Comfort
Justin let out a gasp. He shot up from his bed, head pounding, hands shaking, sweat pouring down his back. It was dark. He couldn't see a thing. For a split second he thought he was back on the streets, before Clay and Tony had found him, cold, starving and desperate for a hit. Then Justin realized that, no, that wasn't true. He was safe, he reminded himself, safe and warm and he was in a bed [in the Jensen's house of all things], for the first time [sleeping on Clay's sofa didn't count] since he'd left his 'home'.
So maybe he hadn't had the best start in life.
What with his dad taking off the moment he was born, to the constant string of men his mom brought home, most of which, were abusive dickheads, save for the odd one or two who were actual decent human beings that usually only lasted a week.
But that was no excuse for the things he'd done the past year, the things he'd said.
First of all, there was the date with Hannah which he had really not expected to enjoy as much as he did. Then he'd gone and ruined it the next day by showing Bryce Walker a picture of Hannah going down that old slide in the playpark as proof of he date. Justin should've known that Bryce would put two and two together and get five, because all of a sudden, the picture was on everyone's phones and Hannah was a laughing stock. And he hadn't even defended her or, and he hated to admit it, didn't think it would affect her as much as it did.
Back then he thought Hannah was blowing things way out of proportion.
He'd let Bryce, the son-of-a-bitch, rape Jessica while she was unconscious and had just sat outside the room hunched up on the cold wooden floor crying like a baby because he didn't have the guts to stop what he knew would happen. He'd been to scared of losing what little friendship and kindness he had left, too scared of losing the feeling of safety he felt whenever Bryce had let him sleep over after a fight with one of his mom's boyfriends.
He hadn't even told her, thinking that he was doing a good thing, keeping her safe and, in a sick horribly twisted way, he had been. But she should've known, he should've told her, he could have convinced her to report Bryce to the cops [not that he thought the cops were much good in this town after phoning them a handful of times over the past few years], helped her get therapy or something. God knows, maybe telling Jessica would've saved Hannah Baker's life. Given her the courage to talk to someone other than Mr Porter. Maybe even sent Bryce down for the rest of his fucked-up time on earth.
He should've helped Alex Standall. Been a better friend. Noticed the signs. Especially after all the posters and talks on how to help people they were subjected to at school. But once again he'd ignored his better judgement and acted like a dick towards him in favour of his friends [two of them anyway]. Justin hadn't beaten him up like Monty did but, after Alex had let him stay the night at his house, Justin had wondered if he should've been nicer. Once again, he'd been too late. But that wasn't the truth at all. He'd never even thought about helping Standall till it had been way too late and he'd shot himself with his father's gun.
He'd survived, thankfully, but that was beside the point. Alex had been so low, felt so guilty, state to the point where he mustn't have been able to live with himself anymore and decided that suicide was the only option. Justin wondered if Standall still felt like that. He hoped to God not.
He forced himself out of those thoughts, about Jessica, Alex, Bryce, Hannah, his mom and pulled the covers of the bed around him tighter than before.
He was shivering, a side effect of the withdrawal, that was what Sheri had said. He remembered Sheri's hands, soft and cool, slowly pulling him on to Clay's sofa after he'd almost been sick. He remembered telling Sheri he'd never heard her call someone a bitch before. She had said something back he was sure of it. He couldn't recall hat she'd said back to him, only that it had made him laugh for, what felt like, the first time in forever.
He was crying now he realised. Tears flowed down his cheeks. He gave himself a sad half-smile and roughly wiped the tears away.
Justin looked around the room suddenly cringing at how dark it was [he'd always hated the night time] and flicked the light switch on, wincing as the bright light stung his eyes.
He found himself wondering what Meth Seth would have said to him, done to him if he had found him crying like a little baby in the house of someone that used to hate him, someone he'd threatened to kill last year.
Actually, he knew what would've happened.
He'd be up against a wall before he could say anything or use anything to protect himself, before he could run away, one of Seth's hands wrapped around his probably already bruised throat, most likely something the bastard had caused earlier that same day [Seth always went for his throat when he pissed him of], the other hand gripped under Justin's chin, nails digging in to his skin, drawing blood, smiling as Justin struggled to breathe. Seth would be talking to him as well. His mouth at Justin's ear, where he could smell his hot, rancid breath, whispering a never-ending string of abuse in his ear.
Useless.
Pathetic.
Worthless.
Cry-baby.
No good.
Stupid.
Nobody.
Until Justin believed those words, until he was on the ground at Seth's feet gasping for air and holding back another waved of tears that threatened to spill, desperate for him mom to stop her boyfriend, to throw him out the house for hurting her only son. It wouldn't happen, Justin knew that, he wasn't completely stupid. He knew from experience that his mom never left her boyfriends, they left her. He still didn't understand why even now.
By this time Justin had got up from the bed and was walking in frantic circles around the room, trying to calm himself down.
Againandagainandagain.
It didn't work.
He sped up, full on sobbing by this point, eyes red, face scrunched up like a piece of garbage.
Everything had become too much.
The words Seth and the others before him were playing on a constant loop inside his brain, over and over again.
Useless.
Pathetic.
Worthless.
Cry-baby.
No good.
Stupid.
Nobody.
Until finally, Justin flipped.
He screamed and in one quick motion shoved everything off the desk that sat in the corner of the bedroom.
Pens clattered to the floor, a hardback that he'd for some reason borrowed from Clay landed on his toe, a pile of comics, also from Clay, slid on to the floor and a glass toppled over spilling water everywhere as the cup smashed on the ground.
Justin froze. He could hear the sound of footsteps.
"That's it" he thought "I've really gone and done it now"
He panicked throwing himself on to his knees, trying desperately to pick up the broken glass. Shards shredded at his fingers as he scrabbled about in the puddle of water, trying to clean the mess up before Mr or Mrs Jensen or, God help him, Clay figured out where the noise was coming from.
He wasn't usually like this when he'd done something wrong. Most of the time he would've laughed it off maybe hiding a flinch if he was really scared of someone's reaction. That was what would've happened, what should've happened if he' been in a different place or at a different time. Somewhere where he was ill with a fever or on the edge of a fully blown panic attack because his stupid, piece of shit brain had decided to give up on him and remind him of things he'd much rather forget. But ultimately, he knew deep down that he shouldn't have gone mad in the first place, and if Mr and Mrs Jensen were anything like the people he was used to dealing with, he was in for one hell of a night.
He was 70% sure that Mr and Mrs Jensen weren't like Seth or the other boyfriends, he'd never seen Clay with unexplained injuries, nor had he seen him flinch when someone crept up on him or touched him without warning, so he thought he would be fine, that he would be safe.
Now he wasn't so sure.
Justin was still crawling about the floor when Mr Jensen came bursting through the door, almost knocking it off its hinges, wielding a large wooden baseball bat.
That had done it for Justin.
He knew what getting hi with one of them felt like.
The pain.
The sound of ribs cracking.
The sound of Justin himself screaming.
He suddenly flashed back to when he was 11 or 12. His mum had been with this guy, Gary or something and he was the most violent and absolutely terrifying man you could ever imagine, flying in to a rage at the slightest thing.
Gary had asked Justin to get him a beer and Justin in his haste to bring it back, had tripped over his own feet and sent the drink flying on to Gary's lap.
He remembered shouting and screaming until his throat was red raw as Gary repeatedly hit him with a baseball bat until he blacked out from exhaustion and pain.
That was one of the only times Justin had gone to hospital for his injuries after Gary had left him with 2 broken ribs, 2 cracked ribs, a fractured arm in 3 places and severe concussion. He'd been off school for a whole month. It had also been the only time where his mom got rid of the man on the spot. Apparently, the guy had 'gone too far'.
Justin instinctively flinched back falling on his side with his hands guarding his face, eyes closed, ready for a beating.
"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it was an accident, pl-lease don't hit me" his voice cracked as he begged.
Nothing.
No shouting, no physical contact, not even a slap to the face or a punch to the stomach.
At first Justin was confused.
He'd cried, woken everyone up, screamed, thrown things about the room and smashed a glass of water. That must deserve some form of punishment.
But still, nothing. Just the sound of Mr Justin putting the bat down and his own erratic breathing filled the room.
He realized then, that he had made a major mistake.
Mr Jensen wasn't going to strike him. He'd got the baseball bat to protect him if someone had broken in, to protect his family. Not to hit Justin with when he messed up the room he was sleeping in. All Justin had done was massively over reacted and probably made Clay's dad feel guilty as shit for making him act his way, even by accident.
Justin took and breath then warily opened his eyes and looked up at Mr Jensen. He stood, deadly quiet, at the doorway, baseball bat down at his feet, his eyes filled with guilt and some other emotion that Justin couldn't quite put his finger on.
Pity maybe, Or anger?
Whatever ever it was, he didn't like it. Justin despised people feeling sorry for him. He also despised what M Jensen was thinking.
That he knew.
It had happened with other people as well.
Jessica, Zach, Bryce [Justin felt sick just thinking, the disgusting man's name] Standall, which surprised him as he wasn't super close to the guy, and now Mr Jensen.
What shall I do?
Shall I touch him?
What has happened to him?
Does he think I'm going to hit him?
What if he freaks out again?
Should I report someone to the cops?
Some of the people that had witnessed his 'freak outs' had asked those questions before.
That was what Mr Jensen was currently thinking and Justin wanted it to stop. Now.
Hesitantly, he lowered his hands, evading the older mans gaze. Mr Jensen looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
Then the man opened his mouth to speak.
"Justin I- "
"Sorry Mr Jensen, fuckin' tripped over my own feet" Justin cut him off with a forced smile.
Mr Jensen looked like he was about to say something else but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps making their way to the bedroom.
"Please don't be Clay" he pleaded silently "Please anyone but him".
He couldn't let Clay see him in his current state of mind. Red eyes, tear stained cheeks, sat on the floor like a pathetic child with thin trails of blood oozing out of the tiny cuts on his hands.
"What the fuck happened here man?" Clay let out a slight chuckle as he reached the bedroom and came to a stop behind his dad.
Arsehole.
Justin glared at Clay whose eyes widened in confusion as if he was trying to figure out why he was acting like this. His eyes followed Clay as he saw him piecing the puzzle together and come to a conclusion. The mess on the floor, Justin sprawled on the floor, his dad looking at him nervously, ready to leave him alone or comfort him, the baseball bat lying on the ground almost completely forgotten about. Justin also remembered the fact that he', stupidly, already told him about Gary when he was off his head on booze and drugs, Clay obviously had forgotten.
For a moment Clay looked unsure of what to do. Justin almost laughed when he realized he'd made fucking Clay Jensen speechless after having to listen to him constantly buzzing around his head like a fly [and, unfortunately, not one of those that only lived for like a day].
After a few seconds of near laughter, he remembered his where he was. In the middle of the Jensen's guest bedroom, lying awkwardly in a pool of water and glass, bleeding, as Clay and his dad stood there watching him, their eyes boring into him.
He was embarrassed.
Avoiding any eye contact at all, he shakily hauled himself upright, shuddering as the water soaked in to his clothes, and stumbled back on to his bed.
"NO, not his bed" he scolded himself.
It wasn't like they were going to adopt him or anything, just because Clay had been helping him with his addiction or because he didn't have anywhere to go if he did get thrown out or because he had stayed a couple of nights, even when Mr and Mrs Jensen found out about the drugs. Justin was fairly certain that if he had been staying at Zach's or Bryce's house and their parents had found out he would've been thrown out before he could say heroin [no matter what Zach tried he wouldn't be allowed back if his mom found out and Bryce wouldn't have given a flying fuck].
Okay maybe he was becoming slightly to attached to Clay's family already which he found very odd.
He was broken out of his thoughts when a hand came over to where he was sitting and rested, ever so gently, on his shoulder.
Justin fought back a flinch.
The source pf the attempted comfort, Justin realized, was Clay who then hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed careful not to touch Justin as he did.
Justin knew what Clay was about to say.
"Justin- "Clay began before pausing and motioning for his mum, who had just figured out where Justin and the rest of his family where and was standing in the entrance looking very worried, and his das to go out the room.
Once they had got the message Justin tilted his head and nodded at Clay to carry on. Both of them sat in silence, waiting for the footsteps of Clay's parents to disappear.
"You know, they, my parents I mean, they wouldn't ever, EVER hit you, or me, they've never hit me and they won't hit you okay?".
Justin looked down, fumbling with the sleeves of his hoodie which was the only good thing he owned.
"I-I-I know that they wouldn't hit m-me" he mumbled, chewing at his nails.
His hands shook and he felt shivery again. He wasn't sure if it was because of his fever or because of the state he'd managed to work himself in to.
He mustn't've been convincing enough, at least not to Clay because he placed his hand on Justin's arm and tried to reassure him again.
"I swear to fucking God Justin, they would never hurt you or hit you in anyway"
"I know that Clay I do" Justin insisted trying to convince himself more than Clay "I just…" he struggled to find the right words.
Expected them to.
"Overreacted?" Clay offered.
Not exactly what he'd being going for even though he had thought that at first but he ignored his thoughts and nodded nonetheless. He curled his knees so that Clay could sit on the bed without falling off.
"So, what happened? Clay asked softly, lowering his voice like he was talking to a frightened, caged animal.
He waited a beat before carrying on.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to but it might, I don't know, like help or something y'know to talk about it"
Justin shook his head madly, staring at the small, stinging cuts on his hands. That was never going to happen, not in a million years or in a month of Sunday's, whatever that meant.
Ok well, umm" Clay stuttered.
Justin would have laughed at how awkward he was being if something serious hadn't just happened and Clay wasn't actually worried about him.
"Do you want me to leave" Justin could feel Clay's weight shift off the bed as he got ready to move.
He shrugged.
"I can go if you want, no pressure" Clay said as he suddenly withdrew his hand from Justin's arm. Which both boys had forgotten about.
Justin looked ahead of him and, for the first time tonight, made eye contact with the boy next to him.
"No-o, um, could you maybe stay please?" Justin stuttered timidly avoiding Clays eyes again, feeling scared and ever so slightly happy that he wasn't going to be alone.
Clay looked surprised that Justin had allowed him to stay and Justin was half expecting him to laugh and tell him he was only joking and that he didn't want to spend the rest of his night comforting the guy who threatened to kill him.
He wouldn't have blamed him if he had. If he had been in Clays position he would've as well.
Thankfully Clay did neither of those things and Justin calmed down, convincing himself that Clay wouldn't just leave him now.
He frowned again as he saw Clay nod then get up from the bed and walk, without saying anything, out of the room.
Justin's heart rate rose again. He could feel it beating rapidly against his chest.
Where had Clay gone? Was this a sick joke? Was he going to tell his parents that he wanted Justin out the house for causing such a stupid disturbance.
Justin was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't see Clay standing there, watching him intently, with a mound of blankets and pillows over flowing out of his hands and an oversized t-shirt and pyjama bottoms which Justin guessed was for Clay for some reason.
"Well" Clay looked at Justin expectantly "you gonna help me sort this or not?".
Justin frowned in confusion.
"Huh?"
Clay sighed impatiently and dumped the pile he was carrying on to the floor, avoiding the water spillage.
"You don't want me to leave so I'm not going to" Clay explained slowly, as if he was talking to a 5-year-old.
Justin was amazed at Clay. A small smile, genuine this time, crept on to his facing without him noticing.
No one had ever been this nice to him when he'd had his 'freak outs' before. He'd made Jessica leave the room, Zach usually offered him the garage to say the night in but had never, not once, sat with him and looked after him. He'd shouted at Standall to go the fuck away, not trusting him enough when it happened, and Standall had done what he asked. Bryce was the worst. If he ever found Justin like that he would either laugh, tell him to 'grow and pair and stop being such a pussy' or told him to shut up and to stop being so fucking annoying.
Clay cleared his throat.
Oh. He was still waiting for Justin to help him.
They swept up the broken glass the best they could, deciding to leave the rest until tomorrow and soaked up the puddle of water with one of the smaller blankets Clay had brought with him. Then they both set out the makeshift bed using the old blankets and pillows Clay had found around his house.
Once Justin had changed in to the spare clothes Clay had brought him and folded up the damp ones on a chair hoping they'd dry properly for tomorrow, he offered to sleep on the floor instead of Clay as he was the guest deciding not to mention the fact that he'd slept on the floor more times than he cared to say, usually without the luxury of a pillow or even a blanket. But Clay declined his offer by making up some bullshit excuse on how the floor was good for his back.
Justin bit his tongue, resisting the urge to point out that he was sure the floor was bad for your back not the other way around. Instead he climbed back in to bed, wrapping the covers back round himself tightly. After he made sure Clay was in his, what looked strangely comfy, blanket bed, he closed his eyes and blindy groped around until he found the switch that turned the bedside lamp off.
He lay there for a while, eyes closed, listening to Clay snoring loudly on the ground below his feet, before finally going to sleep, comforting thoughts filling his mid as he dropped off.
Maybe I'll be okay now, I'm safe and warm and people are looking after me. Even though it's only temporary I don't care, for once I have a little bit of happiness in my life.
And when Mrs Jensen woke up the next morning after a dramatic and tiring night and went to check on her son only to fond him in Justin's room, she didn't say anything, only smiled, proud of Clay for looking after him, then reminded herself to give Justin a couple of plasters after seeing the still bleeding cuts that littered his hands. She took one last long look around the room and hoped that the scared broken boy lying fast asleep in their guest bedroom would have a much better and brighter future now that he had, from what Clay told her, true friends, kind friends to help him cope with what he had gone through. Hell, she hoped that all of Clay and Justin's friends helped each other out and to care of each other. She was broken out of her trance when she heard Clay roll over on the blankets he was asleep on. Mrs Jensen took one last look at the two boys and closed the door, leaving them to sleep.
Mrs Jensen decided there and then that no one was going to take Justin Foley away from a safe, secure home. Not social workers and definitely not his mom.