Speak to Me. (Scömítche)

Chapter 7

POV: Mitch
The hangover in my head was unbearable the next morning. My legs were wrapped in tangled sheets, and my arms were stretched out in front of me like I was wrapped around something.
Or someone.
As much as I tried to remember in sequence what I had done the night before, I couldn't. My memory was clouded, and my head literally felt like it was a bowling ball. Not one of the lightweight ones, but those big heavy ones that nobody with stick arms like mine could lift In 100 years.
Slowly making my way downstairs, I find Scott asleep with his laptop on the couch. He looked so peaceful sleeping, so I tried not to wake him while I began to make a pot of coffee.
The smell probably woke him, because he picked me up and spun me around, causing me to squeal and Wyatt to mew.
"God dammit Scott! S-stop!" I cry, laughing at the attempts I made to struggle free, and he would just move his arms and get me stuck again. I hated being the smaller one.
"Let me down! Or you don't get coffee," I say, threatening him. He let me down with a chuckle.
"Good morning, brownie," he says, messing up my hair even more. I did the same to his, but I could barely touch the top of his head.
"You to, blondie," I say, pouring coffee and a whole lot of creamer into two cups.
"Creamer with a side of coffee?" I ask, handing Scott a cup. He takes it with both hands and sniffs. His eyes light up with pleasure.
"Yes please," he says like a 4-year old. I laugh as he sips, and a little bounce springs into him. I sip from mine and lean over the table to look Scott in the eyes. He smiles and waits.
"So?" He asks.
"What are your plans today?" I ask. He leans back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face.
"Well, I don't actually have much plans today. I don't know. Maybe call the guys up and grill and stuff," he says with a shrug. He raises his eyebrow.
"What about you?"
"Well I...." I was going to answer, until I heard a Skype call emerge from my phone. Scott jumped up to get it for me. He frowned slightly at the name, and hands it to me.
"It's Travis."
"Oh. Mind if I take it?"
"Yeah. Just go ahead," he says, stirring a spoon in his coffee with a disappointed look on his face. I couldn't help but feel guilty as I step on the balcony and close the door for privacy. I then hit the "answer" button, and Travis' face pops up from a hotel room.
"Hi, Mitchie," he says, almost as if he was nervous.
"Hey babe! So uh, where have you been? Missed ya at the club with the band last night," I say, putting a little extra in my smile. He doesn't look at the screen. He looks around the room, even though no one is there.
"Sorry I missed it. But I need to talk to you, Mitch. I don't have much time," he says, taking a glance at the door.
"Babe, what's wrong?"
"Look, I-" he starts, and then the door to his room opens. A man with short, blonde hair comes in. He wore all Nirvana clothing, with black Vans and a beanie on top. He was actually kind of attractive. He sat by a red-faced Travis.
"Hello, sweetheart," the guy says, taking Travis's face in his hands and kisses him. Right. On. The lips.
"Oh. Who's this, he asks staring into the screen. My face was pale, and my fists were clinched. I was confused. And really pissed off.
"Yeah, Travis. Who is this?" I choke out, my eyes squinting wide at the man.
"Oh, uh, he's...... Mitch, this is Nick. Nick, this is Mitchie," he says. Even through a screen, I could tell he was sweating his ass off.
"Look, Mitch. You weren't to find out like-"
"Was I not enough for you?"
"No! I mean, I don't-"
"Is there a problem here?" Di-I mean Nick asked, obviously annoyed.
"No, baby. It's all good," he says to him. Then he turns to me, guilt and frustration on his face.
"Mitch.... I'm sorry. But we're done. I can't do this anymore. My heart has moved on. But hey I hope you find someone who can tolerate you as I did," he talked fast. With a wave, the Skype call was ended and it went back to the message screen.
The tears came slowly at first, then faster, and then they turned to sobs. I fell to my knees and buried my face in my hands and I let out a scream of pain. He dumped me. For someone else. And what did mean? By "tolerating me?" Are you fucking kidding me?
Scott's arms were around my body in what seemed like seconds. He picked me up in those big muscular arms and laid me on the couch softly. He took both of my arms in his hand and wiped my tears on his sweatshirt that he was wearing. It was soothing, yet painful.
"Ssh. Hush, Mitchie. Tell me what's wrong?" He asked, his voice still in a soothing whisper-like tone. I couldn't find the words. They tasted like bile in my mouth.
"H-he has s-someone else. He's g-one," I managed to choke out between my sobs. His face looked sad, and then angry. It was all new for such a sweet guy like him.
"That little son of a-"
"Scott."
"Mitch?"
"I-it will be alright."
"No. No it won't."
"You can stop being such a tough guy."
"I knew he was trouble. I just knew it," he said, and he held out his arms for me. I leaned into them, sobbing every inch of the way.
"Nobody deserves this. This is the most shitty feeling," he said, even though his voice was muffled with my shoulder. I just cried. Cried for hours. And he stayed there with me. All through it. Later on, Scott's face brightened up and he shook me from being my tired self.
"You know what you need?" He asked, smiling a menacing smile that I have never seen before.
"A beer?" I ask. He frowned, but then the smile surfaced.
"Yeah you could use one. But you know what else?"
"What?"
"Revenge."