But We're Not Normal

Sorry

Clay couldn't breathe. George was coming to Florida. George was currently on a plane to Florida. George was currently on a plane to Clay. George was coming to Clay.

George couldn't be coming to Clay. No. Damien would definitely find out that George was coming to Clay. What if he did something to George? Clay wouldn't be able to live with himself if Damien did something to George.

Would Damien do something to George? He probably- No. No, he definitely would. Clay had to stop George. How? Damien would let him talk to George to tell him not to come, right? Maybe?

But Clay didn't want to tell him not to come. Clay really wanted to see George. He could explain himself if he saw George. He could hold George and tell him he loves him and ask him not to move on to Ophelia. But if George comes, he could get hurt.

Would Damien hurt George? Clay didn't know. Damien didn't like not getting his way. Damien did what it took to get what he wanted. Damien might hurt George.

But Clay had already hurt George, emotionally at least. Clay had already hurt George. Clay had hurt George. Clay had hurt George.

Clay was spiralling out of control and Keres could see it on his face as clear as day. They had gone to the park, just Clay and Keres, in an attempt to clear their minds after a relatively sleepless night. Ever since the day Clay had confided in them, they had all decided it was best to stay together and each slept over with Clay and Vincent - they had the space to spare anyways. But their company didn't always help to quell Clay's darkening thoughts.

They had left early, while the grass was still cold underfoot, and barely said a word as they sat side by side, nursing their wounds. Clay's phone had buzzed a unique tone - George's tone - and he had pulled it out to read the messages as they came through. From then, Clay had become unresponsive, staring wide eyed at the screen and struggling around increasingly shortened breaths.

Keres didn't know what to do. She'd never dealt with a panic attack before, none but her own. She desperately tried to recall the last time someone had helped her through one and what they'd done. She distantly remembered what her ex used to do and, in a moment of sheer desperation and panic, forgot all else.

Clay was snapped back to reality by a pair of soft lips on his. They were there for the barest moment, awkward and not quite right, before Keres pulled back with wide and teary eyes.

"What did I just do?" She whispered, shocked and disappointed in herself. Did she not think of George? Of where they were? Of who may have seen? Of how Clay would have felt?

"Oh gosh.. I was- I was just trying to help. You were having- having a panic attack and," She shuffled further from Clay, who watched with equally wide eyes. "I remembered that- that my ex used to do that to bring me back when- when I was being hysterical." She clutched tightly at her arms, wishing to disappear into her warm yellow cardigan and never resurface.

"I- I wasn't thinking... I just wanted to help.. oh gosh, I've ruined everything, what about George? What if someone took a picture? George will be so upset, it's all my fault.. you must hate me." Keres lifted a hand to the base of her throat, nails digging in to the pale skin. Clay reached over to stop her and Keres flinched back, raising both of her forearms to cover her head and ducking, body trembling.

"..Please don't hurt me.." She whispered in a broken tone.

"I'm not.. I'm not going to hurt you, Keres. Please calm down.." Clay murmured, reaching for her once again but slower this time, fingers splayed. Keres shook her head, flinching when Clay's hands rested on her shoulders but not moving away from them.