Oh, come on. You love it." I say, only aiding me in laughing harder. Over his shoulder, he rolls his eyes at me, but he is grinning nonetheless. "But really, we should."

"You always want takeout."

"That's because it's great."

"I don't know if we can afford it or not."

"Neither of us can cook, though."

"You can't cook. I can." I scoff, running up behind him and jumping onto his back. "What the hell are you doing?" he says, stumbling a little but still catching me.

"Last time you tried to cook something the house almost burned down."

"Why am I carrying you?"

"So if neither of us can cook and we can't afford takeout," I say, ignoring his question, "What are we eating?"

"I don't know. Our kitchen is full of microwave stuff." I set my chin on his shoulder.

"Okay, fine. Are we going to watch a movie tonight?"

"If you want." He drops me to my feet once we get to the kitchen and starts to rummage through the cabinets. "What movie?"

"Ooh, or we could watch Stranger Things."

"Yes, please." After we both get ourselves some food, we head into the basement to binge Stranger Things.

****

Halfway through the third episode, while I am still wide awake and clinging to every movement and word playing on the screen, Scott is asleep. I barely notice when he stands up and walks out, too concerned with the TV to bother asking where he is going. After a few minutes, I realize that he is gone and pause the TV.

"Where'd you go?" I whine, unwilling to stand up at first but eventually forcing myself to. I hear murmuring drifting into the hallway, followed by a series of small crashes. "Scott?" I halt at the bathroom doorway and see Scott on his knees in front of the cabinet, throwing all of its contents over his shoulder, seeming to look for something. "What are you doing?" He doesn't respond, just continues to dig through the cabinet unsatisfied. I walk into the room and touch his shoulder gently, he jumps away, stumbling backward over himself and crashing against the floor.

"Wait, what..." He looks at the pile of towels and medicine bottles and cleaning supplies and furrows his eyebrows. "How did I get up here?"

"Um, you walked? What were you looking for?"

"I don't even know how I got here. I..."

"You probably sleep walked."

"I've never sleep walked before."

"Yes, you have. Come on, let's go back downstairs."

"I don't..." he trails off again, confused. "How did that stuff get there?"

"I think you were looking for something and you threw it out. What do you keep under here?" His face falls, and he reaches up for me to pull him to his feet.

"Razor blades."

****

Once Scott falls asleep again, this time with his head in my lap and my arms around him so he can't go anywhere, I am left to think about what he said, what he was probably looking for. Although he has seemed to be getting better, to be fighting off his depression and overall be happier, I come to the conclusion that he has simply been internalizing it and letting it devour him from the inside. I stare down at his face, wondering how someone so amazing, so good, can have so many problems on his chest. My eyes water, but I brush away the unfallen tears before they can drop.

"I just want you to be happy." I whisper, twisting my fingers through his hair and continuing to watch him sleep in peace. "I don't care about anything else. Just you. I want you to be happy and safe and alive, all at the same time. But I don't know how to make that happen. I promise I'm trying, but I guess...I guess what I'm doing isn't good enough. I'm sorry if you feel like you have to keep this from me. Knowing you it's probably just because you don't want me to worry about you. But I only worry about you because I love you more than anything in this whole fucking world. Losing you would be worse than worrying. I would rather worry and still be able to hold you and kiss you and hear your voice and laugh than know I let you go. Because, dammit, I don't want to have to figure out how to live without you. Please don't make me. Please." I squeeze my eyes shut, biting my lip to keep it from trembling. "Please, Scott."

****

After another episode of Stranger Things, I wake Scott up and convince him to move to go to bed. When I try to intertwine our hands to lead him up the stairs, he shakes his head and picks me up so that I am clinging to him like a koala. He keeps pressing small kisses to the side of my neck and rubbing circles on my back and whispering, "I love you", over and over in my ear. Eventually, I say, "You've mentioned that already, darling."

"Don't forget."

"How could I ever? You've said it thirty-six times since you woke up."

"I'm serious. Don't forget that I love you. I don't care what happens, don't you dare forget how fucking much I love you."

"Okay..." I say, trailing off. "Why are you saying that? You know I won't."

"Please."

"Okay, don't worry." I tighten my arms around him and nuzzle my face into his neck before he lays me on the bed and lays next to me while I bury myself under the covers. He is quick to pull me against his chest. "You're being extra clingy. Are you okay?"

"Goodnight, Mitch. I love you."

"I love you too. Sweet dreams."

"I love you." he murmurs a final time before he is fast asleep.