Comfort (Dream X GeorgeNotFound)

Memories

George sat in his chair. The anger he'd initially felt had been replaced by disappointment, then with shame. The vulnerability complex that had been rooted deep into him from childhood was at fault here - he'd opened up about his feelings, and now he was now reaping what he had sowed.

He wondered how Clay was doing. Probably unaffected, sleeping or cooking. Sleep was the last thing on his crowded mind, thoughts and insecurities nagging at him, forcing him to replay the hurt he felt after the rejection.

He'd been basically stewing in his own negative thoughts when a knock sounded at the door. He didn't budge, however, not even fully snapping out of his daze enough to realize someone was in the other side, waiting for an answer.

"George, please." If the knock hadn't done much to get his attention, he was fully alert after hearing the familiar voice. "Let me see you."

Clay sounded hurt. George wanted to be glad, wanted to be satisfied that the man that made him go through so much was feeling the same, but he couldn't. He wanted to throw open that door and jump into his friend's arms, to forgive him in a blink of an eye and pretend nothing had ever happened.

He involuntarily reached out towards the door with his hand. He couldn't muster up enough courage to actually stand up and pull on the knob, so he stayed rooted in place, even as he heard a defeated sigh from the other side of the door and heavy feet shuffling away.

Could be even feel anything? Or was he pretending? As a kid, his mom always used to tell him how desensitized he was. Even though he tried not to take it to heart, deep down, the repeated remark made him believe there was something deeply wrong with him. Maybe he was just broken, and it had always been his destiny to fake emotions and dance around to put on a show for other people's pleasure, like some sort of twisted marionette.

His back was starting to ache from being slumped over in the chair. He got up, burying himself in the pillows in his bed. Being face down like this made it easier to get completely wrapped up in his thoughts - not even a sliver of light could reach his eyes through all the cushions.

Funny thing, how childhood traumas affected him even now, he thought. It was pathetic, letting just a few memories dictate how he lived his life. He was past that, after all, wasn't he? But he found himself returning to the methods he used to comfort himself as a child after he'd witnessed a particularly gnarly fight between his parents, before going to his childhood best friend's funeral, or during something as silly as a loud thunderstorm. And that method was to isolate.

Since he'd never learnt how to deal with his emotions in a healthy way and all he was taught was that no one cared, he deemed it best to not try at all. Instead, he was to tough it out alone before he were back to normal as to not bother anyone. He remembered his mother's voice, still etched so deep into his memory.

"Shame on you, acting up like that. What's wrong with you? Crying is for little boys."

No one cared about him enough to go out of their way to listen to him blabbing about his problems.

"Me and your dad are busy, honey. Can't you deal with it yourself? You're a big boy, go to your room."

He cringed at the searing words that had marked themselves into his brain, leaving burn marks that always reminded him of what he was. He just wanted someone who cared about him no matter what, who'd go to great lengths to make sure he was okay-

Clay.

He'd care, right? He'd cared up until now, what was one more little bump on the road? There was going to be a lot of those, George thought. Being someone like him, he was doomed to make problems from the start. That's all he did.