Coming Undone by purplesunsets

7

The blood is thick and dark on the gravel. It weaves its way into the grooves of the rocks and stains the dirt. There's a lot of it. More than George thought there would be. There's something oddly mesmerizing about watching the blood escape from the wound. But looking at it spill onto the ground, it's a bit strange to think that it's something of importance. That this strange liquid is the essence of life.

Nick groans and rolls on his side. He sounds like he's trying to speak but all that comes out are strange gurgling noises. His white t-shirt is stained red, burgundy spreading across the fabric. Nick clutches at his side, but it does nothing to stifle the flow of blood.

"You shot him." George says shakily. His heart feels like it's in his throat and his vision is blurred with fear.

"You're really cute, aren't you? Pointing a gun at me." Clay smirks viciously. "It's baby's day out."

"You shot Nick." George repeats, because even he's not sure if it actually happened. "You hurt him."

"And what about it? Huh, George?" Clay laughs vindictively.

"You're sick." George hisses. For the first time, he looks at Clay and really sees him. The man before him is someone he doesn't recognize and yet is simultaneously the person dearest to him. "You're fucked in the head, Clay."

"Probably." Clay grins. "And yet you're still here. It's funny, isn't it?"

Nick makes a weird slurring noise and George goes into autopilot. He struggles to scramble to his feet, weighed down by devastation. He kneels by Nick's side and presses his hands against the gash while Clay does absolutely nothing. The wound is unpleasantly squishy and wet. If George presses hard enough he can feel the bullet still inside Nick. But it's deep, closer to forming an exit wound than to where it entered his torso.

George doesn't know much about gunshot wounds, but he prays it missed organs and any other important shit.

"Relax. He's not going to die. Probably."

"You shot him." George reiterates for what feels like the hundredth time. "You could've killed him, Clay.

"God, you're being annoying." Clay huffs. "If I really wanted him dead, he wouldn't be breathing. Don't be so naive."

George keeps his hands pressed firm against Nick's wound, but red continues to blossom from the space just below his heart. Blood spills between George's fingers and his hands slip against the fabric. The flesh shifts and red spurts beneath Nick's shirt, it makes a squelching noise that will probably haunt George for the rest of his life. He lets out a sob of frustration and rights his hands again, but there's so much blood. There's too much blood.

"Stop crying." Clay says gruffly. "I don't like it when you cry."

It only makes George cry harder.

Without warning Clay forcibly shoves him away from Nick. George's back hits the gravel and his head smacks the dirt. He watches helplessly as Clay scoops up Nick and carries him over his shoulder.

"Be careful with him!" George begs, words warping around his sobs. He follows after Clay into the house, leaving bloody handprints along the pristine white walls.

Clay recklessly throws Nick down onto the dining room table, and his head hits the surface with a sickening sound. George feels his knees go weak and his stomach lurch. He wonders how fate could have led him here when he plays video games for a living. It's a strange thought and it makes hysterical laughter bubble up into his chest. Somehow he's living a life that's everything he never wanted, nightmarish beyond anything he could've imagined.