Signed /Dream Team/

55

I feel someone gently nudging my shoulder. Completely unaware of my surroundings, I barely manage to flutter my eyelids open.

Ah yes, I'm in a hotel with Clay. I forgot.

"Do I have work?" I whine, then remember that I decided to miss it while I was asleep.

"I don't think so, it's seven in the morning," Clay checks his phone, "I'm going back to the apartment to bring us clothes, what do you need?"

It's painful how unbelievably clueless I am about everything. I thought this was our last day in the hotel. Well, I'm glad it isn't, but why do I always have to find out what's going on at the last moment?

"How long are we staying here?" I rub my eyes, rolling on my back and pulling the sheets up to cover my body, realizing that I'm naked.

"Three more days," he answers, "or more if you need, it's up to you."

Forcing my brain to work this early in the morning is a real struggle - it barely works when I'm full of energy. I'm sure I need a lot of things, but I can't even think of one.

"Can I come with you?" I'm sure I'm gonna regret this. But it felt like the right thing to say, so I'm going with my gut.

I watch as Clay's brows pull together, "I mean.. if you want to..?" He sounds hesitant, "But are you sure? I can bring whatever you need."

"I don't know, I kinda wanna come," I shrug, "should I not?"

"It's your house, you do what you wanna do," he speaks confidently, handing me my clothes fresh out of the washer, "get dressed and let's go."

I can't help but notice a lot of dryness and aggression in his tone. For a moment I want to tell him to stop bossing around, but then I change my mind in case it' something serious and he snaps back at me. I'll get dressed for now and we'll see what happens later.

Or I'll ask like normally like mature people do. But for now, I'll get dressed.

I did. In silence. And now he's barely containing himself cause the bandage on his tattoo is stuck to his hair.

"Let me," I get closer to him, trying my best to pull it off without giving him a bald patch, "there you go."

"Are you done?"

Wow, he doesn't even say thank you. I wonder who stepped on his balls.

"What's wrong?" I find a nicer way to phrase it.

"Nothing," I'd be surprised if he said anything else.

"Oh wow, okay." As much as I didn't want to sound pissed, I still do. Cause I don't know what to think. Does it have anything to do with me? He seemed to be okay hours ago.

Clay sighs, running his fingers through his hair - a nervous habit he has, "I was on the phone with George when you were asleep and I got mad."

My stomach twists as I stand there speechless. I want to know the details, but at the same time, I don't. My curiosity gets the best of me though.

"What were you talking about?" I know the topic's just as unpleasant to him as it is to me.

"Just him telling me that he trusted me and I'm a traitor," there's pain in his voice, "and also that I'm untrustworthy and I lied to him. You know, the usual."

I can't say that I am not disgusted by what George did to me. I hate him with my whole heart for it. But I don't think it's fair for me to step between them and affect negatively on their friendship. Well, I already did unwillingly, but I don't want to have anything to do with this whole thing anymore.

"Listen, I really appreciate everything you did and do for me, but at this point just go be with your friends," I shake my head, "I'll be okay, don't mess with years worth of friendship because of me. I'll be fine, honestly."

"I'm not messing with anything. I told him I don't support his idea way back when he came up with it, I don't know what he expected me to do."

"He probably didn't expect you to tell me," even though George is in the wrong, still, I think it's unbelievable how Clay made the decision to tell me.

And by recalling memories from here and there, I even think Clay promised George not to tell. There's this conversation I remember overhearing where Clay said that he doesn't care about me and doesn't want to talk about the topic ever again. Surely it was a huge unpleasant surprise for George to end up in this position.

"It's not like I wanted to be involved in this, he was just crossing all the lines and I-" he's getting irritated, "whatever, I don't wanna talk about it."

Understandable.

I sigh, digging in my bag to find the concealer I took with me. I know it's not the time to be egotistical, but I don't want George to see my dark undereyes and think that I have been crying because of him. Not like I haven't been, I just don't want him to know.

And after minutes worth of silence, Clay sighs, "Can we go?" He asks, and I quickly smear some more concealer over everything.

"Yeah," I attempt to comb my hair with my fingers as a finishing touch cause I'm scared to make him wait for any longer. Whatever, it looks okay, "let's go."

And the silence is back.

We might've taken the long way when we came here cause I remember walking for ages. To be fair, we were lost, but it still surprising to find out that in reality it's a 10 minute walk. We get home in no time and the feelings I get from just looking at the apartment building are unpleasant, to say the least. The elevator smell offends my nostrils once again, and the curved doormat is abusing my eyes.

Clay rings the doorbell then knocks aggressively as a follow up, not waiting even a second between the two acts.

"I have keys," I whisper at him, not wanting to cause any inconvenience to the neighbors in case they're asleep.

Before Clay can speak, George opens the door.

I really thought I wouldn't care.

Ugh.

He's taken aback by my presence. Takes a few steps that lack confidence and holds the door open for us. I try my best to look unbothered, paying more attention to the piece of gum in my mouth than to his face.

And Clay does his part of making sure George is nowhere near me by putting his hand on my back and leading me inside.

There's an unsettling sensation building in my chest when I see multiple packed bags and suitcases leaned against the wall. The house looks and feels deserted.

The only thing warming my heart through the emptiness is Patches' little meow as she happily rubs against Clay's ankles.

"Awh," Clay gets on his knees to pet her, "come here, baby."

I smile seeing her little paws stretch to Clay's neck as he lifts her up with him. And it seems like I was too caught up in the moment to notice how George was standing right behind me the whole time.

"Ana.." I nearly jump feeling his hand on my shoulder. I flinch away with a heartache, not understanding how things went so wrong that the touch that would give me butterflies days ago is now something I'm avoiding.

The room gets silent again.

"Do not fucking dare," Clay's eyes are dangerously cold on George, but they soften when he looks at me, "go get the things you need."