As he looked down on the grave, Hannah's grave, Clay felt everything again. Pain, guilt, desolation. To some people, feelings are essential. But to Clay, they had been a burden those days, an anchor attached to his feet. He often found himself drowning in his thoughts, not knowing what people around him were discussing. People, things; that didn't matter to him. They were a wave off futility he had to go through, another thing that he wanted to let go of. If only he could get rid of what was in his head…
« Hannah Baker, » he read on the grave, freshly installed. Sitting on it was a little marble plate, where was written : « To our beloved daughter.» That's right; of all the people, Hannah's parents must have suffered the most. Then, there was a Teddy bear that was holding crimson plastic roses; someone like Courtney most have put it there, someone that didn't truly care. It was getting all saggy, as the rain became more intense. Actually, there was a pile of flowers, decorations, and framed pictures, all getting messed up by the terrible weather. Symbol of hypocrisy, they were getting faded. All those shabby offerings people left, hoping to be forgiven, angered Clay. Did they think that everything was going to go away, just like that? That everything they had said could disappear if they brought a flower? As time was passing, people were forgetting about Hannah more and more. But Clay wasn't.
All this was so stupid. Out of anger, Clay punched the first thing on his way; an innocent tree, planted a few meters away from Hannah's grave. He screamed, half for the pain and the rest for how he felt. Repeatedly he hit it, harder and harder, not caring about his knuckles and his pain. But the gigantic oak didn't move, of course. After a while, Clay realized how pointless that was. He was still guilty and nothing would change. He looked at the tree, wheezing as he felt more and more tired. Clay left himself fall against the rough trunk. He thought again about that night. He thought about communication class. Also about when Hannah came to give back her working uniform. And that other time.
Deep down he knew - he must have known - that Hannah was going to end her life. He had a thousand occasions to save her, but he didn't take any.
Breathing started to get harder, he realized, as his hand guided itself to his mouth, trying to filter the air coming in. It had to be another panic attack, he thought. Clay had had a few in his life, but never outside of his room, far from his medicine. Right now, he was all by himself, under the freezing rain. That thought rushed into his head, like many were. He was hyperventilating, curling up upon himself.
It was getting painful too; his leg felt incredible sore. As he tried to stretch it, Clay realized his whole body was tensed up and moving it made it worst. He felt scared for a second; and that was enough for his breath to go wild, to become shorter and shorter.