Clare finally tells Eli about her harassment; his reaction.

Just a drabble on how I thought the scene might go down in the show (Spoilers for those who haven't read the episode descriptions for Season 12). I posted this on my tumblr, I just wanted to post it here.

I don't own.

-x-

"I'll kill him," he snarls, standing up and clenching his fists, his chest heaving. "I'll fucking kill him!"

And Clare wraps her arms tighter around herself, her sobs wracking her. "I'm sorry," she weeps, "I'm so sorry…"

"FUCK!" he growls, snatching his glass from her desk and hurling it against the wall. Clare cries harder when it shatters, seeing the veins pulse in his neck, the lethal lines of his body. She just wants to fall asleep - the deepest of sleeps - and forget everything. She can't stop crying, helpless as her body shakes.

She keeps apologizing, a desperate mantra and his name, sorry that she didn't tell anyone sooner, sorry that she wasn't able to push Asher away, sorry that she wasn't strong enough, sorry that she now understands what Darcy went through more than she ever imagined to. She wants to be angry, wants to be furious, wants him to be locked away so that he can never do this to another girl ever again, but all she feels is shame and guilt and fear, sorry that she's burdening the boy she loves.

He gazes at her, his eyes sharp. He looks dazed, broken, lost, like he just woke from a nightmare. Then his eyes soften and he walks over to her, wrapping around her completely.

She cries and cries, begs him not to do anything stupid, to wait, to hold her hand when she reports it because she can't be silent any longer...to just stay.

He kisses her over and over, telling her not to be sorry, telling her this isn't her fault (He did this Clare, he fucking did it to you), promising they'll get through this, and holding her until she falls asleep.

She doesn't see him pick up the glass. Doesn't see the blood drip from his fingers as he crushes the pieces in his hands.

He barely makes it to the toilet, shaking as he wretches his guts out. He pours alcohol on his wounds, numb to the pain, a couple of strangled sobs escaping him.

He is always too late. First, Julia biking off in the night, and now this. Always too late and always his fault. Clare would tell him that it wasn't up to him, and how could he have known? She would whisper that bad things just happen, things you couldn't control; that it's destructive to linger on what could have or would have been. That wanting others to hurt wouldn't make your hurt go away. But she doesn't know about the stench of guilt, they way it swims in his blood, reminding him that if he hadn't yelled, Julia would still be alive; that if he had arrived five minutes earlier, Clare wouldn't be a victim - that he was to blame. Again.

He should have been there. He should have known. He should have protected her.

He looks at his hands, still stained with blood. He feels a sort of sick relief watching it trickle from his wrists down the stainless steel drain.

He should be used to it by now. His hands will never be clean.

And he shatters the mirror a moment later, collapsing onto the floor with all the broken shards, drowning in the blood and spit and tears.

He lies there until he feels the sun's rays peeking through the bathroom blinds.

His hands are mangled, but he cleans up his mess, only wrapping his cuts when the room is clean.

She can't see him like this. He needs to be strong this time. For her.

The blood is nothing; he'll just add it to his ledger.

God, I am totally angst!ing right now. I hope this was alright :) I don't have any experience with this topic, thankfully, so I hope I did it justice.