But We're Not Normal

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Clay felt more and more torn with every step he took towards he and Vincent's house. He was able to forget, while out with Keres, but now the hot weight of he and Vincent's earlier argument weighed heavy on his shoulders.

As was normal for them, the argument had been Vincent saying all the right things in the most blunt way possible and Clay not wanting hear them, getting angry and saying things he didn't mean. This time it was about George and Keres.

Really, Clay should be thankful that Vincent cared so much for George and, on any other day, the idea would make Clay impossibly soft. Today, though, it had just made him angry. It wasn't Vincent's place to govern he and George's relationship, was what he had thought.

Vincent had insisted he talk to George, as if Clay wasn't already planning on it, and to cancel meeting with Keres until after he had talked to George. As if Clay had a choice. As if Clay didn't wish he could be done with Keres. As if Clay didn't wish he could just call George and not worry about anything else.

But Clay realised now. He wasn't as cornered as he'd thought he was. He was blinded but the pressure management had put on him. He could have called George and postponed his meeting with Keres. He could have talked to George first and made sure that he never once had to wonder what Clay's intentions were. Once again, Clay found himself wondering how he could apologise to Vincent. But first he wanted to clear things up with George.

And that was his plan. Get back to the house, call George and explain himself, then call Vincent and apologise. That's what he'd do. Or, at least, that's what he thought he'd do.

"What are you doing here?" Clay asked as he rounded the corner to the sitting room. Car parked out front, pristine shoes by the door. He wasn't even trying to hide.

"You wouldn't return my calls." He replied, as if it was obvious. The man had such a talent for making Clay's blood boil within seconds that Clay wondered how he had ever managed to work for him for this long.

"I was with Keres." Clay responded, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe. The words sounded something like a challenge.

"I saw." He continued nonchalantly. Clay wanted to kick in his perfectly straight, white teeth and tear his perfectly laundered suit to shreds. Even the way he sat pissed Clay off. Like he had a stick up his ass and that made him better than everyone else.

"What do you want from me, Damien? I did what you asked. Leave me alone so I can talk to George." Clay growled, stomping his way toward his room, only to be stopped by the sound of his manager gracefully whipping into standing.

"That's what I came here to talk to you about." Damien interrupted largely, smoothing down nonexistent rumples in his blazer. "That boy is nothing but a distraction, Clayton. I'd like for you to stop talking to him." He stated, coolly, as if he had simply asked Clay to pass him the salt or something similarly meaningless. Clay kept his back to the wretched man, hands clenched at his sides.

"What?" Clay whispered, body trembling with a disgustingly dark rage. Damien huffed, as if repeating the request was such a burden to him.

"Ever since this George came along, you have been distracted with these menial tasks - don't make me remind you of your little escapade to London - and I won't have it any longer. He's nothing but a bad influence on you and I'd like for him to be removed, effective immediately." After delivering his news, Damien decided his presence wasn't necessary any longer - especially if Clay was going to attempt to argue with him - and began making his way to the door. He'd done what he came to do.