Horrible Truth || Clay Jensen x Reader
This one hit me right in the heart.
Word Count: 839
Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Hannah’s Suicide Tapes
‘Hey, Helmet. You weren’t supposed to be on these tapes.’
Clay pressed his headphones down tighter, knees pulled into his chest as he sat in the corner of his room. He braced himself, expecting the worst after what he had heard about the others.
'The only reason you are… is because you fell in love with my best friend.’
He was taken aback. Memories of you flooded into his head. He wondered, with a heavy heart, if he hadn’t made it clear enough who he wanted.
He saw you for the first time standing outside of the theater. You’d just gotten a brand new car and wanted to pick Hannah up from work. You were probably the cutest thing he had ever seen. The way you danced to the blasting radio, like you weren’t standing in the middle of a busy town, intrigued him. If love at first sight was actually real, it happened then.
“Y/N, meet Helmet. Helmet, meet Y/N,” Hannah introduced, taking both of your hands and putting them together.
He smiled at you, hoping he didn’t look like a complete idiot in his mandatory bow tie. If he did, you didn’t say anything, eyes pooling into his like a newly buffed gem. He was so entranced by you that he didn’t notice the way Hannah’s smile slowly faded, or how she climbed into the car without another word to either of you.
'I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wanted it to me. You loved her the way I wanted you to love me, and, what makes things worse, she loved you better than I ever could have.’
Clay bit back a smile, tears brimming in his eyes. How could it be possible for someone to be so happy and, at the same time, so devastated?
The horrible truth was that even though Hannah was telling him exactly what he had done wrong, he had no intention on it being any other way. He would rather live a life of guilt than live in a world where you weren’t his.
Hanging out with you became normal to him. You spent entire afternoons together, running around town until the sun had set and darkness crept in. The first step towards what would eventually be one of the best relationships of his life started with an accident.
You were hanging halfway off of the slide at Eisenhower Park, Clay standing right next to it in case you fell. He was complaining that you were too reckless when, in defiance of him and his little goody two-shoes ways, you tried to push him over.
Unfortunately, his first instinct was to reach out and grab the closest thing, which just so happened to be you. The two of you toppled into the dirt, you on top. A moment passed in silence. As he stared up at you with those big, blue-gray eyes. As you tapped your fingers rhythmically against his chest.
Then you were laughing, and he was just seconds later. You didn’t move for a long time. You might not have if you hadn’t had school the next morning.
'It’s okay, Clay. You can have her. I’m giving you my permission.’
He crawled across his bedroom floor and pulled himself up onto the bed. He clutched his pillow against his chest like it was only thing he had left.
That should have made him feel better, but it only made things worse. What good is the permission of a dead girl?
A year had passed. His moments with Hannah became scarcer, replaced by cold, winter mornings stowed away in the back of Monet’s, sharing a hot chocolate with you. Moments spent outside of the theater turned into him running out of the doors excitedly, just to jump into your car and speed off to another place of your choice.
It was on the night of a party being hosted at Jessica’s that you told Clay you wanted to be more than friends. He felt like he was in a dream, even tried to pinch himself to wake up.
That night, he kissed you for the first time. Neither of you had any idea that Hannah was watching from the other side of the room.
'I can’t blame you for following your heart. I’m sorry that I tried.’
Clay brushed a finger against his lips, that kiss still fresh in his mind. He could feel your lips molding onto his own. Soft, and warm, and just a little moist from the beer you’d had before it. He wanted more of those nights. As many more as he could possibly have.
A knock on the door sent him jumping to stuff the tapes beneath his bed. He was just settled back down when it swung open, and you stepped inside.
“Clay,” you said, smiling. “Your mom called me. She said you were acting weird. You know, I think she’s trying to use me to spy on you- Hey, are you okay?”
He reached for you. “I’m so glad you’re here.”