Jerome's POV
So. That was it.
I knew I loved Mitch practically when I met him. He never felt the same though, I'm pretty sure. He was always a fairly open book, and I knew basically everything about him. Maybe I knew more than he did.
I loved him so much, so much that it hurt he didn't know and didn't return the feelings. The only way to heal the hurt? To make new pain. My solution?
I cut. Not just because of that though. Everything got too much. I started to consistently cut in high school, until the fateful day Mitch discovered it...
*Flashback*
Mitch lay there peacefully sleeping. He was so unaware of the internal battles. "I'm sorry." I whispered, and slowly crept out of my bed. I looked to Mitch as he slept. His face was so perfect, like him. If only he say the same about me, think the same about me. I blinked back a tear and lightly caressed his face. When I could bear it no more, I left and went to my bathroom, and grabbed the all too familiar knife. Closing the door gently, I sat in my usual posture, then drew up my pants, revealing the multiple slashes against my legs. I wasn't afraid anymore, just... nervous. I had never cut when Mitch was here.
I took a deep breath, and started to reopen unhealed wounds. Each cut was a stitch of healing. One cut here, another heal there. It was like the pain was getting transfered into something that could heal, instead of haunting me all the time. It almost made it bearable for me to hear about his girlfriend. I would just put a hand on my thigh and smile like I cared.
"Fuck." I looked to my leg. I had cut too far from getting distracted. Hastily, I put my knife on the bathroom vanity, grabbed a wad of tissues and pressed then up to my leg. The blood wasn't pouring, but it wasn't nonexistent either. It was a steady flow, and I kept my hand there. "Jerome?!" I looked up to see Mitch there, a shocked, worried expression on his face. "What are you doing?"
"Uh. Nothing."
"It is NOT nothing. Are you... bleeding?" Mitch asked and took a step in the door. "No! Don't!" I yelled, hastily knocking away the craft knife out of sight, but it fell on the floor and made a loud clatter and Mitch went and grabbed it. "There's blood... you cut?!" He said, panic in his voice. Shaking, he walked to me and knocked away my hand, making me drop the tissue, revealing the damage. "Jerome. Why?"
"I... I just. The bullies. Their words hurt." I whispered with my head bowed, a whimper escaping my lips, making me not able to look at Mitch. Tears slid down my face and I angrily wiped them away. Mitch walked up to me, dropping the knife as he did so, and lifted my tearstained face lightly. "Look, I don't want you to cut, and I don't want you to get in trouble with your parents, so how about I bandage up your leg on the condition you stop?" I nodded, relieved. He disappeared for a minute then came back with a bandage in his hand and wet a tissue then cleaned up my leg, and I winced at the sting. He then proceeded to tenderly wrap the bandage around my leg, and I felt myself crying even more. He was so good to me, so good, that I knew I couldn't ever deserve him. "Look Mitch. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet."
"No. I should. Thank you."
"Don't worry about it. Just next time, talk to me instead of even thinking about cutting, okay?"
"Okay." Mitch finished up my leg then helped pull me up, a light smile on his face even though his eyes were serious. "Dood. Please don't cut ever again. I don't want to ever have to know I almost lost you because you bled too much, or this fueled suicide thoughts, especially over something as stupid as the bullies."
"Okay."
*Flashback Over*
I knew from then on to stop cutting. Mostly. Occasionally I would make a small incision when the world felt like too much, but other than that, the old scars healed, the oldest fading. Maybe one day, Mitch could heal the unseen ones.
I logged onto Mitch's YouTube and uploaded the videos he had instructed me to. In one, he had talked about Merome and while I had played along, on the inside, I had hope for it. But hope was for the blind ones who couldn't see the fact reality would eventually come and bite them in the ass.
I knew hope could also be a candle in the darkness of life. That was Mitch. He was my candle, and I was grateful. He was the reason I had clung so desperately to life, holding hope he would care for me. He was the reason I never went overboard cutting. He was the reason I was still alive. Without him, I might have already left this world, unsure if anyone could ever love me.