Best Friend ~Dreamnotfound

38

Silence. Tears. Everything was spinning. Clay was never meant to find out. It's been weeks and not once did George skip a day. His arms were horrible. Pain. Lots of pain. George felt like he was going to pass out.

How did Clay even find out?

Because George was stupid. George flinched in pain when his boyfriend grabbed his arm to pull him in for a hug. Such a simple and loving gesture exposed George.

Not only were there tears falling from George's eyes, but tears spilled from Clay's, too. They just sat in silence. No one dared to speak. George was scared to move. Clay didn't want to scare the brunet, so he just stayed still.

Everything was disrupted when Clay leaned forward and pulled George into his chest. More tears fell from the both of them, yet everything was still silent. George nuzzled his head against Clay's chest, he just laid there in his boyfriend's arms.

"I'm sorry." George chokes out a whisper.

"Baby, why?"

George knew Clay was asking why he hurt himself, but he just couldn't find an answer. The first time George cut himself in the bathtub, he became addicted. George was addicted to self-harm. He was addicted to the way the physical pain distracted him from the mental pain. He was addicted to the way the blood seeped out and dripped down his arm.

"I don't know."

"Ok, let's calm down. We need to calm down." Clay speaks. "We aren't getting anywhere if we're both sat here crying."

Clay starts taking deep breaths and George follows. Clay's tears stop first, so he carefully sits George up and pulls him so his back is against his chest. Clay wraps his arms around the front of George, resting his hands in his lap.

Now that George is sat up and wrapped in Clay's arms once again, he stops crying. Clay had pulled George's sleeves back down so his arms weren't visible anymore.

Instead of talking, Clay squeezes George and kisses the top of his head, a way of showing that he's still there for him. He whispers to George to make sure he doesn't talk because frankly, neither of them were ready for the truth yet.

It takes about ten minutes of silence and comfort for George to turn around. He keeps his head down, not making eye contact with Clay yet. He fiddled with his fingers that were in his lap, focusing on them. When he was finally ready to speak, he looked up and met eyes with Clay.

"I'm sorry. I don't really know what else to say."

"Why did you do it?"

"I don't know. I guess it was just a way to turn the hurt into something physical. And before you ask, I don't know what the hurt is. I just know it feels so good when I turn it into something that I know what it is."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Clay looks hurt.

"I didn't want you to know because I know you'd want me to stop. I don't want to stop, Clay."

"George. You are physically harming yourself. You need to stop. I know it's going to be hard, but I will be by your side every second it takes."

"Clay, you don't understand. You don't know what it feels like to feel like this. I'm hurting, but I don't know why. I don't know where it's coming from. When I cut myself, I turn that hurt into something I can pinpoint and it feels so fucking good."

"I'm sure there are other ways to cope. You are cutting yourself, George."

"I knew you wouldn't understand." George mumbles.

"Baby," George's eyes flicker up.

"Hm?"

"I love you so much. It's scary how much I love you and want to be with you. You make me so happy, and seeing you hurt, let alone on purpose, breaks me."

"I'm sorry."

"Come here."

George does just that. When he moves up to Clay, Clay pulls his sleeves up. He takes one of George's arms and plants a few kisses on his cuts. He carefully sets it down and grabs his other arm, doing the same thing.

When he finishes, Clay wraps his arms around George's waist and pulls the brunet onto his lap. He places a kiss onto George's forehead, then his nose, then his lips. The kiss between the two lasts longer than Clay had wanted it to, but when George kisses back and doesn't pull away, Clay can't be mad.

Clay could never be mad when he's kissing George. Hell, he can never be mad at George in general. When Clay finally pulls away, he makes eye contact with George. George looks up at the blond with wet eyelashes and flushed cheeks.

"You're so adorable. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"I don't want you to promise me that you'll never cut again, but can you please tell me whenever you have the urge? Can you tell me when you're hurting so I can be there to comfort you?" Clay asks, desperation lacing his voice.

George nods his head. "I mean it." He tells Clay.

"Do you want to make a code word?"

"I think that would be a good idea."

"Do you have anything in mind?"

"Rose," George says confidently.

"Can I ask why?"

"It's because a rose symbolizes love. So whenever I want to self-harm, I can say 'rose' and you'll be there to make me feel loved."

"I like that." George doesn't respond to that but does say something else.

"Hey, Clay?"

"Yeah?"

"Rose."

Clay knew exactly what to do. He carefully pulled George into a hug and gave him some kisses on his face.

"Do you want to go to bed?" Clay whispers.

"Please."

So, Clay quickly but carefully gets off of the bed and turns his light off, then gets under the sheets with George. He pulls George up against him and they both lay there. Before George slips into the state of sleep, he hears something that makes him tear up a little.

"Good night, my love. I will forever love you. Never forget that."