found (clay jensen)

text messages

I JUST WATCHED THIS STORY HIT 1K VIEWS!! AHHHH!!! i can't thank you guys enough.

i'm trying out this new texting style that i see in other stories. i'm using it to give character to a bunch of people, but it'll only be for this chapter unless y'all really like it.

enjoy! <3

The world around me is quiet. Numbness reaches every bone in my body, bringing my center down with an indescribable weight.

My legs nervously bounce on the fluffy carpet under my fluffy socks. Aching fingers, just like my brother Jeff, twiddle with each other in my lap.

Their quiet, soft movements are the only thing bringing me back down to Earth. The slate grey walls of my bedroom and the pure silence of my empty house add a deathly stillness in the air around me.

Whenever Jeff was anxious, he would play with his hands to distract himself. His entire body would shake and he'd avoid eye contact, but his clenched jaw and tense muscles proved the quick temper he had inherited from my mother.

Don't think about him. The only solid thought I've had juts out in my head like bold text.

I try to separate my hands from fidgeting to stop reminding myself about my dead brother. They reconnect as my anxiety mounts higher in my throat.

Flying suddenly to my feet, I pace around my tranquil room. My heart almost seems to shake as it beats wildly and violently in my chest. Hands fly up to my hair, grabbing at it. I remind myself not to pull too hard and rip it in my mounting anxiety.

A loud bang erupts as I walk straight into the corner of my bed and I curse as I clutch my side in pain. I stumble across the room, holding my stomach, and see my mirror in the corner of the room.

Arriving at the mirror, I stop suddenly when my eyes harshly make contact with my reflection.

Sweatpants and Clay's college sweatshirt both leave my body wrapped up in warmth. My hair is tied up and disheveled from laying in bed all day, with red strands poking lazily out of my bun. White Nike socks separate my feet from the cool wood floor, but I feel myself tremble even in the absence of the cold.

His hoodie, much too oversized on me, hangs loosely over my shoulder and exposes my collarbone.

A line of bruises present themselves across my pale neck from Bryce's grip, combined with the various hickeys Clay left me yesterday trailing up my neck and down my chest. I raise a trembling hand from my stomach up to the largest one just above my bra.

Grabbing a concealer off my dresser, I pull the sweatshirt down further to apply the makeup over the hickeys. It takes five minutes to cover them all, but my breathing steadies itself as I focus my attention onto it. The procedural swirling of my makeup brush is therapeutic. I continue to blend until my legs stop shaking and I can breathe again.

I shake out my hands forcefully to distract myself and crack my neck, sighing at the brief relief it gives me. My mind is racing but with disconnected thoughts that don't make any sense.

All I feel is the ever-present reminder that I have to meet Clay's parents tonight, but the numbness in my bones begs me to never leave my house again.

How am I supposed to act like a human being? How do I face them when all I can think about is how it felt to have Bryce's bone snap under my fist? Does Clay know yet?

At least a hundred questions fly across my brain, each making me more nervous than the last.

I take a deep breath and stomp over to my bed, scooping my phone off the blanket. Hurriedly opening my messages, I draft a quick text with shaking hands. The contact for Hannah Baker pops into my brain and I involuntarily flinch.