Coming Undone by purplesunsets

2

"Let me help you." Clay says tenderly and scoops George into his arms.

George wants to scream, to cry, to bite. Instead, he lets Clay carry him to the car.

"Are you mad at me?" Clay asks a few moments into their drive back.

"Kind of." George says, even though he isn't completely sure why. He's upset and hurt, and he is mad at Clay. But something stops him from voicing this.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Save it for later, Clay." George croaks, trying to hold onto his hurt since it's the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes well up, for some reason. Maybe because he's overwhelmed, maybe because he hates how the moment he saw Clay, he had already forgiven him.

When they pull back into the garage, George gets out of the car before Clay can come around and open his door. He takes a breath and begins to trudge towards the house. His feet start to bleed harder after he steps on a particularly sharp rock. He doesn't even feel it.

"George, wait!" Clay calls after him.

George holds his breath and turns around. Clay is running towards him and George can't decide if he's terrified or grateful.

George's knees give out and he sinks to the ground. "I was so scared." He sobs, gripping desperately at Clay's hoodie as though that will make him understand. "I was scared of you." He whimpers.

Clay picks up George without further warning. George lets his head fall into the crook of Clay's neck, any protests dying on his tongue. Clay is warm and strong and holds George carefully as though he's made from glass.

George screws his eyes shut and tries to pretend he doesn't exist for a few moments.

Clay carries him into a bathroom that has marble countertops and sleek cabinets and sets him down on the closed toilet. He wordlessly rifles through the drawers and starts by gently wiping off George's heels.

Clay talks to him while dabbing at his feet with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. His voice settles like warm honey in George's mind. It's numbing, soothing, pleasantly suffocating, filling all the hollow spaces that George hadn't even realized were left empty.

—

George doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up sunlight is streaming in through the window.

It takes him a few moments to make sense of his surroundings, but then he realizes it. He's in Clay's bed. Clay is sitting against the headboard reading a book.

"I'm in your bed?" George presses his palms against his eyelids and groans. "God, my head hurts."

"You just fell asleep and it was easier to bring you to my room." Clay puts his book down and brushes George's hair away from his face. "I hope you don't mind."

"No. Can you get me an Advil, though?"

"Of course, I'll be right back." Clay returns with a cold glass of water and two pills tucked into a tissue.

George swallows the pills dry and closes his eyes.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"Later." George mumbles and tries to ignore the ringing in his ears and how every shred of self-preservation he has is telling him to run and hide. "I don't feel well."

"Okay." Clay answers quietly, and gently cards his fingers through George's hair. He massages George's scalp with long, deft fingers.

George leans into his touch and immediately feels better. It's easy to forget. It's easy to forget how Clay pinned him against the counter. It's easy to forget the image of blood dripping from Clay's teeth. It's easy to forget the visceral terror he felt. Because right now, George feels cared for and safe.