Coming Undone by purplesunsets

2

"You're so annoying." George grumbles, but makes no effort to separate himself.

He kind of likes it.

—

When George sees Clay the next morning he has a black eye and a deep gash on his cheek. His clothes are rumpled and dirty, and he's rolling gauze around his knuckles.

"Clay, what the hell happened?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." Clay replies, tone uncharacteristically cold.

"You're clearly not!" George's voice is shrill. "You're hurt."

"I'm dealing with it. Okay?"

"How did this even happen?" George steps closer to Clay and pushes his bangs away from his face. "Let me get some ice for you or something."

"Stop it."

"I'll stop when you tell me how this happened." George answers evenly. "It can't be that bad. Just tell me."

"Maybe it's none of your business. Did you think of that?" Clay grabs George's wrist and yanks it roughly away from his face.

"Clay, let go of me." George tries to sound firm, but it comes out as a whimper.

Clay's eyes are glassy and his eyes are distant as though he's looking through George. "It's none of your business. Did you think about that? You're in my house. What I do in my free time doesn't concern you, George." Clay's grip on George's wrist is tightening to the point where it's starting to hurt.

George feels paralyzed. He tries to pull away, but then Clay grabs his other wrist. He's trapped. It takes all of his effort to not start hysterically crying.

"You're wrong, if you think you have the right to ask me to explain myself." Clay sneers, baring his teeth. He's close enough that George can count the freckles on his cheeks and see the ire in his eyes.

George knows he's probably just seeing things, but it looks like Clay's gums are bloodstained. There's something unhinged in his expression. The man before him is not his friend. For a moment George fears that Clay is going to tear out his throat with his teeth.

"You're scaring me. Stop it." Tears burn behind his eyelids.

This makes Clay falter, enough that his hold loosens and George is able to free his wrists and put some space between them.

"I hurt you." Clay's eyes are focused on the bright red handprints that curl around George's forearms. They'll probably turn to bruises. "Come here. Let me help you."

"You've done enough." George says and scrambles out of the kitchen. He bursts through the front door. He doesn't know if Clay is behind him, but he's not taking any chances. He isn't even wearing shoes and can feel his feet getting cut up on the gravel, but he keeps running until he's at the street, and then keeps going until he can't walk anymore.

It's raining and his hair is plastered to his forehead. He doesn't have his phone on him either. He's thousands of miles from home and he's all alone. He sits on the pavement and hides his face in his hands. He cries until his mouth is bitter and dry, and his tears have dried to a sticky residue on his cheeks.

Eventually, he hears a car in the distance. The rain has stopped, but it's still foggy enough that George can't see who it is until it stops in front of him.

"George!" Clay jumps out of his car and runs across the road. His eyes are red and his cheeks are wet. George wonders if he's been crying, and then hates himself for even caring.

Something cold and shaped like dread settles in George's gut. He's alone. It's just him and Clay. He knows he should run, and yet, he can feel the fight leaving his body. He's too tired to be angry. He can feel himself soften the moment he hears Clay's voice.