stormy weather (dreamnotfound)

chapter 10 - uncertainty

tw: descriptive self harm // blood

i will add a summary at the end of this chapter if you choose to skip. you can read the beginning and i will say when the mentions will start, or you can skip entirely. please don't feel forced to read this chapter if you think it will trigger you!! stay safe <<3

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I sat in my hospital bed as usual, staring at the boring TV show that played in front of me. Clay was sitting on his phone across the room, laughing at a stupid funny video that he saw ten minutes ago. He wiped the tears from his eyes, launching himself into a wheezing fit again.

"It's really not that funny, the kid literally just said hurricane-" He cut me off with another screech of laughter, slapping his knee while taking a deep breath.

"Chill out," I chuckled, only finding joy in his reaction and not the source of the laughter.

"But do you get the joke? The tortilla chips fell and he-"

"Oh my god, I get the joke already. You sound like a fucking tea kettle. Find a video to cry over next time," I complained as I flipped the remote around in my hands.

The door bust open just as he was about to wheeze again, and I focused my attention over to the doctor that entered the room, followed by my parents.

"Good morning George," she greeted, pushing her glasses up her nose as she walked over to the side of the hospital cot.

"Exciting news, you get to go home today!" the doctor exclaimed, hurriedly jotting notes down on her clipboard. My mom squealed and rushed to my side to pinch my cheeks, and I blushed before swatting her hands away.

"Make sure you refresh the bandages every few hours, and take these every day..." I tuned out her voice as I turned my head towards Clay, who sat back in the chair with a relieved look on his face. He smiled when he noticed me, and I pressed my lips together in an attempt to hold back my own.

Every part of me wanted to jump out of bed and hug him, to thank him over and over again for saving me and for being here when I couldn't be with him. I fought it though, and tore my gaze from his and tried to focus on the doctor.

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~tw~

Clay's POV

I stared into the bathroom sink, clenching my fingers around the marble counter. My jaw tightened while I screwed up my face in an attempt to forget.

I pressed my shoulders to my ears, sighing deeply. I tried to rub my hands together to stop the trembling but it had no effect on me.

I had done it for a while, and it never seemed to help. But I couldn't stop.

Even though life was decent right now, and George was getting better, I couldn't fight the compulsion. I was drawn to it, so quick to give into the short relief it brought. I let it control me almost every night, once I was away from everyone and was left with my own thoughts.

Even so, I hated feeling bad for myself. Pitying myself made me feel disgusting, yet I did every time I saw the red liquid pool in the slits.

I didn't want to burden anyone with my problems. I didn't want to talk about it, or let people know how weak I really was. So, I dealt with it alone and hid it under my sleeve.

My heart started to beat faster as it always did, sending a familiar chill down my spine. I rolled up my sleeves and brought the small blade up to my bare wrist, taking a quick look at my other heavily scarred one. I bit my lip as I hesitated for a moment, the feeling of dread in the bottom of my stomach that I knew all too well.