CHAPTER 32: BEN

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George just sits on the couch while I cry. I let myself cry in front of him, not really caring what his perception of me is right now.

"George is going to stay with you. I'm going to the hospital."

I shouldn't have agreed to drink tonight. I should've seen the signs. He complained about the temperature, he seemed extra irritable, he had muscle weakness. All the signs of going too far were there, and it feels like it's my fault.

"Ben is going to stay with you while we go help their family."

My breathing hitches. All the signs were there too. She drank more than I'd ever seen, she couldn't even stand on her own, she was impulsive. And so was the driver. All the signs were there to not let her get in the car. It still feels like it's my fault.

George leaves the couch. I keep my eyes focused on the coffee table in front of me. A weight heavier than usual has settled on my shoulders. My body sinks down into the couch and into the Earth as history repeats itself.

History repeats itself when you haven't learned a lesson from the first incident. That's the thing, I thought I did learn. I never drink unless I'm comfortable with the person. I'm always designated driver to make sure everyone's safe. I try to be everything I failed to be that night.

Yet here I am.

George sets some water in front of me. I let myself glance up at him for the first time since he's walked in my front door. His hair is ruffled, and I'm pretty sure his shirt is on backwards. His eyes droop in exhaustion, and I realize my own tiredness from them.

He pushes the drink towards me. "Hydrate."

I do as I'm told and drink the whole glass. Afterwards, I meet his eyes. They're looking in my general direction but not at me. He's zoned out with worry painted in the lines of his face.

He must realize I'm looking at him, waiting for some directions like a little kid. He clears his throat as he thinks of what to do with me. I feel useless. Again.

"Let's get some sleep," he says softly, holding out a hand for me. George and I aren't what I would call the closest of friends. Sure, we painted a door together, but that doesn't erase the feeling of being wary around each other. And maybe that's why this gesture seems to have more meaning behind it. "It's not your fault," he whispers, "so stop blaming yourself."

I hesitantly take his hand, accepting what seems like an empty reassurance. I try to remind myself that he's just as worried as I am. He's handling it a lot better than I am, though. My brain is still hazy, trying to follow him in a straight line. Get yourself together.

George practically tucks me in as I struggle to get comfortable. He puts an extra blanket over me and water on the night stand. When he's done, he takes a deep breath. "I'll be in the living room if you need me."

I sit up in the bed. "Can you stay in here?" I whisper.

He turns and furrows his brows.

"I want to know what's happening if Clay calls," I explain.

George sits on the other side of the bed without asking anymore questions. He leans his head back on the headboard with a worried sigh.

"I hope he's okay," I whisper.

"He will be," George says, "he's strong."

I nod but don't answer. I let my eyes droop until they're finally closed, lured to the tempting thought of sleep.

It's the shuffling around the room that wakes me up. My room is dark except for a single ray falling from the opened hall door. A figure walks through the room. The light snoring that became a rhythm in the room slowly stops, and I notice the person next to me sit up. I stay laying down.

"George?" the figure says.

"Dream?"

"What are you doing in their bed?" Clay asks.

"How's Nick?" George ignores the question, moving onto a more important subject. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting them to filter their conversation on my part.

"He's awake and wanting to go home," Clay explains in a hushed voice, "He just has a fever, so he's staying the night."

"A fever?" George's voice cracks a bit.

"Apparently he's had one for a couple days but didn't say anything." Clay chuckles a bit. "Poor idiot scared y/n half to death because he drank when he should've been resting."

I feel myself relax a little bit. It wasn't entirely my fault. Then again, I wasn't the one driving the car.

"I could've slept this whole night?" George's voice sounds aggravated.

"Really? That's what you're thinking?" I can imagine Clay rolling his eyes.

There's some shuffling before a hand rests on my shoulder. I open my eyes slightly. The light cascading from the hall falls on Clay's face in front of me.

"y/n," he whispers.

"Hm?" I say, pretending I'm just waking up.

"Nick's okay," he reassures me, "You don't need to worry anymore."

I open my eyes a bit more. He has a smile on his face that makes me feel a lot better.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze. He lowers his voice so that only I can hear him. "I can see it in your eyes, y/n, don't compare it to Maggie."

My lip quivers, remembering the stress of tonight. "But they're so similar, Clay."

"Nick's okay. He's got hot nurses taking care of him."

I smile. "Of course you would think that."

He leans over and kisses my forehead. "Goodnight, y/n."

"Night Clay."

Then he walks out and closes the door behind him, leaving George and I in the dark to sleep. I don't know where he's going because I forgot to ask. Maybe he's going to stay at the hospital or go back to his own house for some of Nick's stuff. I'm not sure, but I feel comforted from his words.

Everything's going to be okay.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

ben..

have a good day :))

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