Stuck with him

Yet I stupidly ignored the instinct that told me to get the hell out of there, and turned the knob on what I assumed was his bedroom door. My jaw fell to my feet as I watched him trash the place. He had pulled over his dresser, and clothes lay strewn all over the floor. He had pulled pictures off the walls. And there was a hole the size of a fist in the drywall. Okay, he was too percent freak- ing out.

I almost closed the door and left, wanting only to forget about this and the volatile boy who was currently destroying all of his possessions. That would have been the safe and sane thing to do. But if there was anything I had learned since meeting Clayton Reed, it was that I didn't feel necessarily sane feelings for

him. These insane feelings made me experience things and act in ways that were completely out of character for me. So instead of bolting for the front door, I took a step inside and gently closed the bedroom door behind me.

The soft click seemed to break through the destruct-a-thon in progress, and Clay looked up. He seemed surprised to see me. A myriad of emotions crossed his face.

Surprise, anger, shame, and, finally, heartbreaking sadness. "Why are you here?" His words were strangled and he pushed his hands

through his hair, leaving it standing on end. "I was worried about you; I couldn't just leave. Clearly I'm needed here." I

indicated the mess around us.

And, suddenly, Clay crumpled to the floor. He brought his knees to his chest and began to rock. Um, okay. I had no idea how to handle this reaction from him. Screaming and yelling-I could deal with that. Clay in a near-fetal position on the floor as if he were trying to hold himself together... that was some- thing else entirely.

I was really scared. Whatever was going on with this boy was beyond any- thing I had ever experienced. He needed something greater than I could offer. Yet I stayed. I didn't really have a choice. Again, those insane feelings of mine.

Maybe I was an idiot, or a glutton for punishment. Or maybe I naively sub- scribed to the foolish notion that my love could save him. Whatever the reason, I sank to the carpet beside that sad and broken boy.

I touched his arm and he flinched. "No, Maggie. I don't want you to see me

like this." He hid his face in his arms while he continued to rock. His body

shook with the force of his sobs. Each guttural noise ripped at my heart and I

wanted to gather him to my chest and rock with him.

"I'm not sure what's going on with you. But I'm not going anywhere," I as- sured him, speaking softly as if to a wild animal that might bolt at any moment. I reached out and touched his arm again. This time he didn't pull away. I took that as an encouraging sign so I crawled closer to him.

"Clayton, look at me, please," I murmured. I gently lifted his face. His eyes were red and bloodshot, his cheeks flushed. The cut at his hairline had come open again and a small trickle of blood made its way down his forehead. He seemed to have sobered up a bit; his eyes were less bleary but there was some- thing still there that worried me.

I hesitantly wiped the blood from his face and then left my fingers on his cheek. Clay closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He seemed so tortured. What could be eating him up so? "What's going on with you?" I asked, not en- tirely sure he'd give me an answer.

Clay shook his head. "You should go. I don't wanna drag you into my shit. You deserve better than that. Than me." I slid my fingers down until they rested on the side of his neck. We were so close, our breath mingled together, each invading the other's personal space. But for once, Clayton wasn't pulling away. Instead he seemed to be desperate for my touch, for my contact, and I wanted to give it to him.

"Why don't you let me decide what I deserve? Now, tell me what's going on with you. Obviously you're going through something and I'd like to help if you'd let me."

Clay took a shaky breath. "I just wanted to be normal. For once, I wanted to feel normal. Is that so wrong?" he whispered. I had no idea what he was talking about. I gave him a small smile.

"Eh. Normal is overrated," I said lightly. I wanted to see Clay smile back at me. Instead my words seemed to cause him pain. He shuddered slightly and closed his eyes again..

"You just don't understand, Maggie. You really should go. Please," he said tightly, although I could tell he really didn't want me to leave. That he was just saying the words that should be said instead of actually meaning them.

"Nope, you're stuck with me. Friends don't leave when you need them." Clay looked at me with a stark hopelessness that freaked me out more than anything else had so far. What in the world could make him feel like that?

He slowly lay down on the floor, tucking his chin into his chest, and stared at the wall, closing in on himself. It was clear our talking was done. So I did the only thing I could. I grabbed a blanket off his bed and pulled it over us and I lay on the floor beside him. I carefully put my arm over his waist and snuggled into his back. His clothes were still damp and they made me feel a little cold, but I held on anyway.

Clayton was rigid for a moment and then he relaxed into my arms, reaching up and lacing his fingers through mine. We lay like that for what felt like an eternity. Me wrapped around the boy I had grown to love as we drifted off into a fitful sleep.