found (clay jensen)

stupid

we're going back to ellie's p.o.v. by the way

also we hit #4 for the 13 reasons why tag and 3k views! also this is hella long my bad

thank you all so much for reading, feel free to leave suggestions! <3 enjoy!

My heart pounds in my chest wildly like an animal trapped in a cage, clawing and banging on my ribs, almost as if it would fly out of my throat if I allowed it to. Pure adrenaline courses through my veins with nowhere to go, so my body just trembles to expel the unwanted energy overwhelming me.

I can feel Clay's fingers tighten slightly on mine, asking a silent question that I can not answer. He is trying to see if I am okay, but I honestly don't even know myself.

The elevator doors are trapping me, my lungs could collapse from all the work they are doing, heaving quickly and desperately without any real oxygen coming in. I feel his questioning gaze on my face, but I refuse to turn towards him. My body won't let me.

When the doors finally open, I feel a sense of relief but the pressure on my lungs never leaves. All I can think about is my Dad back on his machines, just like how he was two years. Just like Jeff last year.

Clay gasps and stumbles behind me as I wrench my hand away from his, tearing out of the elevator and down the hall the second that the doors fully open. My eyes peer down every doorframe, searching for the familiar faces of my parents, who probably hate me right now.

Why didn't I answer her texts? This is all my fault, I fucked up so badly. What if it's my fault? My heart stops at this sudden intrusive thought. If my Dad was hurt because I didn't come home— I stop myself before I can spiral down that train of thought.

I continue to sprint down the hallway. I don't even know what number my Dad is in, or if it's the right floor, but I just keep running. I tear through the halls exactly the way I did when Jeff was here.

A breath hitches in my throat as wide, familiar brown eyes meet my identical gaze. Standing there at the exact same height as me, arms wide open and trails of mascara down her face, is my mother. She's dressed in one of my jackets, the one that I never wore anymore, and a pair of beaten up slippers. Her frame is shaking, her hands pulling at the corners of the jacket to wrap tighter around her tiny body. The long hair that she prides herself in is hastily thrown into a messy knot that only somewhat resembles a bun. She looks broken and unsteady, swaying unevenly on the spot.

My heart instantly breaks and I fall into her arms, instantly dissolving into tears. "Oh, mija, don't cry." She holds the back of my head, her fingers entangled in the messy red strands as she whispers comforting words in my ear.

Pulling away, sniveling, I whisper, "Where is he?"

She looks at me for a second, her wide doe eyes swimming with tears, before turning slightly to the side to reveal my father.

He is laying in a hospital bed with a gown and the cover pulling all the way up to his neck. Long IV lines connect to his wrinkly hand and stretch across the room to various machines. He's small and tired, but alive. With a loud sob of relief, I notice that he was looking at me and blinking, signaling that he was alive.

I tear past my mother and crash into his arms. He wheezes and I instantly retract myself. "Oh my God, that was so stupid, I'm sorry." Shame fills me as he readjusts his IV line.

"It's alright, Belle," he croaks in his thick Southern accent. His watery eyes hold a sympathetic smile and I sob again, wanting desperately to hug him.

"I love you," I manage to say without choking.

He pauses to look at me for a moment before he opens his arms, wincing. "Come 'ere."