CHAPTER SIX
[TONY]
I look over at Clay once I finish a quick message to his mom. He is completely lost in his thoughts and looks horrible. There are dark bags under his eyes, and he looks so…vacant.
Before I can stop myself I break him from his thoughts, saying quietly, "What are you thinking about?"
He doesn't even bother to turn his head towards me. "Nothing."
No. He can't do this to me. He needs someone to listen; he has to let someone in. I try to hide the scowl on my face as I forcefully say to him, "No, Clay. We agreed in the car that you would be honest with me," I move closer to him on the bed in an attempt to get his attention, "since we both know you aren't okay. And I'm not expecting you to be." I finish, hoping he realizes that he can trust me, and that he's safe here.
"Skye." He says bluntly.
A little taken aback, but relieved that he's saying something, I ask, "What about her? You mean what she said about Hannah? How suicide is selfish?" He flinches at my last question.
He shakes his head a little. "No, well yes and no. I don't know. Her arms. Hannah's arms. What's even the difference anymore?" He sounds frustrated. But with what, and who? Hannah, Skye, or himself?
"The difference," I say, as my concern grows, "is that Skye does that as a coping mechanism. We know why Hannah…" I trail off.
Wait. "Clay, is there something you're trying to tell me?" Jesus, he still won't look in my direction.
"Which one do you think is better?" It's hard not to notice that he completely avoids my question.
What the fuck? "Neither, Clay," I try to put as much authority in my voice as possible, "one is a horrible coping mechanism that will definitely come back to bite you in the ass. The other one," I sigh, "we know what happens with that one, okay?" I try to keep my voice soft now, but I need him to understand. "You bleed out. It's the worst pain you've ever felt in your life. And if you're successful like Hannah, it's the last pain you'll ever feel."
I couldn't even tell if he really understood. He just sits there, empty. Looking for answers to questions that honestly scare the shit out of me. What is he even getting at?
Suddenly Clay stands up. He looks at me with a face full of expectation, asking, "Can I use your bathroom?"
The abruptness halts my thoughts. "Yeah, it's that door right there," I point. It's connected to my room, right next to the closet.
"But," I add as he walks over, "I think you should leave the door open a crack."
As I say that he scoffs. As he's opening the door he turns back, saying, "Tony, come on. You don't actually think—"
I quickly interrupt him, my anger and desperation boiling over. "Clay," I try to keep my voice under control, "just keep the door open." Our eyes lock. A thousand messages seem to be sent in that moment. He sighs loudly, but leaves the door open the least amount possible. Good enough: at least it's unlocked if anything happens.
If anything happens. Jesus, what am I going to do with him? What am I going to do with myself?
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I'm sorry this took so long! Things have been hectic and I've hit a writer's block; I'm not sure where I'm really going with this. Please review and send me any ideas you have for the next few chapters or long term. Thank you for reading!
