TRIGGER WARNING. clay's deeply traumatized, heavily abused mind is a dark place; he misinterprets things, makes dark assumptions, & connects dots that aren't really there. very brief mentions of rape, as well; as always, nothing explicit.
this is when it gets real, babes.
4. ARE YOU PROUD OF ME?
Forty Six Hours. That was how long he'd been separated from Karim and Mina. Forty Six Hours. Just a little over two days.
Clay's stomach was a mess of tight, anxious knots; Karim was going to be furious at him for letting himself be caught. He fought as hard as he could against the people from Before, his so-called brothers, but he'd been overpowered. Trent had shot him with a damn sniper rifle. Sonny had sat next to him while he bled out and stood guard. Bravo Team had worked together to steal him. They strapped him down, knocked him out with drugs. . .
But Karim wouldn't care.
"Why'd you let yourself be captured, you little mongrel? I paid good money for you! And too much! You are not worth this trouble! It's a good thing you're so pretty and so good with that mouth." Karim would snarl.
Clay could hear his voice in his ear already, low and rough and furious. And too close. Always too close. He could smell the smoke on Karim's breath. He could almost feel the sharp sting of the warning punch that he'd take to the face.
"I come bearing gifts!" A boisterous voice called from the doorway.
Clay would know that thick Texan drawl anywhere. It belonged Sonny.
He braced himself for the interaction.
So far, Sonny had been nothing but friendly—suspiciously so. . . But Clay knew better than to let his guard down, to blindly accept the offered kindness. This man was not his friend. He helped Bravo Team steal him from Karim and Mina.
God, Clay was tired though. The amount of energy that it took to smile and play nice felt immeasurable. He just wanted to sleep.
Clay grit his teeth, plastered on a smile, and said, "Hey, Sonny."
Sonny's answering grin was blinding. It made bile rise in Clay's throat.
Mina used to smile at him like that. Bright. Genuine. Open. Like a child who'd found their favorite toy. She'd almost been cute, up until she slid her dainty fingers down his pants, up until she'd pushed him onto the lavish couch and rode him until tears stung his eyes.
Detach yourself. Treat it as a job. Treat it as a job. Don't fucking cry about it. Just do it. Get it over with.
"I thought you might be gettin' sick of that hospital gown," Sonny began, setting a small bundle of clothes on the edge of the bed. "So I, ugh, dropped by your place and grabbed some sweatpants, a couple sweatshirts too. Hope that's okay. I figured you'd feel a little better if you felt less like a patient."
"Oh," Clay said, almost dumbly.
He stared at the little grey and navy blue bundle of clothes from Before. Clay knew that he should put the clothes on to keep Sonny happy—if Sonny were happy, he'd hopefully keep his hands to himself—but he couldn't move. He could hardly breathe.
Those clothes were from Before. They were forbidden. If Karim ever found out that he'd even considered wearing them. . .
"Thank you," Clay finished. "I—yeah, thank you."
Sonny dropped into the chair next to Clay's bedside. Jason's chair, Clay thought with a hint of ire. He didn't like Sonny sitting in it.
Clay wondered, would Jason punish him for letting Sonny sit in his rightful place? Karim would've. Clay would've had his choice of fifteen lashes across the back with a belt or two days of hunger. Clay would choose what he always chose: the lashes.
'I wonder if I have scars from Karim's belt.' Clay though distantly.
"How you feelin'?" Sonny asked.
Sonny seemed to like that question.
"Better," Clay lied smoothly. "A lot better. My head feels. . . clearer now, you know? Especially out of that damn desert heat."
Sonny chuckled and nodded; Clay could see that his eyes were glassy with emotion, but said nothing. "It's real good to hear you say that, little buddy. You gave us a real scare."
Clay glanced down at his hands, uncomfortable, and then back up at Sonny. "Did I do that to your neck?"
Sonny reached up to touch the livid bruising that encircled his throat like a necklace. The smile slipped from his face, and fear shot up Clay's spine like a bolt of lightning. It jarred him. He braced for a smack, a punch, a kiss with too much teeth. A punishment of any sort.
"You didn't mean it," Sonny replied, voice softening. He made no move to strike him. "Those bastards that had you? They messed your mind up pretty bad. I don't know. . . how much you remember, but they did a lot of. . . really evil things to you. You didn't know what you were doin' when you came after me, Clay. It's okay. I'm okay. We're okay. Okay?"
Something in Clay's chest grew tight, though he was unsure of why.
"Okay." He replied.
"Okay," Sonny said, and his frown lifted just enough to be called a smile. "Now, you hungry? Because I sent Brock and that damned dog out to get some burgers. He's bringin' you a couple back. And curly fries."
That didn't sound too bad. Burgers and curly didn't sound bad at all. They were food from Before, but God, he was hungry.
"Very," Clay said. "I think the last time I ate was, I don't know, two or three days, maybe? I. . . was in trouble before you found me. Wasn't gonna' be allowed to eat until tomorrow."
Like Jason, Sonny wanted to help him. That much was clear, at least. Clay could work with that angle with Sonny, too.
Sonny's expression was pained, just as Clay had predicted. "Clay—"
"It's fine," Clay said hurriedly; He'd drop tidbits of information, but he wasn't about to divulge anything further. "It's over now. I'm. . . home."
Home. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, like burnt coffee. Home was back in Pakistan with Karim and Mina. Home was the house with the blue doors and tall fence. Home wasn't here with his captors and all their lies.
"Yeah," Sonny said. "You are. The doc says you'll be discharged tomorrow. I thought maybe. . . maybe you could stay with me for awhile? Doc also said you shouldn't be alone right now."
Oh. So that's what Sonny wanted—why he was bringing clothes and food as gifts, like Karim had. Clay tried not to let Sonny see him deflate.
"Yeah, man, that sounds great," Clay said, feigning excitement. His eyes stung with unshed tears. Detach yourself. Don't fucking cry about it. "Seriously, thanks. I—I know I'm a mess right now, so. . . Probably not the best company."
Sonny shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You're family. Me and the rest of Bravo will get you fixed up, brother. Don't worry about a thing."
Don't worry about a thing. Clay wanted to laugh, then spit in his face. He didn't have the luxury of dumping his worries onto someone else's lap. He didn't have anyone else's lap to dump his worries onto.
"Hey, Son', can you do me a favor?"
It felt risky to ask for anything, especially without anything to offer in return, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
"Yeah, anything." Sonny said. It sounded like he meant it.
Clay swallowed thickly. "Could you get Jason for me?"
Asking felt like signing his death certificate.
Something that Clay couldn't read flickered across Sonny's face. "Yeah, 'course. You need anything else, you just ask, you hear?"
Sonny stood, and fear caused Clay's heart to skip a beat. He seemed so tall.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Thanks, Sonny."
Sonny offered him a warm smile. "I'll be back with your burgers when Brock gets here."
Clay nodded, and didn't exhale until Sonny was out of sight.
Jason came to visit a short while later. Half an hour, perhaps. His presence was a welcome one. Clay could still hear Jason's words from the previous night in his mind; I'm here to keep you safe.
"Hey, Spense'," Jason said. "You ask for me?"
"Yeah," Clay said. "Sorry, I just—"
He closed his eyes and sighed, getting into character; preparing himself to play the big eyed, broken hearted victim. "It's been kind of a rough morning. You being here. . . I don't know, it makes it a little easier to breathe, I guess."
Jason sat in the chair that he'd quietly claimed as his own, and a warm little thrill shot through Clay. He was surprised by how much he liked pleasing Jason. Maybe he'd get back to Karim and Mina, after all. . .
Just keep Jason happy.
"So, um, Sonny wants me to stay with him," Clay began. "Is—Can I do that?"
Jason nodded. "Yeah, of course. Do you want to?"
Clay nodded.
Jason smiled. "Well, there you go. You don't have to ask permission anymore. You can do what you want, Clay. You're home."
You can do what you want, Clay. That had to be a test. Jason had to be testing him, his loyalties . . . Maybe Clay was supposed to read between the lines.
Was he supposed to kill Sonny? Is that what Jason was implying? It'd make sense. Sonny would very likely have weapons at his place. Knives, at the very least. Clay might've botched strangling him to death, but he wouldn't botch a stabbing. He could kill Sonny and call Jason, tell him to come over and help dispose of the body. That would prove Clay's loyalty to Jason, right? I killed him for you, Jason. Did I do okay?
Jason hadn't given him any rules yet, or expectations. He wasn't as strict and clear as Karim and Mina had been. Clay wished that Jason would tell him what to do. Or how to act, at least. Clay didn't know.
He'd never felt more lost.
"Okay," Clay said. He could play this game. "Well, in that case, I think I'd like to talk to Trent."
Jason's sighed. "He's at an A.A. meeting right now. I made him go first thing this morning. He. . . had a rough night too. But when he gets back, I know he'd like to talk to you too. Say he's sorry again. Make amends, and all that."
Clay shook his head. "No, man, he just—He did what he had to. I get that. No hard feelings."
"I think he needs to hear you say that. He's really torn up about pulling the trigger."
"I was out of my mind. I could've killed Sonny. He made the right call."
Trent won't be there next time. Clay will make damn sure of that. Next time, he'll wait until cover of night, and he'll corner Sonny the same way that Bravo Team cornered him, and when he goes for the throat—there won't be bruises, there'll be blood.
Keep Jason happy, no matter what.
"That's what I told him, but you know how Trent gets." Jason said.
Clay offered him a lopsided grin. "You mean like you do?"
Jason chuckled. "Look at that, little Spenser's smartass mouth is back. You must really be on the mend."
Clay preened under the praise. Warmth flooded through his chest.
"I'd probably mend faster if you stole me a jello cup from the cafeteria."
Jason lifted a brow and groaned. "What color?"
"Orange, please."
Jason rolled his eyes good-naturedly and stood. "One jello cup. I'll be back."
Clay met his eyes, made sure to hold them for a second too long, and then sank back into his pillows. He closed his eyes and imagined the proud look on Jason's face when he discovered Sonny's body.
I killed him for you, Jason. Did I do okay?
Are you proud of me?
