George Clarkey X Y/n - Blog Posts

You know I can’t - George Clarkey

words : 1.0k +

warnings : emotional manipulation, toxic relationship dynamics, angst & heartbreak, emotional cheating

George had convinced himself that this time would be different.

That this time, he wouldn’t come running. That this time, he would let you fade into the background, let himself breathe, let himself live without waiting for you to decide whether or not you wanted him.

For a while, it worked.

He had met someone—someone kind, someone who made him laugh without making his chest ache. She didn’t play games, didn’t make him question his worth, didn’t treat his love like something to be picked up and put down whenever it was convenient.

And for the first time in a long time, George felt like he could finally move forward.

But then his phone buzzed.

"Miss you."

Two words. That was all it took.

His stomach twisted as he stared at the message, knowing exactly what would happen next.

He didn’t respond, but it didn’t matter. Because his mind was already elsewhere. With you.

And the girl sitting across from him at the restaurant knew it too.

She sighed, setting her fork down as she studied him. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

George’s throat went dry. “What?”

She gave him a sad smile, the kind that made his chest tighten with guilt. “It’s always going to be her.”

He opened his mouth to protest—to say that wasn’t true, that he was trying, that he wanted to move on—but the words never came.

Because they both knew she was right.

Twenty minutes later, he was standing outside your door.

Again.

He hated himself for it. Hated that all it took was one message, one breadcrumb of attention, for him to come crawling back.

But he knocked anyway.

You answered almost instantly, leaning against the frame, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “I knew you’d come.”

He let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

You blinked, tilting your head slightly. “Doing what?”

His jaw clenched, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “This. Calling me back every time I try to leave. Keeping me on a string like I’m some—some backup plan.”

You exhaled, folding your arms across your chest. “If it bothers you so much, then leave, George.”

His breath hitched.

But you didn’t say it in anger. You didn’t want him to leave. You just wanted to see if he would.

And you both knew the answer.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “You know I can’t.”

Something flickered across your face then—something like guilt, or maybe even regret. “George…”

His voice broke slightly as he cut you off. “I know this is bad. I know I should walk away. I know I should stop letting you do this to me.” He took a shaky breath. “But I can’t.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words hanging between you.

And then, in the softest voice, barely above a whisper, you admitted, “Because I don’t want you with anyone else.”

His stomach flipped, but he refused to let himself fall so easily this time. “Why?”

You hesitated.

And for the first time, you looked uncertain.

“I don’t know,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

George let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t know?” His voice was sharp, wounded. “You don’t know why you don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your side. “I just—”

“Do you love me?” he cut in, voice raw.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked away.

And that was his answer.

His chest tightened, the same ache settling in—the one he knew all too well. The one he had learned to live with because he would rather have you like this than not at all.

You finally looked back at him, eyes searching his. And then, softly, hesitantly, you whispered,

"I don’t… not love you."

It was the cruelest thing you could have said.

Because as much as George hated it—hated the way you danced around the truth, hated the way you never gave him a real answer—those words gave him hope.

And hope was the most dangerous thing of all.

You reached for him then, fingers brushing against his. “You’re such a good person, George.”

He let out a breathless, broken laugh. “No. I’m just an idiot when it comes to you.”

And just like always, you stepped aside, letting him in.

And just like always, he stayed.