Ruin The Friendship [ dreamwastaken x reader ]

33 | aggravated

Matt stumbles back immediately. Clay shakes his hand and follows, walking at him with confidence like he's the fucking terminator or some shit—

I'm completely frozen, watching in what feels like slow motion. I caused this. I didn't want this. I don't want Clay to get hurt.

It's weird in a way, that other people around and near the store haven't noticed what's happening quite yet. It feels like we're in a bubble.

Then, Matt shouts.

"What the fuck, man?"

A few people turn to look for that, watching just in time to witness Clay slam his fist directly into Matt's face. There's a scream from somewhere, commotion elsewhere, people noticing what's unfolding.

Matt stumbles back, lifting a hand to the blood pouring from his nose, then pulling it back and looking at it like a gesture of disbelief.

"Learn some fucking social cues." Clay spits out, then literally spits. "And leave her the fuck alone."

Do I moan? Yes. Do my thighs clench? Also yes.

Sadly, his up-streak doesn't last long.

Matt charges, and though Clay dodges the punch, he doesn't dodge the grapple. Suddenly they're backing up, fast. I step aside with a yelp as they slam into the wall right next to me.

Matt pays Clay back for his second punch, right into his face, giving him the exact same bloody nose. It's... hard to watch.

"When I'm done with you, I'm fucking your girlfriend." Matt starts, then punches again while Clay struggles. "I bet that whore screams nice—"

Something in Clay's expression briefly breaks through the calm facade. Shit. He's losing his mental.

I have to look away, breath feeling more and more labored, curling in on myself.

I notice a few things, a person recording, the manager of the gas station on the phone with likely the police, and a few gawkers.

I look back in time to see Clay knee Matt in the stomach as he simultaneously slams their foreheads together. It's successful in dazing Matt, but I watch him flinch as well.

He's not self-preserving anymore, he's fighting with intent.

Clay takes the opening to charge, knocking Matt to the ground and climbing on top of him. There's a rough minute struggle, Matt thrashing against Clay, slamming punches to his body while Clay plants his palm to Matt's likely broken nose and presses with his whole weight.

Finally, Clay reels back and punches Matt in the face, hard enough there's a wet crunch.

I hear sirens as Clay punches again.

He punches again.

And again.

Until the mother fucker is slept, knocked out, limp under him, everyone standing around too afraid to approach.

"Sit, bitch." Clay says, then spits blood in his face, pulling back, slowly rising up to standing.

I finally find the ability to walk, and run up, wrapping around Clay from behind, helping him lift.

"We have— we have— we have to fucking go—" I stutter out between breaths, seeing the flash of sirens down the street.

Clay grunts, leaning into me, obviously pretty badly beat himself. I take the lead, tugging him off toward— anywhere but here.

We stumble together, breath labored, heads low. I don't dare to speak, focusing my whole being into putting one foot in front of the other as Clay limps next to me, leaning against me.