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George and Clay were best friends from the day they'd met as young teenagers. Friends from parents in business, the two would be seen out in public messing around and hanging out, doing stupid teenager things.
He knew that Clay was struggling mentally. He'd sit by his side as he threw up in the toilet, holding his bangs out of his face and comforting him.
George was there when Clay's wrists bled after a relapse. He was there on the nights Clay couldn't sleep by himself. George was there when he tried to chug pills, and he was there after he'd gotten out of the hospital.
He tended to him, molding his own personality and own needs to fit Clay's. To make sure he wasn't alone during this time. George had thoughts of his own at times, but he'd never speak about it. He didn't want Clay thinking he's ruining George's mental health. He didn't want him to hurt himself because George was upset.
Clay began to get better at the age of 15, George was 16. He knew Clay was having it rough still, but he could see the progress in those green eyes he adored so much. George cherished every moment he had with Clay during this time. But he got an opportunity to leave and go to a summer college for his academics.
He told Clay a week before he went. Clay was ecstatic for him, holding George and hugging him so tight as tears rushed down their cheeks when George was leaving for the summer. Clay gifted him a small blue dinosaur stuffed animal that they laughed through their tears. It was so stupid, George thought.
"I'll be back in no time. Text me. Text me, call, I'll always be here," George explained to him through the car window. Clay held his hand dearly before they departed, the figure of the friend he loved so much disappeared behind the rolled up window as they turned the corner.
George studied and worked to achieve his scholarship. Each day, Clay would text him a series of times, telling him how much he misses him and what he did that day. As summer continued, George's birthday came along and he was 17. By that time, Clay had texted him a happy birthday message, and nothing else. They hadn't been texting for almost two weeks at that point, but George wasn't dissapointed. Simply reacting to the message with a blue heart and a "thank you," he sat his phone down and got to work for the rest of his time there.
He didn't recieve another text from him the whole summer.
That was until he got a text from a random number.
"Hey, I'm Nick. One of Clay's friends. I know this is probably awkward and out of the blue, but I wanted to text you because you deserve to know what happened. Two weeks ago, Clay committed suicide. His funeral is next week, and Clay would've loved for you to be there."
No.
George stared at the text for what felt like an hour, tears spilling down his cheeks.
No.
He silently packed his bags, leaving the text on seen. Only texting his parents to say he'd be back early.
No.
He was getting better though?
No.
Why?
No.
George's hands shook on the steering wheel. Maybe he was hoping he'd get in a crash. He cried again. Maybe he never stopped crying. George got back home faster than he had left, crashing into his parents arms and yelling about how it wasn't fair, it wasn't right. It wasn't going to ever be the same.<
But he never called Clay selfish. He didn't know. He didn't know he wasn't okay. He should've texted. He should've checked up on him. He shouldn't have been so dry, he should've..
George blames himself as he cried over his body in the open casket. He held a polaroid photo of them from when George left for college. He should've never left. He would've stood in that spot forever if it meant for Clay to be alive again. George was only moved after he tripped over his own feet from his father coming up and gently leading him away. His dad knew how much he loved him. There was nothing he could do anymore.
George started sleeping at home in his bed. His room, his hair, his life was a mess. He got the scholarship, but he doubted that he could do anything with it from the cost of losing Clay. That was all he thought about. He didn't get a goodbye message.
"Happy birthday George! Miss you so much. Hope to see you soon."
He read the text over, and over, and over again. Along with reading the thousands of messages they'd sent in the past 3 years of knowing eachother. It brought comfort and dread, both knowing what they were. What they could've been. He would've never let Clay out of that hug if he knew this would happen.
George let himself slip into sleep, hugging the small blue dinosaur stuffy. It wasn't so stupid anymore.