Why didn't I tell him?

I curled into a ball and cried into my knees.

Why didn't I tell him? Why didn't I tell him? Why didn't I tell him when I had the chance?

I sat back on the large sofa, tears streaming from my eyes. It's been weeks. If anything, the pain has gotten worse. I was never going to get over him. Never, never, never! He was too perfect. So beautiful and flawless. Nobody could tell me differently. He was amazing. He was my queen.

If only I could run my fingers through his beautiful purple hair one last time.

But no. He was gone.

How was Pentatonix going to keep working? Our countertenor, the glue that held our little band of people together, was dead.

I could have stopped it. I could have been there! Where was I when he needed me the most?

I has been sleeping. That's where. Sleeping while he went out drinking. I thought nothing of it. The last words he said to me crashed back into my brain.

"I'm going to go to the club. Want to come with, Scotland?"

"Noooo," I had groaned, "Go away. Go by yourself."

Worst. Mistake. Of. My. Life.

I had let him go. I had let him get drunk.

Too drunk.

If I had known he wouldn't come back, I would have told him, right then and there. "I love you, Mitch." Maybe he would have told me that he loved me too. I hope that's what he'd have said.

Now that's all I can do. Hope.

I ran into his room, tangling myself up in his bedsheets. I inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of him filling my nostrils. I cried into his comforter. How ironic, I thought dryly.

"Mitch, I love you more than my own life. The only thought in my mind is you, every day, all day, 24/7. Mitchie, I love you. Mitchie, come back. Bless me with your queenly presence. Hold me. Please, Mitch. I'm begging you. Don't leave me. Come back. Please… please… please…"

He'd been walking home. Down an alley. Being the short man that he was, must have made an easy target. The stranger had swooped upon him and put a gun up to his head.

"Give me all of your money! Yeah, I know who you are! Mitch Grassi, from the Grammy-Winning group. I know you have money! Give it to me!"

"Please, please," Mitch had wailed in his beautiful voice, "I don't have any on me! I can go get some! Please! I spent all of the cash I had on hand at the club I was just in! I can get you some! Please don't hurt me!" I could practically hear his cries for mercy as he turned and started running.

He'd run.

The stranger… No. I won't give him that much credit. The murderer. Had shot him as he ran, dark red blood staining his beautiful purple hair.

Why hadn't I told him that I loved him? That he meant more than the world to me? Maybe I could have stopped him from going, have held him in my arms and whispered sweet nothings in his ear.

If I had gone with him, I could have sheilded him from the murderer with my bulk and size.

Nobody liked him deserved to die.

The world didn't deserve anyone like him.

My tearducts had run dry, but I kept crying. Dry, broken, tearless sobs as I held Wyatt to my chest.

"Mitch, I'm so sorry. Mitch, I love you."

As I left the room, I swear on the heavens I heard the ghost of a chilling whisper.

"I love you too."