My name is Clinetta (Claire, Clint, whatever you choose to call me..) Barton; I'm 18 and was born on May Nineteenth, 1984. I lived in Waverly, Iowa with my sister, Becky Barton, mother, and father. My dad was a heavy drinker...no...heavy was an understatement. He was also a very angry person. My mom wanted him to stop, sometimes wanted to divorce him and take me and Becky, but she couldn't. With my father's out of control anger, there had to be an outlet. That outlet was Becky and I. He would hit us, over and over, mom would watch and try not to cry. Sometimes she would speak up, then dad would hit her. After he would leave, I would be left crying and feeling worthless. My sister offered zero comfort, she was hiding behind her shell. My mom would wait until dad wouldn't catch her to comfort me. Even then, it would take up to days for me to be able to move without pain.
Becky and I never really had a very good relationship. When I cried, she often taunted me and called me weak, because crying was for babies.
"Clinny are you a baby? You're crying, Clinny, you're a weak baby..' she would tease. At a young age, I learned not to cry around other people.
On July thireenth, 1990, my parents died. My father had gotten too drunk and went for a drive with my mother, Becky, and me. I was sitting in the back, my carseat annoying me. I was complaining about how I should be able to be in a car without a carseat, but at 6, my arguments didn't go anywhere other then getting beaten. I don't remember the accident too vividly, but I remember some.
The car swerved, my mother shouted at my father for being drunk, and then the car hit the tree, the crunch of metal and glass hitting decade old wood filled my ears. I remember crying, I didn't know why I was crying, maybe because I was scared, but, I don't know. Becky and I sat there in shock for what seemed like hours before red and blue lights flashed nearby. Sirens blared and I covered my ears. A tall man in a police uniform opened the door and lifted me out. I remember blood trickling down my forehead, I wondered how it got there, then I remember about the scar along my hairline. I assume it was a cut from a peice of glass. Becky came out next.
"Becky! Where's mommy..?" I asked, crying.
"Mommy ain't here Clinny, Mommy isn't comming ever again." Becky repiled, a sad look on her face. My small brain hadn't understood what had happened until I read the look on my sister's face.
And with the look, I lost it.
"MOMMY! DADDY!" I called.
"Shut up you baby!" Becky snapped, I was suprised that Becky could keep calling me out for crying, when she was on the verge of tears herself.
As the police officers took us away, I cried.
We were brought to an orphanage, but that didn't last long. The orphanage was no better than home. They treated us poorly, we spent a year there, being starved and beaten when our grades at the school they put us in went down. Bad grades ment the orphanage's reputation went down. I'll admit I wasn't very smart, so I got hit alot.
It was around midnight when Becky came back into the room.
"Clinny, you idoit, let's go." she told me.
I went, knowing what my sister would say if I didn't. I left my clothes and snuck out with my sister. We ran and ran, I was scared of what could happen to us. We ran until we found a circus. Becky took my hand and old me to shut up and she dragged me to the main tent. She talked to the ringmaster about jobs, and soon, we had jobs and a place to stay.
Our first few years at the circus were pretty uneventful, while, as uneventful as life at circus could be. I did things that a 7 year old could do.
When I turned 10, the swordsman and Trickshot decided I had potential and decided to train me. Trickshot shoved a bow in my hands and made me pratice and pratice until I could hit the bullseye every time.
I continued working for the circus and using my archery skills until I was 18, I overheard the ringmaster talking about missing money, I dismissed it and went to talk to the swordsman. When I found him, he was counting money.
"Swordsman.." I spoke up.
"Barton.." he said.
He offered me a partnership with the money, and when I refused, I was dragged into an alley in the nearby city. He beat me, his fist collided with my head over and over, his foot settled on my lungs and I wanted to scream, but I couldn't get enough air. It was terrible. When I was coughing up blood, he finally left me there. I laid there, wishing for help, wishing that Becky would come help me, but I doubted it. I doubted it so much. My eyes had started to drift close, becase I was so tired, when a man in a black suit came. My eyes closed as he looked down at me.
I woke up in a white sheet covered bed. My tangle blonde hair was pulled away from my face in a ponytail. My dirty jeans and t-shirt were replaced by a hospital gown. A hospital bracelet was on my wrist, it read "Barton, Clinetta, F." I sighed and tried to sit up, but felt an uncomfortable pain in my chest when I did.
"Clinetta.." a voice said. I looked up to see the man I had seen before passing out. "Or, do you want me to call you something else." he said, sitting on the corner of the bed. "I'm Phil Coulson."
"Clint...Claire...anything." I replied quietly.
"Claire, I'm Phil Coulson and I'd like to speak with you about getting a real job that can put your skills to good use..."