George sat in his chair. The anger he'd initially felt had been replaced by disappointment, then with shame. The vulnerability complex that had been rooted deep into him from childhood was at fault here - he'd opened up about his feelings, and now he was now reaping what he had sowed.
He wondered how Clay was doing. Probably unaffected, sleeping or cooking. Sleep was the last thing on his crowded mind, thoughts and insecurities nagging at him, forcing him to replay the hurt he felt after the rejection.
He'd been basically stewing in his own negative thoughts when a knock sounded at the door. He didn't budge, however, not even fully snapping out of his daze enough to realize someone was in the other side, waiting for an answer.
"George, please." If the knock hadn't done much to get his attention, he was fully alert after hearing the familiar voice. "Let me see you."
Clay sounded hurt. George wanted to be glad, wanted to be satisfied that the man that made him go through so much was feeling the same, but he couldn't. He wanted to throw open that door and jump into his friend's arms, to forgive him in a blink of an eye and pretend nothing had ever happened.
He involuntarily reached out towards the door with his hand. He couldn't muster up enough courage to actually stand up and pull on the knob, so he stayed rooted in place, even as he heard a defeated sigh from the other side of the door and heavy feet shuffling away.
Could be even feel anything? Or was he pretending? As a kid, his mom always used to tell him how desensitized he was. Even though he tried not to take it to heart, deep down, the repeated remark made him believe there was something deeply wrong with him. Maybe he was just broken, and it had always been his destiny to fake emotions and dance around to put on a show for other people's pleasure, like some sort of twisted marionette.
His back was starting to ache from being slumped over in the chair. He got up, burying himself in the pillows in his bed. Being face down like this made it easier to get completely wrapped up in his thoughts - not even a sliver of light could reach his eyes through all the cushions.
Funny thing, how childhood traumas affected him even now, he thought. It was pathetic, letting just a few memories dictate how he lived his life. He was past that, after all, wasn't he? But he found himself returning to the methods he used to comfort himself as a child after he'd witnessed a particularly gnarly fight between his parents, before going to his childhood best friend's funeral, or during something as silly as a loud thunderstorm. And that method was to isolate.
Since he'd never learnt how to deal with his emotions in a healthy way and all he was taught was that no one cared, he deemed it best to not try at all. Instead, he was to tough it out alone before he were back to normal as to not bother anyone. He remembered his mother's voice, still etched so deep into his memory.
"Shame on you, acting up like that. What's wrong with you? Crying is for little boys."
No one cared about him enough to go out of their way to listen to him blabbing about his problems.
"Me and your dad are busy, honey. Can't you deal with it yourself? You're a big boy, go to your room."
He cringed at the searing words that had marked themselves into his brain, leaving burn marks that always reminded him of what he was. He just wanted someone who cared about him no matter what, who'd go to great lengths to make sure he was okay-
Clay.
He'd care, right? He'd cared up until now, what was one more little bump on the road? There was going to be a lot of those, George thought. Being someone like him, he was doomed to make problems from the start. That's all he did.
"Don't you think you've done enough? Get out of my sight!"
The boiling anger from the previous words was replaced by icy strictness, gliding over his skin with a sharp edge, threatening to dip and cut into the skin.
An image of a little boy hunched over an ornate vase on the floor, smashed to pieces. A surge of panic as he tried to gather up the pieces to make it whole again. Footsteps down the corridor. Difficulty to breathe. Shouting. Crying, apologizing.
That's all he'd ever done. Be pathetic, break things, apologize. The reactions he got from owning up to the things he did wrong only pushed him towards brushing his wrongdoings off.
A knock on the door.
Silence as George lay face down, unmoving. He was completely cut off from the outside world, enveloped in pitch black.
Another knock, then another. Persistent, hurried requests to be let in.
The sound didn't go away.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Each tap chipped away at George's skull. Slowly, slowly.
The same little boy was under a bed, cowering in fear as he held his tattered doll. Rapid raps on the wood of his door. A hand over his own mouth so he wouldn't breathe too loud. A creak as it slowly opened, the light from the hallway casting an elongated silhouette of a man on the floor in front of the bed.
Distorted, quivering words. Disciplining him, shaming him, blaming him for all he had done, all he had ruined - their lives, dreams, marriage. Hot tears running down his cheeks, down his neck, down, down, down, creating a puddle below him that rose into a sea, crawling up his neck and into his mouth, nose and ears, drowning him.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The words that he heard this time weren't distorted. They were steady and warm, enveloping him in a glowing haze.
"George, please, please open up." A sound of fingers sliding down the door. "Please."
George rolled over, his legs moving on their own. He turned the lock, pulling down the knob above it.
He realized he'd been crying only when a warm hand reached up to wipe the tears away.
"George..." Clay stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "Hey, George... It's okay."
He felt even more tears roll down his cheeks. Even if he'd been able to make out the face of the man standing in front of him, he couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye.
"I thought... I thought i-it'd be better now." He abruptly stopped, choking back a sob.
The hands on his face couldn't keep up with the flood of tears, so they just gave up, comfortingly holding him instead.
"George, whatever it is... I'm here." Clay wrapped his arms around George's shoulders, fully enveloping him in his hold. "You can talk to me."
"It hurts, Clay. I thought I was over it." He shakily breathed in, wiping at his eyes with the palm of his hands. "The m-memories, they're too much. I-"
He was led to the bed. The comforting softness was too welcoming to pass on, so he sat back on it, the arms of his friend lovingly draping a blanket over him.
"George, I have no idea what memories you're talking about..." The mattress shifted as Clay sat down next to him, hugging George to himself. "It's okay to hurt from things you thought you were over. It happens."
He was wrapped in his friend's arms for what felt like ages. All the while, Clay had been patiently waiting for his breathing to get back to normal.
When it felt like he wasn't being suffocated by his tears anymore, he clutched the arm draped over him.
"Clay... I feel so stupid." All he got as a response was quiet shushing as he was pulled closer. "No, really. I was just thinking of... stuff from when I was a kid. Not a good time, y'know?"
He bitterly chuckled to himself. Understatement of the year. But he didn't want to burden anyone by dishing out all the details of his troubled childhood.
"George. You don't have to downplay it. Just tell me."
He wondered what Clay's face looked like right now. Cute as always, of course, but what would his expression be? Pity? He hated that. Nothing at all? He wasn't sure if he preferred that over the former. He tilted his head back to see a completely different emotion depicted on the face he loved so much - worry.
His eyebrows were furrowed in concern, eyes darting in between George's, as if they'd give away the answer.
He felt the tears drying on his cheek. He swiped at them with his hand, looking back down to escape the concerned gaze of his friend.
"Well, I didn't just think I was over it, I should have been over it. It's just a bunch of silly memories." His head was spinning from having cried recently, his wet cheeks cold from the air hitting it. "It's stupid. You know, a lot of people have it worse. I shouldn't even-"
"The fact that others have it worse doesn't make your experiences invalid." He felt a weight on his head as Clay placed his cheek above it, holding him against himself. "If you wanna talk about it, I'm h-"
"I really don't, Clay."
"I'm here either way." The bed shifted next to George as his friend adjusted his position to make himself more comfortable. "We can just sit in silence. I don't wanna leave you alone right now."
George leaned back into the warm body of his friend. "You smell nice." Fresh aromas of fruit and vegetables were drifting off him. "Were you cooking?"
"I was making food for you." He slid his fingers through George's soft hair. "But then I came to the door and I... I heard you crying. So I just rushed in."
George wrapped his arms around the hand holding him. He could feel himself dozing off, everything turning into a blur.
"Hey, George?" Clay softly asked, peering down at the heavy lidded man in his hold. "I'm gonna let you sleep now."
He stood up, unwrapping himself from his friend, but the grasp on his arm stayed firm.
"Please stay."
Clay got into bed as George laid back into the layer of cushions he'd been crying in before. He turned over, pulling George against his chest again.
George finally felt at peace. Whatever was going to come tomorrow, he'd deal with it. One step at a time, he reminded himself, and snuggled closer to his friend.