anxious and alone |dnf|

clouds

TW: drugs, addiction, slight withdrawal, de-realisation, and personality change

George's POV:

"Because otherwise I would be dead." His face is blank, it's like he's not even alive. His body sits in a weird way as he has no expression.

"Can you come back home? Please?" I ask. He nods slowly, his skin pale in the dark street lights. On our walk back to his house he begins "I am sober." He tries to explain.

It's bullshit. His pupils are almost fuller than the moon, he smells like burnt plastic and rubber, he continues to swat air from his face as if he's swarmed with bugs, and he isn't himself.

"Okay." I reply. I need to bring him home. What he said stuck with me and he's right. I can't stop him from doing drugs. He's going to kill himself either way and it's going to be my fault.

When we walk into his house he sits on the couch and bounces his leg up and down continuously. I sit across from him. "Clay I care about you and love you so much."

He stares blankly at me. It makes me want to cry. Why doesn't he care? If he's loved me for so long and has wanted nothing but me then why is he acting like he doesn't care. I feel like all I've done is hurt him, and now he's finally realizing. I want to help him. I want him to be happy and healthy. But all I've done is make it worse. He deserves better than me.

"I'm sorry for everything," I explain. "I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen, I just wanted to help you." I sob. "I didn't want to see you in pain."

Clays eyes soften as well as his lips. The sudden change made me smile. "I know." He says.

He becomes restless as I keep him sitting. I can see the items poking through his pockets. "Clay I know you aren't sober."

He becomes defensive. "What the fuck are you talking about? Are you calling me a liar?" His eyebrows furrow. "No. I am not trying to stop you anymore. If you need to do something then you can do it."

He looks confused, but doesn't hesitate to pull out a pipe and lighter. I watch as he lights the bottom of the glass pipe, putting his lips to it and inhaling. He blows out clouds of smoke and leans back into the couch. He rests both hands down as his eye lids flutter opened and closed.

A few minutes pass "I need to go to the bathroom." Clay stands up and walks away.

I grab my phone quickly and dial the numbers 911.

"911 what's your emergency?"

"I'm reporting my friend, he's been using illegal drugs and I'm worried for his and mine safety." I whisper, tears falling down my cheeks. "Is he a threat to your safety?" The operator asks. "Not directly, but he's not himself and I'm afraid of what he is capable of."

I give them the address and hang up. Clay comes back out after 10 minutes and sits down. He notices my stained cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" He asks. I stay quiet for a few minutes, trying to come up with a lie. He takes another drag and another. "You might wanna slow down." He glares at me.

A knock at the door. Clay quickly puts everything back in his pockets, "Who's here?"

"Orlando Police!" A voice says from outside the door. Clay stands up and steps backwards. "What the fuck. You set me up! You fucking bitch!" Clay runs to the bathroom and locks the door, the police enter the house.

I follow Clay to the bathroom, listening as he turns the tap on, swearing under his breath. "Clay I'm sorry. I'm so sorry this is the only way."

By now the 3 police officers stood at the door, trying to break it down. "Son open the door or we will."

"Fuck you!" Clay replies. After a few tries they bust the door open and Clay is seen flushing a plastic bag down the toilet. He tries to run past the officers but to no avail. As they hold him down he tried to fight back, swearing and shouting at me.

"You're fucking dead to me! I hate you! I can't believe you're doing this to me, George." And an occasional "Get the fuck off me! I'm clean!"

I stood in the background silently sobbing, it was like that night all over again. But this time Clay hated me. As the two officers brought Clay to their car, the third stayed back and reassured me. "You did the right thing. He's going to get better."

Clay fought and screamed as he was carried into the car, before they drove off he said something that stuck with me.

"You ruined my life."

~

It will get better