Bent.

22. Until I'm Completely Broken In

He hated it.

He didn't hate it when the man's attention was on him, of course, but apparently, alcohol in any sort of abundance gave Scott ADHD. Mitch watched with narrowed eyes as Scott danced with anyone who came up to him. Men, women, it didn't matter, apparently.

Apparently, when he danced, he allowed people's hands to go wherever they wanted, no matter who they belonged to. And his hips moved sinfully...

Maybe he would make a good stripper after all, Mitch thought with spite.

Scott made eye contact with Mitch a few times, smirking, with a sparkle in his blue eyes that didn't sit right with him, as though he was trying to hurt him on purpose.

He knew what he was doing. He knew that he was killing him. Why the hell was he doing this?

So Mitch tried the same tactic.

Two can play this jealousy game.

Mitch was pressed up against some average-looking man of equally average height, and he could feel Kirstin's look of judgement as he placed his leg between the man's, pressing up against his groin until the man groaned.

But he looked up to find a tall and broad man pressing Scott up against the wall with his tongue down his throat, and Mitch froze.

He watched for another moment out of the corner of his eye, as the man's hands explored Scott's body, lifting one of his legs to wrap around him, attacking his neck with his lips.

Scott appeared to try to push him off, only momentarily, but his hand rested on the man's shoulder afterwards, giving in to the man's touches and kisses.

"Looks like Jared found an easy one," Mitch heard from over his shoulder. He looked around frantically for the voice. He locked eyes with Kirstin, who shot him a questioning look.

"Looks like he did. When's he gonna pull the trigger and bring blondie upstairs?"

Mitch had thought they were speaking about Mr. Average, against whom he was still grinding. Relief overcame him, but was quickly replaced with anger, hearing them talk about Scott like that.

"Isn't he here with that little pathetic twink? The one that is nowhere near good enough for him?"

"Looks like he lost interest in the little guy. I'm sure he needs something a little bigger than that to please him."

"I heard he's a stripper."

"Maybe he'll give us a private show."

"Oh, don't worry. We'll make sure of that."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP."

A man in greek letters looked at him with wide eyes as the average-looking man let go of him in shock.

He couldn't breathe.

He felt frozen in place, as everyone else began to move again around him. The men in front of him were laughing now.

"Fucking nutcase."

A hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him out of the front door. The fresh air filled Mitch's lungs and he welcomed the sensation, thankful that he could breathe again.

He registered the owner of the hand wrapped around his arm. Her brown eyes looked at him with a concerned gaze, slightly glassy in appearance due to the alcohol.

He had been hoping for blue eyes.

"Take a deep breath," Kirstin's soft voice urged.

Mitch complied with shaky lungs, like trying to blow air into a plastic bag with a hole in the bottom.

Kirstin and Rozzi were on either side of him now, concern etched on their faces. Mitch turned to Kirstin, desperately.

"Tell me you heard them. Please. Please tell me-"

"Heard who? Do what?" Kirstin asked, gently.

She should know what you mean. Their words were horrific.

Unless she didn't hear them.

But she was right behind them.

She didn't hear them because they never said it.

"The frat guys..." Mitch whispered, his eyes filling with tears.

"They... called you a nutcase. I know, honey, that wasn't nice. But you yelled at them-"

"No. Before that. They were talking about me. They were talking about Scott, too. They were making fun of me. They were-"

He stopped, clenching his eyes shut.

"Where is he?" Mitch growled, frustratedly. He should have come after them by now.

"Where is who, babe?" Rozzi asked, and he could see her panicking.

"Scott."

"Let's... go home." Kirstin said slowly, pulling at his hand again.

"You think I'm gonna leave Scott here? After what they said?"

"Sweetheart... Scott isn't here. He's working, remember?" Rozzi soothed.

"No... no, he quit." His words dripped with desperation. "He quit tonight. He showed up here. He's wearing my favorite shirt of his-"

Rozzi was hugging him close. "Let's get you home, baby. I promise Scott is at work. We'll call him when we get home so you can speak to him, okay? You can even wait for him at our place, if you want to."

He walked home in a fog, as though he was sleepwalking.

The taunting looks as he danced with other people, the desperation in his voice as he told Mitch that he missed him, how he weakly pushed the man who was kissing him, but gave in shortly after...

No, Scott Hoying hadn't been there.

But Fake Scott certainly had been.

He was so sure that he had put him to bed. But here he was, trying to get revenge.

And that fact left Mitch absolutely terrified.

Author's Note: Hope I'll be seeing you all for the next one! Here's a hint: It's based on another Matchbox Twenty song (had to keep it consistent between the 3 books) and the song is called 'Push'. So feel free to peruse the lyrics if you want hints on how that one's gonna go. 

I'd love it if you left your final thoughts about this one! Thanks for reading!