Chapter 87: tears.

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Clay POV.

George was home, but sitting in his room, he didn't speak to me when he arrived but I could tell something was wrong.
When Zak dropped him off the brunette just walked briskly into the house, keeping his eyes focused on the cracked concrete of the drive even when I stood directly in front of him and tried to talk.

By the time I had thanked Zak and turned around George had gone and locked himself in his room. I followed him up and I tried to open the door but something was in the way.
George, he was leaning against the door and I could hear him crying from through the wall.

I sat outside of his door, but sometimes I stood. Pacing 20 steps or so down the hallways before turning back, and every so often I'd knock on the door, but he never answered. The sound of him crying had cleared the hangover from my mind as I waited helplessly outside the room

"Georgie. Please come out." My voice was soft and shaky, I was worried about him. "Please, or don't. J-just tell me what's wrong and I'll help you. I promise."
No response.

I sighed and began pacing again. My right hand was gripping my left tightly, probably cutting off it's blood flow as I used it as a makeshift stress ball, squeezing it tightly.
Eventually I leaned down against the door, George's cries still easily heard on the other side of the wall and I felt a tear roll down my cheek, wanting to help him but not knowing how.

George POV.

Hours passed, time turned the day from morning to noon to afternoon and finally to evening. It was probably 8 or 9'o'clock and I had been sitting on the floor crying until I couldn't any more, then I had just let out pathetic chocked out sobs.

The blond was on the other side of the door the entire time, he was listening to me cry and had given up on telling me to open the door since I clearly wasn't responding to him.

I wanted to go out to him, to hold him and talk to him and have him look after me and tell me I'd be okay, but my body wouldn't let me move. Those girls really got to me, their insults were like poison, slowly weakening and killing me.
I just sat, sat and listened to the silence on his side of the door, and the pathetic tearless cries on my side.

Eventually I heard Clay stand up and then he left. I could stand up now and leave but I didn't. My thoughts started slowing down for the first time in hours, and I wondered where the blond was going.

But he returned soon enough, knocking on the door again. His voice was partially muffled but it was still understandable.
"Georgie." He was sounding more worried then it had earlier, "please open the door, I brought some food for your dinner."
I didn't respond, just like I hadn't any other time.
Clay sighed slightly before continuing, "George C'mon, you haven't eaten all day and it's not healthy. Please just let me in."

"G-Go away... please." My voice was quite and I doubt he heard me. It was also quite weak after crying for hours on end.
The blond listened to my 3 words in silence, before I heard the tray getting placed on the ground.

"If that's what you want Georgie" Clay took a step back, further away from the door. "But I'm going to come back in an hour or so and I want the plate to be empty, cause you need to eat" he continued after a moment of silence.

I waited for him to continue talking, but he didn't. Instead, after a moment I heard a door shuting down the hall, then after a minute the faint sound of a TV playing from through the hall.

After waiting for a few moments I opened the door carefully, before looking at the food Clay had left me. There was a plate of toasted sandwiches, along with some fruit and a glass of water. Along with the food was a small note that Clay had written.

It read:

George.

I don't know why you're not talking to me, but I want you to know you can talk to me and that I'd love you no matter what has happened.

Please talk to me, love Clay.

My eyes trailed over the blond's note, reading and rereading it several times before folding it up and burying it deep in my pocket. Then I turned my attention back to the food, the toastie the fruit and the water.

I leaned down and picked up the tray before carrying it into my room. I placed the tray on the table by the couch before returning to shut the door.

When I returned to my spot on the couch I sat down watching the food. Honestly, I wasn't hungry, even though I hadn't eaten since breakfast. For 10 minutes I just sat and watched the food, not sure what to do with it.

But eventually I decided to try it. I didn't like how Clay was freaking out and I felt that not eating anything would make him go full out psychotic in his overprotective pillow-y way.

So slowly, I began eating into the fruit, and after I started, I realised how hungry I was. The whole tray was almost empty, then I shakily stood up and returned the tray to it's spot outside the door.

Once I filled myself up with food I trudged over to my bed and curled up on it before letting some more tears trail down my face lightly.

Clay POV.

When the clock ticked past the 10 I stood up, and made my way out into the hallway. From the second I glanced in the direction of George's room I sighed, seeing a tray sitting on the ground, but when I got closer I noticed that all the food was gone and I felt a small smile forming on my face.

It is good that he has eaten, I thought to myself as I nudged open his bedroom door. The room was completely dark, and the only sign of life came from the occasional quiet sound of sniffles.

I walked in the direction of the sound untill I reached George's bed, he was curled up in a restless sleep. Slowly and carefully I raised my hand out and touched his back, rubbing small circles from over the fabric of his t-shirt as I shushed him quietly.
The sniffles died down soon after and I showed another small smile which quickly faded.

"Georgie." I whispered, speaking to him although I knew he wouldn't hear me, "I don't know what happened but I want you to know that I love you and that you can tell me."
I let out a shaky breath as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, "please tell me if something or someone did something that hurt you. Because I hate seeing you like this."

I moved my hand away from him and turned to leave the room, "please Georgie" I mumbled in an even quieter voice, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and seeing you like this is like being stabbed with a knife. I... I love you."
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1246 words.

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