Coming Undone by purplesunsets

4

"It's upstairs, it was my sister's room a while ago."

The walls are pale and covered with posters of The Jonas Brothers. The bed is unmade and the curtains are open. The room has the appearance as though someone ran out in a hurry, but the way Clay phrases it makes George think it's been a long time since the room was lived in.

The man in screen looks to be a bit older than George, but it's hard to tell. His cheeks are hollowed and his face is gaunt. He looks frail and unhinged. It's the type of man that George fears most: not one that is confident and mighty, but one that has given up and has nothing left to lose.

He makes direct eye contact with the camera and stares at it unblinkingly for what feels like days. Finally, he smiles, but it is one that is cruel and bitter.

"Clay, we should call the police." George says when he finally finds his voice again. Cold sweat slides down his spine and George can't shake the feeling that something horrible is about to happen.

"No." Clay replies coldly. "I can't involve them. It's too late for that anyway."

George's heart is pounding in his chest. He doesn't have his phone with him. "Please, call them."

"No. It's too dangerous."

George opens his mouth to ask 'why,' when the man pulls out a knife. The blade is long and dangerously sharp. Immediately, the words die on his tongue.

Pointedly and precisely, the man slices down his left wrist. The cut starts to violently gush with blood. George's feet feel glued to the floor and he feels on the verge of passing out.

The man dips his fingers into the blood and begins to make deliberate strokes on the pale walls.

YOUR FAULT , reads the sloppy letters. Next to the smears on the wall is Nick Jonas' smiling face.

"Blood is on your hands." The man mouths to the camera. Even without sound, the words are unmistakable on his lips.

The man then sits on the floor and pulls his knees to his chest. George wonders if it's wrong of him to wish the man would just die already. The man convulses and tremors on the floor for what could be either minutes or days, but eventually it stops. It makes bile rise in the back of George's throat. He's dead.

What comes later is the realization that he watched a man die and did nothing .

Clay's expression is more devoid of emotion than George has ever seen. His face is completely blank.

"Clay." George tries not to hyperventilate."What the fuck just happened?"

"I can't tell you." Clay doesn't look away from the screen.

"You need to. I just saw a man kill himself. You can't keep me in the dark."

"Please. I promise I'll explain. I just can't do it right now." In the dim, cold light of the monitors, George can see faint wetness of Clay's cheeks. "I can't, I can't, I can't." Clay croaks.

"Okay." George lets out a noise that's somewhere between a whine and a whimper. "Are you going to call the police?"

"I'm sorry. I can't, George. I can't."

George feels nothing. His body is moving on its own accord. He is not his own. He feels so far removed from himself that he wonders if any of this is actually happening, if it's even real.

"You shouldn't have seen that." Clay says quietly after a long silence.

George can barely hear Clay. He's shaking at the knees and it's taking all of his energy just to stay upright. Distantly, George wonders if he's dying.