Signed /Dream Team/

58

I was starting to lose hope and preparing myself to go back up and see what was going on. But then I saw Clay coming out of the building. The hood of his hoodie was blocking my view of almost half of his face as he was walking with his head hung low - eyes focused on the ground. And even though I couldn't see his eyes, I was more than certain his brows were pulled together.

Both Nick and I stand up, feeling alert as Clay quickly approaches us. And he looks intimidating even though there's barely any expression on his face. The closer he gets, the more Nick fidgets in his place.

"Hey, hi," Nick speaks.

Clay blinks at him, moving his gaze to me without a word, "Are you okay?" He asks, as if I am the one needing the attention.

"I am," I quickly answer, drifting the topic back to something more important, "are you okay?"

"He looks okay," Nick doesn't give him the chance to answer. He jumps in immediately, "is George okay? Is he alive at least?"

Clay doesn't appreciate the question and he barely comes up with an answer because of how annoyed he is. It's not a surprise that the answer barely covers any cracks.

"Go check on him if you're so worried." The way he says it makes me think that he just wants to get rid of Nick.

"There's probably a crime scene there and you want my DNA in it," Nick vigorously shakes his head, which makes me think that his words are not a joke. That's a real concern he has.

Both of us look at him confused, but there's annoyance washed over Clay's features. I can tell how tense his muscles are just by looking at his face, it's almost like he morphed back into the grumpy-annoyed state that was dominating him throughout the first few weeks since I moved here.

"I mean- whatever, we're leaving," he shrugs, taking his hand out of his pocket and gently pulling my arm.

I hesitantly walk towards Clay, taking in a breath as his hand drops from my forearm to my fingers, intertwining them immediately to make sure I stay glued to his side.

"You're leaving me with George again?" I can't explain how comical the pain in Nick's voice is. He sounds utterly disappointed, and I feel bad for finding it hilarious.

Clay rolls his eyes and smacks his mouth, starting to walk away and obviously dragging my body with him. I look back at Nick and wave him goodbye with my free hand, pressing my lips together as he pouts.

And as we're walking to the hotel and Clay's not loosening his grip on my hand, I start observing the situation in my head. I feel so weird that I'm not as mad at George and Nick as I should be while Clay is not even half as forgiving of them as he should be. Even if his emotions are more pronounced than mine, which I'm sure that they are, it's still hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that he's treating his friends so brutally because of how they treated me. Someone who's not even half as important to him.

A few times I try to ask what happened up there but I choke right before anything can leave my throat. Just by the way he's walking aggressively and keeping the tight grip on my hand, I can tell that this isn't the best time to start a conversation.

For some reason, with an unexplained instinct, I choose to rub circles with my thumb on the cold skin of his hand. I didn't think much of it, yet when I feel his hand jerk away, I flinch.

He hides his hand in his pocket for the rest of the walk back to the hotel. And that's a good enough reason for me to not make any more unreasonable moves and keep my mouth shut till we get there.

It's not long until we're sitting on the opposite sides of the hotel bed, awkwardly staring at the TV screen as I realize that we've been watching commercials for minutes now. Maybe I should talk.

I clear my throat and shift in my seat, straightening my back and leaning against the headboard. It made our positions contrast. His body was way more relaxed - back slouched, ankles crossed casually even though his foot was jittering.

I take in a breath.

"What did you talk about?" I get straight to the point, not feeling confident about how my voice sounded. It was almost inaudible.

Clay sighs before speaking, "Nothing really," he doesn't sound nearly as convincing as he thinks he does, "why?"

I don't have a reasonable answer to his question. Saying that I'm just really nosy and I want to know everything won't be ideal in this case.

"Just... figured I would ask," I shrug, "it's okay if you don't want to answer."

Clay stays unbothered after my words. Another five minutes pass in complete silence and he finally decides to speak.

"What did Nick say?" He turns his head to look at me, keeping the gaze until I return the act.

"He apologized," I answer honestly.

"And you forgave him?"

I break the eye contact, "Yeah..?"

"That easily?"

I pause at his words cause the way they sound passive-aggressive hurts me. I find myself nodding half-heartedly instead of voicing my answer and feel judged seeing the lack of reaction. He just tilts his head back at the screen and says nothing.

"Well I forgive easily," I manage to get his attention back on me, "and I don't hold grudges. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's how I am, I don't know."

And the silence returns for another couple of minutes before he breaks it, "That just makes you vulnerable."

Oh.

I frown, crossing my arms in a defensive state and looking away. It makes him soften up a bit and sigh, muttering a small "sorry" under his breath.

"Oh well," I chuckle, the pain in my voice vibrant.

He presses his lips together and sighs again, throwing his head back at a loss of words. I lay down and involuntarily turn my back to him, staring at the wall as I feel his hand on my shoulder.

"I didn't mean it that way," he finally speaks, "I'm sorry, that came out harsh."

"Mhm." I'm not even hurt or mad at him.

Or maybe I am a bit hurt. Just a little bit. Just enough to make me jerk away from his touch.