I’m sitting on top of the picnic bench, my elbows resting on my knees, fuck, I’m a mess. A big fucking mess to the point I’ve nearly crashed my bike twice in the past week alone, and I failed my first test ever.
I bite my bottom lip, not taking my eyes off her.
I still don’t remember that night, and I know Clark doesn’t. I’ve seen the lost look she has and how she’s had to lean on her best friend.
Belle told Crash that Clark feels violated, like she was assaulted, like I was assaulted, and it’s fucked her head up. Fuck, did it mess with my head too because she is right, we were assaulted.
Someone spiked my drink, clearly enough to try and trap me, only for Clark to end up drinking most of it. She saved my life, and I know she hasn’t allowed herself to think it yet, instead she’s pulled away from us.
She’s closed off.
She won’t speak to the brothers, she won’t speak to her brother or her parents. She won’t speak to me. If she sees me, she puts her head down and walks away.
I feel like I lost my friend, fuck, I feel like I failed her for not keeping her safe.
“How are you doing?” Crash asks lowly as he takes a seat next to me, and I shake my head, still looking at his sister.
“She won’t speak to me,” I whisper, and he sighs.
“She won’t speak to me either, only Belle. She’s barely eating, and the past few days she’s, I don’t know, she’s like a shell of herself,” he says quietly, and I nod because I have seen it as well.
Fuck, we’re all lucky that she’s even at family day to begin with, it took both her mom and Belle to convince her to come.
“What are we going to do?” I ask as I look at him to see his focus on Clark, and I demand, “How are we going to get the old Clark back?”
“I don’t know,” he grunts before he looks my way and says, “I think it’ll just take time, what happened was, fuck, it was fucked up to you, to her, but brother, I’m not just worried about my sister, I’m worried about you as well. I can see you’re spiraling, especially when we don’t have proof of who did it, when the person you believed did it is currently staring at you from the kitchen window.”
I look away instantly, refusing to look his way and he sighs.
“You felt like you raped her, brother,” he reminds me, and I swallow the lump forming and look back at Clark, who is staring off into the distance.
“Because I basically did,” I grunt, not able to get that feeling off me, the feeling I roared out in pain two days after the shitshow.
“Trick,” Dad says softly as I pace my kitchen, gripping my hair as frustration and pain, so much fucking pain chokes me, making it difficult to breathe.
I, fuck…
“Brother, try and take a deep breath,” Crash tries while Spike, Clark and Crash’s dad, watches me like I’m a ticking time bomb.
Two days, and I still can’t fucking remember anything but this feeling, something fucking bad churning in my gut. It makes it difficult to breathe, their confession brings the feeling higher, and I’m ready to explode.
“I raped her,” I choke as I grip my hair tightly.
“No!” Spike snaps, his green eyes glaring at me, “You didn’t fucking rape her, you were both drugged!”
I scoff, “You’ve just informed me after doing a thorough search of my room that you’ve found a used rubber on my floor with blood on it. I couldn’t have been that drugged up to be able to remember about fucking protection!”
Spike shakes his head, and Dad says fiercely, “It wasn’t fucking rape. Whatever shit they put in your drink, they wanted you coherent enough to get it up but not enough to remember. It wasn’t fucking rape!”
I chuckle darkly as I shake my head, the vision of Clark losing her shit scorching my brain and all my emotions bleed into one. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. Heartbreak. Guilt. They all fucking consume me and I roar out full of pain before slamming my fist into my glass sliding door and it shatters.
“Fuck,” Crash curses, and I roar even louder as I fall to my knees and sobs tear from my chest, the feeling like I raped my best friend's little sister, my fucking friend choking me…
“I’m fine,” I lie, and he sighs, and opens his mouth probably to scold me like I’m some sort of child but he clamps it shut as Clark walks towards the gate, ignoring anyone who tries to get her attention, and I don’t think.
I jump off the bench, and Crash doesn’t call me back, knowing we need to talk, and this might be the only way.
She spent a week in the hospital, a week being monitored, and I spent every single night in that room, holding her while she sobbed herself to sleep. As soon as she was discharged, radio silence, and we need to fucking talk, fuck, I need to apologize, I need…
