28. Mitch
CHAPTER 28
MITCH
TWO DAYS LATER
W e got back to Colorado yesterday and Stacey was knocking on my door just a few minutes after I got home. We spent the night fucking like bunnies until we finally agreed we needed some sleep. Now, we’re sitting on the floor of my living room eating the breakfast I got delivered for us. I’d offered to take her out to eat, but we agreed that the wait at my favorite place is always too long and that we didn’t want to put on real clothes. I’m elated, energized, and on edge in the best way.
Stacey takes a big bite of her pancakes and lets out a little moan as she chews. “These are so good,” she says.
“I told you they have the best food,” I say.
“I assumed it was overhyped,” she says. “But I’m willing to admit when I’m wrong.”
“Look at us,” I say. “Growth.”
I lean over and kiss her nose and she scrunches up her face. It’s playful, sweet, and couple-y. The problem is, I don’t know if we’re a couple. We’re going to the wedding together, but we haven’t actually had that conversation. I think I’m scared of what she’s going to say if I ask her. Hell, I’m scared myself of what all of this means.
“Can I talk to you about something?” she asks.
“Sure, love,” I say. Maybe she’ll be the one to broach the subject?
“When I told Cassie that we’re each other’s dates for the wedding, she said that she ‘couldn’t believe it actually worked’,” she says.
Oh, shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“And then you said that you’ve wanted to fuck me for a long time,” she continues.
How do I handle this?
What do I say?
Will she be mad at me?
The questions swirl through my head a million miles a minute as I brace for impact.
“Did you know they were trying to get us together?” she finally asks.
“What? No,” I say. It’s a lie. Thomas told me right away. Why am I lying to her?
“It just seems weirdly convenient that you had a thing for me and no one else knew. You seem to tell Thomas and Caleb everything,” she says.
I do.
“Well, I didn’t tell them about us,” I say. “You wouldn’t let me.”
“Because I value my privacy, Mitch,” she says.
“Well, I don’t get to have privacy. I don’t get a choice,” I say sharply.
She lets out a sigh and scoots away from me. Fuck. What am I doing ?
“Have you even searched my name on Twitter?” I continue, because I can’t stop talking. Or in this case, yelling.
“No, Mitch. I don’t need to know what a bunch of superfans think about you,” she says.
“They think I’m a fuckboy. A loser who’s out partying all the time. Is that something you’re willing to be associated with?” I say.
“Mitch ...” she says in a warning tone.
“What?” I yell. “It’s true. I’m a fuckup, and you have a reputation to keep up for your business.”
Why am I giving her reasons to not be with me when I think I might want to be with her? Why can’t I shut the fuck up? I don’t even think these things. Not really.
“Why are you picking a fight right now, Mitch?” she says.
“Because ...” Because ... I don’t fucking know why. Why am I acting like such a dick?
“I thought we were past this,” she says, standing up.
“How can we be past the truth?” I say as I stand, throwing my arms out dramatically just to really hit it home.
“What truth, Mitch? What reality are you living in right now?” she asks.
Not this one, I realize. My brain feels like it’s buzzing, like it’s disconnected from the rest of the world. It’s making connections that don’t exist. It’s making me think I both deserve the world and don’t deserve shit at the same time. It’s making me angry with Stacey because she’s who’s here. I know I’m not fully myself right now, so why can’t I stop?
“Mitch, did you take your meds today?” she whispers.
And that does it. I snap. “Fuck you, Stacey,” I yell, taking a step back to create enough space for my flailing arms.
“Mitch,” she says calmly. “I can tell you aren’t feeling well.”
“I feel fucking fine!” I don’t. “I don’t need you!” I do. “Just fucking leave.” Please don’t. I don’t know what will happen if you do .
She doesn’t leave, she doesn’t move. She just stands there, arms hanging by her sides, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m not leaving you alone, Mitch,” she says.
“Why not?” I ask. “It’s not like you actually care.”
“That’s not fair,” she says. “Just because we didn’t understand each other at first doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
“I’ve always understood you,” I say. And because I can’t control myself and my brain is convinced it needs to sabotage me, I say, “It’s not my fault you’re a judgmental bitch. You should leave.”
The hurt falls across her face the moment I say it. But she still doesn’t leave.
“I’m not leaving, Mitch. And you don’t get to attack me just because you’re manic or something,” she says.
Shit.
She’s right.
My brain has been moving a million miles a minute for days. I’ve been on edge, and it felt good because I was on vacation. I’ve been drinking too much, sleeping too little. And now I’m making up things in my head to justify feeling useless. I’m attacking the woman I care about most in the world when she’s just trying to help me. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
My legs give out from under me, and I collapse onto the floor. On my knees, I grab at my hair, trying to get to my brain. Why the fuck is this happening to me? I need to get out of here, need to get out of my head. I’m angry and heartbroken and ... I’m scared. Scared of my own brain. How am I supposed to live like this?
Then, I feel a hand on my back and I realize I’ve started crying. Fuck.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Stacey says. “I’m here.”
I let myself collapse further on the floor and I think she’s sitting down with me. I feel like I’ve lost complete control of myself, of my mind. Why is she still here? Why are her arms wrapping around me?
“I ...” I try to say, but it comes out as a croak. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” she says. “Just breathe.”
I hiccup in and out, tears streaming down my face and onto the Blizzards sweatshirt Stacey stole from me weeks ago.
“You should go,” I say. “I don’t want to hurt you more.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Mitch,” she says, holding me tight against her.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I say quietly. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” she says. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
She squeezes harder and harder, as if she’s trying to prove to me that she’s not leaving. I reach around her and hold on for dear life.
“Keep breathing,” she says. “I’m going to call Thomas.”
I don’t want him to know. I let him down. I’m always letting everyone down. But I don’t have it in me to argue with her, so I just sit there with my head hanging low, and try to catch my breath.
“Hey,” she says into her phone. “Need you at Mitch’s. Now.”
Then she’s hanging up the phone and she’s back to holding me. I feel so guilty. I’m such a big burden. Who knows what Thomas was in the middle of?
This is why I don’t talk to my parents. They made it clear I was too much to handle. Dr. Chells said it was a healthy boundary, but maybe they were right. Maybe I am too much.
“I ...” I start to tell Stacey the truth. “I haven’t taken my meds for a bit.”
I expect her to chastise me. To tell me that she knew it, that she was right. But she just squeezes tighter and places a kiss on the top of my head.
A few moments later, there’s a knock at my condo door. Stacey stands to let whoever it is in. Oh right, she called Thomas.
“Oh boy,” he says as he walks in.
“He stopped taking his meds,” Stacey explains. She says it without shame or judgment. Like it’s just a fact. Why isn’t she mad at me? I deserve for her to be mad at me. Thomas too.
“Buddy, we’ve talked about this,” he says as he walks over to where I’m still perched on the floor. He crouches down and places a hand on my shoulder. “You can’t just be out here raw-dogging life like this.”
Stacey lets out a little giggle followed by, “sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I laugh as I wipe the tears from my face. “He’s not wrong.”
I feel myself start to come to a bit. I start to regain control. And the guilt hits me harder than Caleb’s slap shot.
“I can’t believe I let this happen,” I say. “I was just so busy with the playoffs that I kept forgetting to pick them up.”
“It’s okay,” Stacey says with far more kindness than I deserve. “But let’s get them ordered now and we can pick them up as soon as they’re ready.”
“I probably need to up my dosage for a bit, I should call my psychiatrist,” I say.
“I’ll get your phone,” Thomas says. He goes down the hallway to my bedroom, leaving Stacey and I alone.
“I didn’t mean it,” I say to her. “Any of it. I’m so sorry.”
“I know you didn’t. It’s okay, Mitch,” she says as she cups my cheek with her hand. “It isn’t your fault,” she says.
“But it is my responsibility,” I say. “And I failed.”
“You didn’t fail.” Her thumb brushes the side of my face tenderly. “This was a little bump in the road. And we’ll figure out how to have less bumps moving forward.”
She can’t possibly think we should still do this. I just said horrible things to her for no reason. Why would she talk about ‘moving forward’?
“What do you mean ‘moving forward’?” I ask .
She lets out a little laugh. “Mitch Greggs, you should know I don’t scare this easily.”
“Dude, you have like five hundred notifications you’ve been ignoring,” Thomas says from the hallway.
“You act like this hasn’t happened before,” I say, trying to joke, but it comes out more shameful than I wanted.
Thomas rounds the corner with my phone and places it in my hand. “Time to make the call,” he says. “We’ll be here when you’re finished. Right, Stacey?”
“Of course,” she says, a soft smile on her lips. How this woman is smiling right now is beyond me, but it’s beautiful and caring and it gives me the strength I need to dial the number.
“Thank you,” I say quietly to them as the phone rings.
Thomas gives me a wink and Stacey reaches for my free hand. She laces her fingers through mine and gives my hand a little squeeze. I’m ashamed and sad. I’m terrified to think what would have happened without them being here. I’m still terrified, but with Thomas standing by me despite the number of times he’s had to pick me up off the floor, and Stacey holding my hand despite how I just lost it, I feel a little less afraid and a little less alone in this fight.