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Chapter 43- Idea

TWs- mentions drunkenness, mentions eating disorder, body insecurity, mention of breakdown/panic attack.

Read safely lovelys<3

George's POV
He had left the moment I lay on the bed, and I was upset about it despite myself. Of course he would. Of course I was right. But it still hurt like shit.
I shouldn't really have shouted, because it encouraged him to leave. Maybe if I hadn't he would have stayed, and looked after himself for once. Maybe he would have listened if I had been calmer. But there was no way I was gonna sit there and let him talk to me as if he never lied. I refused to listen to what he had to say if he was gonna accuse me of something he did consistently.

So now it was gonna start again, the repeated cycle of looking after the only person left in my life and therefore forgetting how to look after myself. I knew that whole thing was just a hiccup in a constant routine, one that would of course be forgotten as I had predicted. Clay no longer knew how to deal with stuff normally, because he had finally found a way to escape it. Drinking meant that he didn't have to worry about me, about my emotions, or even about his own. On the outside he'd seem to be feeling everything- but he was blackout drunk, therefore feeling nothing. May as well be passed out back on the pavement for the amount anything happening around him mattered to him.

So immediately after having a complete breakdown I was preparing, again, for him to get home. Like clockwork my body was moving, collecting blankets and water, cloths and pills, forcing myself to find the absolute numbness I needed so as not to cry in front of him. There was too much going on with Clay for me to bother with myself. He was so much more important to me, and I loved him with everything that was left of me- even if his addiction had managed to make my life worse than before.

Once I was done preparing I'd usually cry, or sleep- or do what I was now. Sitting shirtless in front of a mirror, staring at myself. Seeing the heavy bags under my eyes, the way my face sunk in, the way my ribs jutted out. But there, looking like a skeleton, I still cringed at the fat I could see on my arms. I still took a step and watched the way the skin on my thighs shook. I still stood on the scales and desperately wished the number could reduce more than it already had. Maybe Clay would stop if I was prettier. Maybe he started drinking because he didn't think he could force himself to pretend I was good enough anymore. Maybe if I lose more weight he'll listen to me. Brutal, painful thoughts constantly circling in my mind and all I could do was hear them. Consider them, agree with them, cry at them, anything other than running away from them. I would never be able to escape myself.

Except for when I would. Because Clay meant I could. With him, I felt like I was on top of the world. He was the only person who had made me look at myself and see me how he did. No day spent with my happy, loving boyfriend had been a dull one, but then he fell out of love and I realised he isn't ok. Surely, he didn't still love me the way I loved him. Maybe he actually realised his own worth and gave up when he started dating me. He probably wouldn't have fallen down this hole if I had never flown out to see him all that time ago. My arrival was probably what forced him to start dropping, to start hating, to start drinking. It was all my fault and there was no escaping that. So as I came to that realisation, sat in front of the mirror with my shirt in my hands, I decided on spending the rest of my life keeping Clay alive. Nothing else mattered to me anymore- it was because of me he got to this point, so it was only fair that I stay with him when he was there.

Clay's POV
I didn't buy anything. For the first time in ages, I left the house without drinking. George's words were still circulating in my head, the way the tears had been streaming down his face, the way his entire body had started shaking. For god's sake, he was my boyfriend. I loved him. I couldn't let him live like this, in constant despair and unwanted responsibility to look after me. But with the drinking, and the lack of memories, I didn't really know how bad it actually was. I needed to have a way to find out what state George was at. And I had one, but it was scary and it was shitty, and probably unfair on him. It was the only thing I could think of that might work, though, so it was what I was gonna do. George would probably be his most vulnerable in front of a drunk me, because he knew I wouldn't remember. So I would pretend I was.

I'd go home, walking and talking as if I was drunk off my shit, and I'd watch him. I'd watch his movements, the way he spoke, the way he looked at me. George was the one person I had always been able to read easily, so it wouldn't be difficult to discover how he really was. All I was worried about was keeping up the act- if I was right and he was clearly struggling, I wasn't sure I'd be able to hold back from giving him a hug and comforting him. But if I wanted this idea to work then I would need to keep it up, to make sure he was oblivious. Lying clearly to George wouldn't help the situation at all, and might just make him more angry with me. The only way to get this right was to make it believable, so I had to prepare myself for the worst to happen.
He wasn't okay. He hadn't been for ages, because I wasn't taking care of him. And I had to properly come to terms with that, and fix the problems I made for him.

(1077 words)
The ending of this one feels crappy, I might edit tomorrow idk

Thoughts?

The angst is screamingggg, we have DETECTIVE DREAM ON THE CASE. HE WILL SOLVE THE CRIME. HE WILL SEE IF GOG IS SAD.

On a serious note though look after yourself, lmk if u want anything to happen and make sure you're eating n drinking properly<3
I'm always here to talk to, u can message me or u can leave a comment. You want my snapchat? I'll give it to you then.
Ilysm.