Share this story with your enemies. I was gonna say friends, but, well...

I don't actually have enough time for this. I've skipped practice entirely today, and I'll need to try to get in as much as possible tomorrow, but I'm not exactly sure what else I'll have to deal with then. When I start yawning around eleven, Scott tells me my old room is a guest room now. Everything is white and beige, perfectly crisp and square. There are folded towels on the shelf, travel-sized soaps, and a toothbrush still in its package. While I brush my teeth, I debate internally over whether or not I should exercise today. I keep a jump rope in my car so I'll never have an excuse, but I've learned it's best not to do cardio on a full stomach. Sleep it is, then. The lights are still on downstairs when I turn in for the night, and I can faintly hear Scott talking on the phone in his serious professional voice, maybe with Esther. I miss her. She won't really speak to me, though. As she sees it, leaving with Alex was unacceptable, whether or not infidelity was involved.

I heard through the people at Endless Noise that it was she who checked Scott into rehab. Kevin was across the country within a week of the end of Pentatonix, and Kirstie and Avi had been too wrapped up in negotiations, planning, and new projects to keep in touch with our drama. They were all shocked when Scott wound up in the hospital. They had no idea how to handle it except to call Esther. She caught the first flight back from New York, arranged for Scott's parents to come, and staged an intervention that neither Alex nor I was invited to. She may hate me, but I love her more than ever.

I'm asleep almost as soon as I climb into bed. I dream I'm going the wrong way on an exit ramp, then driving into oncoming traffic on the freeway, swerving to avoid speeding cars and trucks and trying to make my way to the shoulder alive. Bleh. I wake up when the sky is still gray, but I don't bother trying to go back to sleep.

I stare at the blank white hallway outside my door and listen to my breathing. I'm always careful to lock myself in when I'm away at hotels, but at home, I try to leave it open so Wyatt can roam freely. Wyatt is still with Alex, but I guess this feels like home too.

This is going to work out. I don't know how, but this is going to work out. What would Esther tell me to do if she didn't hate me? She'd probably make me dump Alex immediately and cut all ties, then distance myself from Scott until we can be friends without hurting each other. She definitely wouldn't allow the kind of friendship we had before. It was too close. It sent the wrong messages and left us too dependent on each other.

Scott appears and taps lightly on my open door. I nod for him to enter before remembering most of my clothes are in a small mountain on the floor. Scott, unlike me, is already fully dressed and ready to go out, with his hair styled and his shoes on. He looks more like the Scott I see in the media. He's carrying Starbucks.

I sit up and scoot over to make room, keeping my lower half wrapped in blankets. I catch his eyes dancing over my body as he hands me my coffee. I have nothing to be self-conscious about, and I know this is new to him because he hasn't seen me in this kind of shape before in person, but I'm not comfortable at all. I wish I hadn't just made room for him to sit. He's beside me now, drinking in my appearance as I cross my arms over my chest. "Scott..." His eyes bounce up to my lips for an instant and then drop lower again. I shift in my blankets as he reaches for me. His fingertips slide delicately up and down my arm as he stares. "Scott."

"Patrick is gone. The skull. The safety pin." Oh. "I can't even feel them." All those tattoos were his in some way, and I've erased them. I was SpongeBob and he was Patrick. We both had matching skulls, matching safety pins. We held each other together.

I lean against the wall and let him trace out where the shapes used to be. There's a little scarring, but I did everything I could to minimize it. The makeup artists usually apply a layer of foundation to even it out if my arms are bare, but that's all it takes. I sip my coffee and check the time on my phone. Therapy already cut into my practice time this weekend, and I really need to cover the upcoming scenes.

Why hasn't Alex texted back? I open my messages. Message not sent. Scott looks up in surprise as I curse my phone and frantically dial Alex's number. My boyfriend picks up in the middle of the first ring. "Babe. I'm so sorry, I tried to text you but it didn't send and I just don't want you to worry. It's gonna be okay, okay? I'm at Scott's and I'm staying here for now, and I don't think we should talk yet, but just don't be upset. I love you. I'm sorry I left like that. I love you."

"You're staying with Scott?" His voice is raw and afraid. I'm silent. Maybe I'm being incredibly stupid right now. "Put Scott on the line right now... Please, Mitch!"

I nod obediently, not registering at first that he can't see it, and switch to speakerphone. Scott announces himself with a nervous, "Hi."

"Scott Richard Hoying, if you hurt Mitch again, I swear on my life I will crack your skull open with my bare hands. You know you aren't good for him. You need to send him away or keep your mouth shut tight or read from a sc-"

"That's enough," I interject harshly. Scott is sinking into himself more and more with each word. I put a hand on his hunched shoulder and rub reassuring circles into him with my thumb.

"Mitch, I'm just-"

"-worried about me. I know, Alex. I'll talk to you later."

"Be careful." I nod uselessly again and say goodbye.

I'm not being careful at all. I'm undressed and Scott's in my bed. That's not the real concern, though.  I'm exposing too much of my heart to him, and he can use it against me. I don't care. I squeeze his shoulder. "I trust you, Scott. Don't listen to him." Maybe it's hurting me just to be here, but this needs to happen. It's better.

"I'm coming between you two." Scott says it like he's ashamed.

"He lied to us for years. I need some distance. And it's-"

"No, he didn't."

"I realize you think it was the truth, and I'm trying to find a way to work past that, but please at least pretend that-"

"He told me after you left."

"Wait, when?"

"Two weeks after you left. He called while I was at rehab. I didn't believe him then either. I thought maybe you had put him up to it. But he told me it wasn't true, what he said before. I don't know if that makes you feel better. Anyway, I have a gig downtown. I need to go in a few minutes. Make yourself at home. This is yours if you want it." He leaves something on my bedside table and hurries out before I can thank him for my coffee. It's a house key.