oneshots ↬ clay jensen

it'll get better

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

requested: yes! (tumblr)

summary: liberty is a hard place to be in, but it's a little less hard when clay is there.warnings: thoughts/mentions of su1c1de, depression, and death. overall, all thirteen reasons why warnings apply here. please don't read this if you aren't comfortable with this fic's contents, and you if, by and means, get triggered, don't hesitate to reach out to me!pairing: depressed!reader x clay jensen (no established relationship, but take it as you will!)word count: 1.1k+ words

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

you press the palms of your hands into your eyes, hard enough that you see colorful spots. outside, on the back stairs of the school, you finally feel like you're getting a break. like the whole world isn't yelling at you, isn't taunting or shaming.

you're so tired of your mind constantly reeling, and dumb kids, and the horrible, horrible thoughts. so tired of hearing her story over and over and over again. even if it's so selfish for you to think like that, you wish someone, anyone would look past it and take a break from her.

from the very second you stepped into this school, you've been surrounded by pain, and death, and- and it never stops. why does it never stop?

is it just you? are you the only one who can't stand hearing more? seeing more? living more?

first, it was jeff. and then hannah. then bryce. then monty. and you can't help but feel like it'll get worse, and worse, and never better. you hate that everyone's leaving, even if they're people you don't care about.

and you're sick of it. you're tired. and god, it's not the kind that sleep can fixed, because you've tried. you've tried sleeping more. too much, really, but then you drown in nightmares.

and after the nightmares, it's not like you can go back to sleeping. and you don't meaning going back to sleep after an hour, no, not at all.

you mean days. you mean weeks. you mean months.

people die, and die, and die, and they only mourn for days, it feels like, and then the horrid, horrid jokes begin.

you wouldn't even be able to die in peace, knowing that they'd ridicule you.

no, no, no, you don't want to be a spectacle. you just want... to rest, indefinitely. why is it so hard to do that?

no, hannah wasn't a coward.

she was brave.

and you never knew her, but you knew her. you knew her in the way no one else might ever, because you are her. in a sad, sad way.

and you never knew her, but it still hurt. it hurt because you knew she was good. she was joy, at least for everyone else.

and you never knew her, but you knew clay. and you knew clay saw that joy.

and you never knew her, but it broke something in you.

you can faintly hear the sounds of the creak back door opening, despite the loud beating of your heart in your chest. there's some shuffling of sneakers on the grainy concrete, and you hear someone take a seat beside you.

you don't feel like looking up. maybe if you don't acknowledge their existence, they won't actually be there. right?

a soft voice goes, "hey."