"That was so freaking bad," Kai mutters. Claire's arm is flung around his left shoulder as Gray steadies her up on the opposite side, using his friend to help lift her into his own outstretched arms. He's wasted, and his brain is pounding painfully against the back of his scalp. Is that even a thing? Is that possible? Although he feels like he could just pass out at any given minute, Gray is pretty good at forcing himself to sober up. How else was he able to avoid groundings by convincing his mom that "no, there wasn't any alcohol at that party, you don't need to worry." But he definitely doesn't take after his old man in that regard; what Gray can manage in a couple of seconds is taking his dad more than a year to figure out.
"Gray, please," Claire mumbles. He holds on to her as he and Kai stand in the middle of the road, just past the entrance to the inn. Bathed in the light of the full moon, Claire's pale skin looks almost translucent; like some kind of a porcelain doll.
He knew Claire was lying when he asked her if she liked sex. It didn't take a fucking genius to figure that one out, but if Gray had to give his reasoning behind how he knew, it's just because he knew. She looked nervous simply sitting next to him, as if she'd never in her life been that close to someone of the opposite sex before. Why she couldn't just be honest about it all is beyond him.
Not like you were honest with her either.
To add, Gray can't comprehend how Mary found out about his hookups with Ann. Do people like Elli, or Thomas, or his own grandfather know about it as well?
Kai goes back inside to find Popuri. As he opens the door, Mary exits, pushing past Gray and scowling in his direction.
"Have fun tonight," she calls, furiously rushing away.
You tell the town librarian that you aren't interested in a date, or going back to her place at night, and all hell fucking breaks loose a year later.
"Gray," Claire whispers again, weakly opening her eyes to meet his own. How anyone could get this drunk off of one drink, he'd never understand. It took about a whole bottle of wine to get him to the state that he's in now. Mind you, Gray is also 6 foot and weighs a lot more than her.
"Ah-huh," Gray says, holding her as carefully as possible. He knows that this image of him carrying a semi-unconscious girl back to her farmhouse doesn't look so good, but he just focuses on keeping himself centered. He follows the straight pattern of the path's cement tiles that his father had apparently put in years before.
"I-I know what c-c-comes next." Her teeth are chattering and the coldness of her skin is permeating through her clothes.
"Shush," Gray says with a sigh. He softens his harsh tone. "Don't worry. I'm taking you home." Despite his drunken state, they arrive in less than five minutes.
She opens her eyes fully now. They're standing in front of the door to her rustic house as Maggie whimpers from the other side.
"I know in m-movies, that this is the p-p-part of the night where…" His ears turn pink as Claire's voice trails off. He isn't even thinking about getting laid right now. "B-b-but I *hic* can't." Tears well in her eyes. Gray just stares down at her, staggered, pushing the unlocked door open with his broad shoulder.
"Claire, I barely even know you," he says firmly. Her name feels weird on his tongue. Being in her house when she's semi-passed out in his arms feels weird. Gray focuses his attention to the pink checkered walls, the hardwood oak flooring, and the sweet, sugary scent lingering in the air. The furniture in her home is bare; there's a small television in front of a sofa, an outdated kitchen, a dresser, and then a bed in the right hand corner of the room. Maggie waits on top of it, wagging her tail and whining for her owner. He walks over there slowly, carefully placing Claire down and rubbing his neck sheepishly. The room is spinning.
"Has that stopped you before?" She cranes her neck, lifting her head up to look at him with an unreadable expression. Does she seriously have a smart-ass comment even in this state?
But no, it hasn't stopped him before.
When Gray doesn't answer, Claire begins to cry. "I know that's p-probably… what you want, but I j-just *hic* can't." He stares at her in a panic as she shoddily sits up to sob into her hands.
Gray doesn't even know what to say, much less do. "Stop. I'm not like that," he assures her in a panic. "Seriously, cut it out. I don't want that at all... I wasn't even thinking that."
When Maggie licks the back of her hand, she lifts her head up to stare back at him. Her voice is hoarse. "Isn't that the *hic* kind of guy you are?"
Does he come across as that much of an asshole? He's a total dick to people, sure, but he wouldn't ever even think to take advantage of a girl. He's better than that. "I brought you home safely, didn't I?" Gray snaps, even though he doesn't mean to. He's just so taken aback. Claire keeps looking at him, and he can't tell if she's sizing him up, or making out his figure in the darkness. Maybe a bit of both.
"Can I get you some water?" he asks, trying once again to change his insensitive tone.
When she starts to cry again, Gray feels like the biggest douchebag on the planet. He's not good at comforting anyone, much less this drunk, lightweight chick he barely knows. It's like a car accident is unfolding before his very eyes, and all he can do is watch in disbelief.
"I know t-that I said sex was *hic* fine, but I d-don't even get the point of it, Gray," Claire mumbles. In an attempt to do something, he hastily goes over to her kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards until he finds a cup. Gray fills it up from the sink and goes over to hand it to her, refusing to meet her eyes. She takes a big gulp of the water as some spills on her lap.
"I didn't want you to think I was *hic* lame," Claire says, her words slurred and sad. She falls sideways onto her bed, back in a resting position. This might be a bad time to let her know that he already does think that she's... well, kinda lame. "Or stupid, or dumb, or *hic* some prude church girl. I'm a v-virgin, but it's… it's 'cause I have to be one. I really can't-"
"Claire," Gray interrupts, not ready to hear a virginal lament. "Please, stop crying. I don't want that from you." He tries to sound reassuring, but his voice is frantic. Is it obvious that I don't do well with people crying?
"What about Mary?"
"Don't listen to her. Everything she said was a lie," Gray says, telling a half-truth himself.
There is a long silence. She's so still that he wonders if she's fallen asleep. He turns to tiptoe out of her house, until he hears her wavering voice one last time. "You're a r-really… nice guy, Gray... Good night." A sliver of moonlight coats Claire's pretty face, and he can make out a small smile on her lips before he leaves.
His head is heavy with thoughts as he walks back to Mineral Blacksmith. Gray stumbles over his feet a couple of times, but he's managing alright, managing like he always does. He opens the door with ease, so that it doesn't make that old creaking sound and wake up his grandfather. He kicks off his shoes, socks treading lightly on the hardwood floor. The clock above the stove reads 1:10 AM.
Gray opens the door to his room, only to find Ann, sitting cross-legged on his bed. She wears an oversized white t-shirt that's completely see-through. The clothes that she was wearing at the inn are scattered on his bedroom floor. His curtains have been drawn shut and the lamp in the corner of his room is dimmed. Gray swallows; once again, he's speechless.
"Is this real?" he whispers.
Ann nods. She reaches for his hand, bringing him closer to her while guiding his hand between her legs. He jerks back.
"I'm drunk," Gray admits with a shake of his head. "And you're wasted."
They've hooked up while intoxicated more times than he can count on both hands, but after hearing all that Claire had to say, this somehow feels wrong. Screwing around with his friend-with-benefits feels like the last thing that he should be doing right now. He doesn't want to take advantage of this situation, or Ann, for that matter.
But she kneels on his bed, pulling him into a deep kiss. The material of her top is so thin, that she may as well not be wearing anything at all. He's already losing himself against her soft lips, against her fiery flesh, against the sheer taste of her. And all he wants is to have all of his guilt replaced by pleasure. "Please, Gray," Ann murmurs, her face pressed to his. "I really need this right now."
She turns over, laying on her back and panting; her lungs expanding and pushing against her bare ribcage. Gray sits on the edge of his bed, trying to catch his breath. This finishing-stance is nothing new; it's completely familiar, but his wave of pleasure is gone; he feels nothing but guilt. He doesn't meet her eyes as he stands, leaving to clean himself up, putting on a new pair of boxers. He returns to find Ann under his covers. She motions for him to climb in beside her, which he uneasily does.
She gathers her red hair in her hands to form a mussed-up bun, resting her head slowly on his chest. Gray stays silent. What is he doing? He doesn't love this girl. And he's positive that she doesn't love him. He loves the sex, and he loves her as a person, just not like that.
"I'm sorry," Ann says softly, her voice cutting through the utter silence. "This is truly the last time. I just…" A tear lands on his pectoral, and Gray wipes at her eyes. He kisses the top of her head, and does what he does best; stays quiet.
Claire is wrong; dead wrong. He isn't a nice guy at all. Not even in the slightest.
