Breathe

decrease.

To put it simply, Clay's physical therapy for his hands was not going great at all.

Though he was in less pain overall, Clay had not gained full dexterity or range of motion back, and whenever he moved his fingers, they were stiff and electrified with pain. The nerve damage from the cuts was extensive, and it had been four months. According to every hand specialist Clay saw, he should have recovered by now, if he was going to recover at all. They told him that if he continued with his physical therapy, he might be able to gain some range of motion back, but in terms of full dexterity, things weren't looking good.

This broke Clay's heart. Before his attempt, his work was Minecraft. That was his job. He would play Minecraft for eight to ten hours a day, be it in a recording, stream, or just simply for fun. Now, he couldn't even position his fingers on the strafe keys without feeling pain wind up his arm and into his shoulder. The reality was that he was not the same Minecraft player he used to be. He was going to lose subscribers and followers, he was going to lose fans, he was going to be the YouTuber who tried to kill himself.

It was bound to happen that the community find out about his attempt eventually. Some part of Clay wanted to just bite the bullet and make a video, face-cam and all, revealing what he went through and ultimately, spilling his secrets to the world. But there was a bigger, gnawing fear that overcame that part of Clay every time he thought about it. It told him that people were going to hate him. People were going to despise him because of what he had done to himself. They were going to hate him for what he did to Nick and George.

Selfish. Thinking about yourself. Should have gotten professional help sooner. So many things you could have done differently. It didn't even work. Can't even do one thing right. Explains why Nick and George hate you. Failure. 

He knew that nothing his mind told him was true, but it still chipped away at him, little by little, like someone carving a statue.

chipping away like shattered glass. staring into the face of oblivion and blinking first. pleading with the gods only to have them banish you into yourself. wishing it were different. chipping away, chipping....

Clay had only really tried to play Minecraft once since his attempt, and it was right after he got home. It had hurt his fingers immensely, and even though he only played for ten minutes, his fingers were swollen and red by the end of it. That was in December. Now it was February, and Clay still had not opened up Minecraft since December.

It was a cold morning in late February. The snow was starting to melt slightly, but it still remained heavy on the ground. George was at Clay's desk, programming a plugin for a client whilst Clay sat on his bed, stroking Patches absentmindedly as he watched the latest Minecraft Championship recap video. His hands twitched subconsciously- a movement of a finger here, a jerk of his wrist there, almost as if he was playing along with them. He didn't even know he was doing it; it was just something he did. 

Stretching his arms into the air, George leaned back in the chair and took a break from his code. His mind was starting to wander; he needed a break. Looking over at Clay, he saw the twitches and subtle spasms emitting from the younger's hands. A heavy sadness passed over George as he watched his friend subconsciously do the thing he loved. Clay was never going to be the same. His hands were too stiff.

Maybe he could try, though, George thought, even just for a second. Maybe there's hope. 

Standing up, he moved over to Clay. "Let's play Minecraft," he said, tugging on Clay's shirt lightly.

Clay laughed. "George. Seriously ?"

"Yes," George insisted. "Come on."

Clay shut his laptop and looked at George intently. What is he thinking ? Does he not remember that my hands are useless now ?