Breathe

decrease.

"George, you do remember that my hands are fucked up, right ?" Clay said slowly. Surely, George had to be joking.

"Yes, I remember," George answered. "You haven't played in forever. What harm could it do to just try ?"

Clay snorted, a simmering anger rising in his chest. "What harm could it do ? Are you serious ?"

George stepped back slightly. "Yeah, I'm serious," he said defensively. "Just for a few minutes. The more you use your hands, even if it hurts, the quicker your healing will be."

Clay stood up and moved to the other side of the room. "You don't get it, George. Do you realize how painful it is for me to move my fucking fingers ? That every time I even type a program, no matter how slow I go, my hands feel like they're on fire ? Does that make sense ?"

"Yes, it does, I just-"

"You just what, George ? Forgot ? Didn't remember that what I did to myself ruined me in more ways than one ?"

George sighed, tears starting to form in his eyes. "No, I just thought-"

"Well don't."

George stepped back in shock. "What- Clay, I-"

Clay threw his head back. "You what, George ?"

The older boy sank back slowly in the desk chair. "I just wanted to help you."

"I don't need your help, George. I never did. Don't try to help me, seriously. It doesn't make things better. It doesn't reverse what I did. You only make things worse." With that, he turned and left the room, slamming the door on his way out.

George sank even further into the chair and cried. The sobs shook his body as he clung to the chair like it was his lifeline. This couldn't be real. Clay didn't mean it. He couldn't. Why would he do that to him, why would he say that-

Coughing, George pulled himself up to a standing position. He opened the door and went to his room, where he promptly sat against the shut door and put his head in his hands. He had no words; they were taken from him by his best friend. Instead, he just cried, letting his fear lay exposed on the floor like a child in the cold. 

______

Clay needed air more than anything. 

The audacity-

Stepping out onto the front porch, he flopped into one of the chairs and let the frozen air nip at his exposed face. He sighed heavily, letting the past five minutes play back over and over again in his mind.

"I just thought-"

"Well don't."

Slowly, as he replayed everything in his mind, he realized he fucked up. George had truly wanted to help. He remembered the hurt on George's face as he reflexively ran out of the room. He saw the ache in George, the longing to help, as Clay fought with knives.

"You only make things worse."

You. You only make things worse. Not what George had said or done, but George himself. You only make things worse. 

He stood up suddenly. He had to go apologize to George. Clay had fucked everything up. oh god he's going to hate me-

Running up the stairs, he headed straight to George's room, but when he got there, he heard George talking to Nick on the other side.

"And I'm p-pretty sure he h-hates me," George sobbed. Footsteps sounded on the floor- Nick had moved to comfort George, Clay assumed.

"He doesn't hate you, George," Nick assured the older boy. "He's just hurting right now. He's lost one of the things he loves the most. Naturally, he lashed out."

Clay evaluated this. Had he lashed out ?

After no consideration at all, he concluded that yes, he had lashed out.

"I just want him b-better," George cried softly. "Th-there's nothing I c-can do ! He won't let me h-help him !"

"You can't force him, George," Nick said, pain tinging his voice as well. "You have to let him breathe at his own pace. He'll turn around soon, I promise."

Clay couldn't listen anymore. He crossed the hall and went into his own room, where he sat at the desk and pulled up Minecraft.

I'm going to prove it to him. I can do it. I can do it for George.

He opened a single-player survival world, and slowly, he started getting the things he needed. He collected a couple of logs, and things were looking great, but by the time he needed to get stone (about two minutes later), he was in agony.

Clay closed the game. Looking at his fingers, he noticed they were swollen and incredibly stiff. Clay put his head in his hands and felt tears starting to run down his cheeks. He couldn't play Minecraft anymore. He hurt George. Slowly, his body began to shake as he cried.

chipping away like skin and bones. shattering the world with nothing but his fists. piercing with knives made of diamonds. chipping away, chipping, chipping....