We'd stand there hugging if his forehead didn't bleed again, making him break the hug quickly so that the blood wouldn't drip on me.

"C'mon we're going to the hospital." I rinsed the towel quickly and gave it back to him.

"They're gonna ask what happened and then the police will get involved," he was really overthinking and overreacting at this point, "and I don't want my license to get revoked."

"Revoked?" I raised a brow, "I thought they'd take you to jail for that.."

He really had the nerve to laugh at that. I mean not being able to legally drive is bad, I get it, but my dumbass really thought he's gonna get arrested.

"I'm still not coming to the hospital."

"You do realize how much you're overthinking it right?" It was ironic how I was the one saying these words, "It's not even a serious car accident, you just crashed into a lamppost and nobody got hurt.. well, except for yourself."

"I don't know, I'm scared.. and it's just a cut and a headache, I don't think I need to go to the hospital." Clay was being so stubborn.

"That cut's been bleeding for what- 40 minutes already? Or even more, I have no idea," I realized that my phone had no battery for me to check the time, "It's also swelling and bruising... And how the fuck did you even crash into the lamppost?"

Clay frowned, checking his reflexion in the mirror after my words and realizing that the wound really was starting to swell and bruise. Then he turned his attention back to me, sighing before he could answer my question.

"I was going a bit.. fast.." he knew he was about to get scolded for that, "And then a fucking cat ran out of a bush, I was scared to run it over and didn't have much time to react.. so yeah, that happened," he shrugged, "the cat's fine tho, don't worry."

Why is he such an idiot.

"You really think the cat's my main concern don't you?" I shook my head with a disappointed voice, getting his hopes high before continuing my sentence, "How's the car?"

I actually made him laugh with that overused concept of a joke. Not complaining though, I missed his laugh so much. I hope I hear him wheeze sometime soon, cause that's one of my favorite things in the world.

When did I become so.. I don't even know. Anyways.

"The car's in the garage actually. And it looks.. bad," he chuckled, scrunching up his nose, "I'll get it fixed, it's okay."

And he went as far as taking me to the garage and showing the once fancy white car that didn't have a single scratch mark on it. The whole left side of it was deformed now, and looking closely I could see the shape of the lamppost carved into it. Nothing money can't fix I guess.

"Looks like your forehead. But like.. whiter." I looked at the smashed metal. I'm actually surprised how he got out of this with a single cut.

"See the crack on the windshield?" He pointed at the spiderweb patterned crack, "Yeah, the airbags didn't even open. I did that with my head."

I let out of the most genuine gasp there ever was. How did he break the windshield with his head and didn't even pass out- I guess big heads are useful afterall.

"I guess god gave you a hard ass skull to protect your huge brain." I looked at him with disbelief, still not processing how the whole thing happened.

"Why didn't he give me anything to protect my huge dick th- OUCH, stop!" I pinched his arm with a disgusted face, forcing an emotionless face.

Who am I even lying to, I missed everything about him. Yeah, even the tasteless sexual jokes.

And he managed to crack a few more of those as we were heading back to his house from the garage. Just as I thought everything was going good for once, Clay stopped walking.

"Wait a second." He put an arm on the wall and leaned a bit on it. "Dizzy."

"What.. why?" Once again, I panicked.

He shut his eyes tightly, curling the hand that was on the wall supporting him into a fist. I clung to his other arm, trying my best to help him balance himself.

"I'm calling the ambulance," he wasn't going to stop me anymore. But my dead battery was, "fuck, is your phone on you?"

"No.. just wait a second," I could tell it was difficult for him to talk, "I'll be alright."

I couldn't leave him there and go charge my phone or get his phone. I was scared he'd pass out or just lose balance any second. And I didn't ask questions or disturb him with my pointless words. I guess the best option for now is just waiting.

Luckily he got better in a minute. And by better I mean well enough to stand on his feet without needing me or the wall for support.

"We're going to the hospital." I know he was probably getting tired of me repeating the same context in different sentences every second, but I was so scared.

"What am I going to tell the doctors?" Either he really didn't know how things worked or just looked for a reason not to go to the hospital.

"Like whatever? Tell them you rolled down the stairs or fell from the balcony, or just tell them the truth."

Clay sighed, clearly unsatisfied and annoyed.

"I'm fine, Eliza. The cut's not even bleeding anymore and the dizziness was probably from getting up too quickly."

With his words he tried to sit on the couch. But just as he was about to sink into the fabric, he got right back up to his feet, ran to the bathroom and closed the door.

And soon enough I heard him throw up.

I was honestly on the verge of losing it. Everything was getting out of hand in a rapid pace.