I wrote this before Waterfalls Part 2, so sorry that it is kind of NOT accurate.
She is no longer the infamously naïve "Saint Clare."
She's not an innocent freshman, strutting around in her catholic school uniform, declaring that boys have no place in her life, and obsessing over every school assignment like it is surely the end of the world.
She is no longer the lighthearted child that brings joy to each and every member of her church congregation, with smiles and polite hellos, who serves coffee and donuts after service, and responds to every goodbye with a "have a blessed week!" in reciprocation.
She is no longer the apple of her father's eye; no, his mistress serves as his pride now. Nor is she momma's little girl, for mother has a new focus, and he's 6'2 with striking brown eyes and a thriving construction business.
She is no longer an intern at The Toronto Interpreter, working tirelessly toward a bright and successful future with her mentor. She is no longer jotting notes down with fervor, scratching almost unintelligible facts as they dance in her ears, reminding her of a potential journalistic career in her grasp.
She no longer has a mentor, or even the remnants of one.
When she glances in her bedroom mirror, she sees a young woman tainted by worldliness and pain that seems beyond her years. Her skin is no longer porcelain, but peppered with exhaustion and bruised in the strangest of ways, and somehow less thick; as if it has been sanded down, worn at and worked away.
Hiding despair has never been her strong suit. Jake and Eli have known of her harassment since hours after the events took place. The aftermath of their knowledge, to Clare, is now a blur of police reports, questions, tears and sympathetic words whispered intimately in her ear.
"He'll get his, Clare."
"I'll never let him touch you again."
"It's not your fault; it's never your fault."
Her internship is swiped out from under her, though she doesn't exactly want to continue with it anyway. Asher is arrested and, with the insurmountable evidence captured on the security cameras at the Interpreter, will be convicted of 3rd degree sexual assault of a minor, sexual harassment and the accosting of a minor with sexual intent.
As they walk out of the police station, her mother on one side of her, Eli on the other, and Jake trailing close behind, Clare feels as if her life is completely different, as if the people she loves are just strangers; like nothing will ever feel safe or familiar again.
In typical Clare Edwards's fashion, she tries desperately to pick up the pieces of her broken self and immediately occupies her time with something else, anything else. This desperation brings her to an unfortunately place: fallen on her bottom, her schoolbooks scattered along the hallway, silence hanging thickly in the air, and a smirking hockey team hovering over her.
Though she suspected that the Ice Hounds would be upset about her controversial newspaper article, Clare hadn't known them to be so forward, so physical with their wrath. Ever since the downfall of her internship, and the traumatizing events that led up to it, she's been greatly uncomfortably when other people invade her level of personal space.
Tender touches from Eli feel like acid on her pale skin. An invitation to the movies from Alli is more of an inconvenience than a treat. Her life goes from an intelligent teenagers dream to any young girl's nightmare, and she feels as if she was just a spectator to each event that takes place, including the abrupt act of vengeance from her newly-connected enemies. She sits there numbly; soaking in the verbal assault that follows the physical one she's already endured. Dallas calls her every name that he can think of, and Clare almost cracks a smile. For once, someone isn't walking on eggshells around her. He is so blunt and rude, but it serves as music to her demented ears. Even Eli, the one guy she's always depended on for honestly and realness, is treating her like the most fragile piece of artwork he's ever encountered; look but don't touch, love but don't hold too closely, for it may shattered in your grasp.
As Dallas wraps up his shower of cruel and heated venom, Luke Baker steps forward and crouches down to Clare's level, glaring at her and shaking his head in disgust.
"What kind of Christian are you?" He snarls, looking at her like she is the dirtiest piece of trash he's ever been unfortunate enough to lay his eyes upon. "What kind of Christian condones homosexuality? Who do you think you are?" He spits on her, and steps back, receiving high-fives and shoulder pats from his team for a belittling well-down.
Clare rises from the ground and walks over to Luke, her chin held up proudly and her jaw set firmly in place. He watches her with a bow cocked in confusion, baffled by the fact that she isn't crying, whimpering or dwelling painfully on each and every word. When she is mere inches from him, she says, in a low tone, loud enough for them all to hear, but not so loud that it would attract unwanted attention, "I'm the kind of Christian who has endured the unraveling of everything I've ever cared about. And I know how much it hurts. I know what it feels like to lose the things that you love the most, and to know that you can never get them back. I've held my dreams in my fingertips, and had them ripped away because the world is cruel." She stares up into Luke's eyes, taking in the shocked expression from her words, and takes a deep breath before she continues. "The hockey teams gets whatever they want, because they know how to hit a puck with a stick. You're a group of spoiled, privileged bigots who came to a new school and thought they could get away with alienating and ostracizing good people, without opposition. You were wrong."
Clare blinks away a few angry tears and matches Luke's glare with a stronger one, "To answer your ill-informed question… I'm a real Christian, because I've endured pain, and loss, and I can still state that I am a stronger believer in God. I haven't been handed everything in life, I'm not a preacher's kid, I haven't been sheltered from the world, and yet I still believe. I'm real, because I've seen the world for what it is. Have you?"
Clare stands up on her tip-toes, quickly gathers up the saliva in her mouth, and spits it onto the front of Luke's shirt.
"And that, my friend, is an eye for an eye."