Separation Anxiety

Chapter Ten | House

⚠️cw: eating disorders!

As soon as he spoke those words, fear gripped me, freezing me in place.

"No! We can't! There must be another option!" I pleaded, my voice trembling with panic. It seemed like he didn't grasp the gravity of the situation.

"There's nowhere else, Clay... Why is going to your house such a big deal? Sure, it might be a bit messy, but we can handle it," George replied, seemingly oblivious to my distress.

"No, George. It's not about the mess..."

I frowned, my gaze fixated on the ground, avoiding direct eye contact with him.

"Then let me explain," I said, my voice filled with reluctance.

George furrowed his brow, sensing my hesitation. He knew I was keeping something from him.

"George..." I trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

"Clay, why is it such a big deal to go to your house? I need to understand because we're running out of options. My place isn't safe, and I don't have anyone else I can rely on around here," he pleaded, frustration evident in his voice.

I sighed, feeling defeated, and raised my hands in a gesture of surrender, my eyebrows raised as if to say, "Fine, I'll tell you."

"George... It's my dad," I managed to say weakly, my voice barely audible.

He furrowed his brow, his confusion evident. "What about your father?" he asked, seeking clarification.

"He has a condition..." I trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

George, still puzzled, pressed on. "Does he have dietary restrictions like you?"

I shook my head, realizing he wasn't grasping the gravity of the situation. "No, it's not about his eating habits... He has short-term memory loss."

I let out a sigh, struggling to conceal my emotions. "Like Dory? That's alright, why is that such a big deal?" he questioned, his tone tinged with confusion. I paused for a moment, gathering my thoughts before responding. "No, it's not just that..." I hesitated, trying to find the right words.

"Then what is it?" George's expression transformed into one of concern and perplexity. He genuinely wanted to understand.

"He sometimes gets angry when he forgets," I confessed, my voice heavy with resignation. Another sigh escaped me, relieved to have finally shared this burden with him.

"The wounds... The clumsiness? The mugged story... Your dad did those to you?" His face dropped, a mix of realization and sympathy flooding his features.

"Yeah..." I whispered, my voice barely audible, acknowledging the painful truth that had plagued me for so long.

Unbeknownst to me, silent tears had started streaming down my cheeks. When we arrived in my driveway, George pulled me into a tight hug. At that moment, I didn't want him to let go. I let myself cry, allowing all the emotions I had been concealing to pour out.

"I'm sorry... I didn't know," George's voice cracked as he too began to shed tears. It was a watershed moment for him, finally comprehending the depth of everything I had been enduring.

"I-I-I don't want him to hurt you," I croaked, my voice choked with emotion. George gently rubbed my back, doing his best to provide comfort and support.

"He won't. And I won't let him hurt you either."

He smiled, rubbing circles into my back.

"You promise?"