The Pact (Scömìche)(completed)

21 Three steps back

Can Scott and Mitch ever move forward?

ps. strap yourself in... it's a bumpy one

Scott slammed the bedroom door shut. He leant against it and slid to the ground in a tangle of long limbs, wheezing and gasping for air. Avi couldn't save him this time. No-one would. His fingers twisted through his hair and tugged, then he banged his head against the wood till it hurt. Building from the pit of his stomach, a rising storm of pain and anger filled his chest, squeezing his lungs, till it burst from his throat in a desolate roar.

Of all songs, why that one? What twisted trick of fate led Mitch to choose the song in which Scott tried to work out his complicated feelings about the three of them, their dance that was fated to end with no partners and no winners and everyone blown apart and the world ended? Scott slumped to the floor, his cheek on the smooth wood. Tears dripped gently, one by one.

This was never going to work, and you can't go back. The past is dead and buried, and all you've got is the present moment. There's alcohol downstairs, but he's there as well.

Scott breathed slower, perhaps his heart would follow suit, slow down and stop so he could be free of this agony.

Tap, tap at the door. Scott ignored it, and the quiet voice calling his name. He got up and lay on the bed. The knocking grew louder.

"Scott. Scott please, just tell me you're okay. I'm sorry for-"

"Fuck off!"

"All right, look... I'm sorry."

His tears had dried by the time Scott dragged himself into his bathroom. He washed his face and inspected his puffy eyes in the mirror. He looked pale and tired, and his hair was a disaster.

"Shit."

Dry mouth and a scratchy throat sent him downstairs in search of water. The sight of Mitch sitting at the table, head in his hands, brought Scott to a standstill. There were no feelings left, only deep weariness.

"What are you doing here?"

Mitch looked round, white teeth worrying at his lower lip. He wrung his hands.

"I - I couldn't just leave."

"Oh? You're pretty good at that."

Scott took a glass from the cupboard, filled it with ice and water. He drank it all, and placed the glass on the counter.

'What did I do?" Mitch sounded small and uncertain.

"Nothing. Everything." Scott ran his hands through his hair. "What does it matter? What's done is done. I think you should go." He would not look at him. He wasn't strong enough, his heart quivering and torn, still bleeding.

"Whatever I did wrong, I am truly sorry."

"You keep saying that."

Mitch stood. "Because I mean it."

He walked out and retrieved his jacket, then returned to the kitchen. Scott had not moved, staring at the floor.

"Thanks for having me here, and... maybe we can try again, another time. Goodnight Scott. Perdonami."

The front door clicked shut and Scott looked at the clock. Only nine fifteen, and already the world had ended. He didn't want to embarrass himself by calling anyone, and still he needed someone to talk to him softly, to soothe him and rub his back and tell him it would be all right. And if he couldn't have that, he wanted nothingness.