I love Camp Rock and all, but I think I loved writing about my real three boys better. Ah well, the past is the past, eh? Until then, I'll be posting tons of Camp Rock, Hannah Montana, and High School Musical stories. And Merry; this one's for you.
Motivation Music: What I've Done by Linkin Park.
"I-"
"Shane, don't worry about it." Mitchie said, smiling half way. "Really, it's fine."
"But-"
"Seriously." She said, her voice losing it's teasing tone. "I'm fine."
"You expect me to-"
"Shane, I don't expect you to do anything except walk away and forget you saw anything."
"Stop interrupting me!" Shane snapped. His eyes darted wildly around the room, his heart pounding in his ears. "I…no! No, I'm not going to forget this!" And he wouldn't. He turned his head away from the razor that sat between them, his head spinning. The word blood was enough to send him into a fit, not to mention the sight, and smell, of it. He had been walking along the camp path, kicking stones happily, his thoughts wandering to Mitchie. Ah, Mitchie. The girl he thought was amazing and unlike anyone he'd ever met before. The girl he thought he'd known. The girl who he had thought would never intentionally harm herself like this. But he had been proven wrong.
"Shane…" Mitchie whispered, reaching out instinctively to comfort him. But when she saw him flinch back from the sight of her exposed wrist, she quickly moved her hand back to her side and covered her wrist. "I'm fine!" She said, smiling at him, trying to ease his mind. But his glazed eyes wandered back to the razor, to her wrist, and then to her face.
"No, Mitchie. I don't think you are." Shane said, tearing his eyes away from her wrist as his stomach lurched dangerously. "People who are fine don't hurt themselves. People who are fine are smarter than you!" He said, his voice rising until he was shouting. "People who are fine know that this…this isn't FINE!" He yelled, pointing at the bloody razor. "Shit Mitchie, why didn't you say anything?! Why didn't you stop?"
"It isn't that easy." She whispered.
Shane scoffed and stood up, pacing back and forth, back and forth. "Yes Mitchie, it is easy! You put down the damn razor and talk!"
"But if I talked, people would scream!" Mitchie yelled back, tears stinging the back of her eyes. "They would think of me differently, they would look at me and think, 'Oh hey look, there goes that cutter girl!'"
"No they wouldn't!" Shane yelled. Mitchie stared pointedly at him and he let out a breath and shook his head. "Okay, so I yelled. But-"
"But nothing, Shane." Mitchie said, a silent tear slipping down her cheek. "Can you just leave? I want some time to myself."
Shane looked up at her, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "What, so you can pick up where you started?" He breathed, shaking his head quickly. "Hell fucking no."
"Shane-"
"I AM NOT LEAVING YOU ALONE!" He screamed, taking two quick strides so that he was standing in front of her. He gripped her shoulders and shook her. "You. Are. Not. Fine!" He yelled, each word it's own sentence as he screamed them through clenched teeth.
Mitchie cried out as he shoulders jerked beneath his grip and she tried to push him away. He began sobbing as he shook her. "Mitchie," He cried, shaking her weakly. "Why?"
"Shane?" Mitchie whispered, looking in disbelief as Shane covered his face in his hands and moaned quietly.
"I--" Shane doubled over as his lunch came back with a vengeance and onto the cabin floor. When his stomach was emptied of all it's contents, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and shook his head a few times. "Shit." He whispered when his head cleared and he cast off any thought that had to do with the color red. But the smell of the bl—He shook his head again. Don't think about it. He commanded himself. He took a few shaky breaths before daring to look back up at Mitchie. "We're going to get you help." He said, his eyes hard.
"Shane, no!" Her eyes widened. "I can't tell my mom this!"
Shane stared at her, his eyes determined. "I think she needs to know. She wants the best for you. Like I do." He said quietly.
"No." Mitchie whispered as Shane took out a cell phone with shaking hands. "Shane, don't. Please. I'll-I'll stop! I will!" She pleaded, but to no avail. Shane shook his head and dialed a number into the phone.
"Mrs. Torres? Could you come to Mitchie's cabin? It's…it's important." He ignored her questions and said, "I would rather she told you herself."
When he hung up he looked over at Mitchie, who was staring wishfully at the razor. Shane quickly took the razor in his hands and stared it, glad that he had nothing to throw back up. Even so, his stomach protested when he stared at the razor covered with blood. Mitchie's blood. "I don't see what's so appealing about this." Shane said, examining the razor and ignoring the blood that was sticking to his hands. "I wouldn't let this near my wrist. Actually, I wouldn't let it near me period." He looked up at her. Mitchie stared back at him, her eyes red and resigned. "Why did you do this, Mitchie? Because I'm having a hard time believing you did it for the hell of it."
"You don't get what it's like not to fit in, Shane." She whispered. When he opened his mouth to object, she silenced him with a shake of her head. "No, you don't Shane. You're gorgeous. Sure, you can be an ass but underneath you're as perfect as your looks. You're a rock star Shane. You have fans and band mates who love you. Even if strangers don't like you, you have Nate and Jason. I have my mom and my dad." She tore her gaze away from him. "This summer was amazing." She whispered, "But after this ends, I'm going back to school where it'll be the same. You don't get what I had to go through. The laughter every time I messed up. The things people said not even behind my back but right in front of me. I-I couldn't deal with it."
Shane stared at Mitchie through the whole story, taking in her side. When she finished, he scooted closer to her and wrapped a cautious arm around her. "They are complete idiots then." He muttered into her hair, closing his eyes. "And…and things are going to get better." He promised, pulling away and staring into her eyes. "I promise."
"Shane, you don't know that." She whispered, biting her bottom lip. She wanted desperately to believe him, but the logic just wasn't there. Everything wouldn't magically be better just because Shane Gray said so.
"Mitchie?" A worried Mrs. Torres ran through the front door of the cabin, the door crashing noisily against the wall in the silent room. "What's wrong?" She asked breathlessly, clutching her purse to her chest. When no one answered, she let her eyes wander over to where Shane was holding a sniffling Mitchie. She opened her mouth to ask a question but quickly snapped it shut when she caught sight of Mitchie's wrist, which had become exposed again when she had started to cry. All the breath escaped from her as she stared at Shane, hissing. "What did you do my daughter?" She screeched. Shane jerked his head up and stared at Mrs. Torres.
"I didn't do it." Shane whispered and looked over at Mitchie.
"Mitchie?" Mrs. Torres looked at her daughter, worry written plainly across her face.
"He's telling the truth mom. I-I did this to myself." She whispered, tears springing back into her eyes. "I'm so sorry mom."
Mrs. Torres didn't say a word as she crossed the room and gathered her daughter in her arms, the two of them sobbing into the other's arms wordlessly. Shane stood up and walked over to the door, pausing to look back at the embraced mother and daughter. He turned and continued out the door, only stopping when he reached the lake. He stopped at the water's edge and pulled something from his pocket. The metal glinted in the moonlight as he tilted it, his eyes examining the object that helped to hurt Mitchie. And with one swift throw, he watched as it soared through the night and into the water.
