Shards of Glass
Kasage Starrunner
Disclaimer: Resident Evil is Capcom's. I have no affiliation with them whatsoever.
***
The painted smile clung to her lips until all the guests had disappeared. All she wanted now was to be alone in her new apartment with her thoughts. She hated the mask she had put on her face for them, but hated most that she hid herself from her brother, but the young woman's integrity had long since gone out the window. Claire was a Redfield, she was a survivor, she was strong. It were as though she had some desire to prove her independence to Chris, who remained in the doorway, looking as though he could see through her trasnparant disguise. Those blue eyes were observant, but said nothing. Claire could feel that gaze pierce through the exterior into the soul within. She looked away, and began to clean up the soiled paper plates that a few of the guests had left behind.
"It's a nice place," ventured Chris. The statement had been dug into the ground multiple times since they were here. It was probably the fifth time her brother had said it, as though he were trying to convince himself. She could feel that. He didn't trust her alone, and the young woman couldn't blame him. The uneasy way he stood told her that he knew what she wasn't saying: the smile was fake.
She looked at him and forced the grin wider. "It's nice to have my own apartment. No men to throw their socks on the floor."
The tall brown-haired man didn't take the bait. "Are you sure you're okay on your own?"
"I'm okay. I'm twenty years old and after all that's happened there's no reason why I can't take care of myself. Besides, you have a life now."
Chris gave his sister a guilty look. There was this half-sheepish blush on his face. The red-head threw the pile of plates in a trashbag. She found out tonight that Chris had a serious girlfriend. He'd never told her that he had been dating Rebecca Chambers. However, the younger Redfield wasn't the only one who'd been out of the loop. Everyone had automatically assumed that Chris' dates were with Jill. Little did they know she was now seeing Leon, set up, of course, by the man who now had Claire frazzled. He could have told her, rather than letting her be blind- sided. But then, the red-head had been blind-sided before and it hadn't bothered her. What was it now?
"You going after her, or are you staying here all night?"
"I thought I would stay and help clean up."
"Well, there's a first time for everything. Why don't you wrap up the food." Claire, quite frankly, didn't trust herself with anything edible. She was determined now that anything she touched turned foul. The woman would have to cook on her own from here on out. Lucky Leon and Chris- -they'd no longer have to down her slop, and they had someone.
And that was it she supposed. Everyone had someone. Everyone but Claire. It wasn't that she hadn't been asked. She remembered all the nights Leon had pursued her, asking her out to movies, offering to make her dinner--even though he was only a slightly better cook. The red-head had dismissed him and she'd never let on exactly why.
Steve. She still felt guilty.
Chris rejoined her in the small living room and tried to snatch the garbage bag from her grasp. "Let me help you witht hat."
"I can get it myself," she snapped. The brunette jumped back and scratched his head, completely unaware of her mental attitude. She walked outside of the apartment to the dumpster and threw it in, listening to the clunk it made inside. There, she did it herself. No help needed.
Claire was trying to convince herself she was okay now.
The read-head walked back to the door where Chris stood and smiled again, however there was only a dull glint in her eyes. The older man bit his lip and shuffled on the small stoop, still red-faced from the jab about Rebecca. Claire sighed. It wasn't that the young woman wasn't nice, its just that Chris never told her. Didn't he trust her? She had no need to protect her brother from the big, bad women in the world.
"That's everything, Chris. You done being helpful?"
"Well, if there's nothing else I can do ..."
"You sound tired. Why don't you go home and go to sleep? That's what I'm doing."
"I guess I should go. You to old for hugs yet?"
He held out his arms and Claire fell into them, resisting the urge to set her emotions free. The older Redfield squeezed hard, so she almost couldn't breathe. All of the sudden she missed being a child. Chris was always there then--he wasn't always around now. She pulled away again and walked to the door, looking back after her. "Thanks for helping, Chris."
"No problem. Take care, Claire. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Alright. I'll be here." She started to shut the door. "I love you, sis."
"You too. Good night."
The door clicked shut and all the sudden her body seemed to lose its energy. She fell against the wood of the door, sinking to the floor. Her face pressed to it and the smile faded. God, Chris could never see her do this. Everytime it got sooner after he left. Her nailes scritched the paint as she resisted the urge to sob. With everyone gone that sinking feeling was stronger than it had ever been, dragging her down. The red- head crawled to the couch and dropped her head on the cushion, letting the tears roll down her face. It hurt so much. No one knew it hurt so much. They couldn't afford to--they had memories too. Some had worse, and all she could think about was Steve and how he died. Then she'd remember how everyone has one person for life, and that he may have died. Then their was the guilt, and the nightmares, and the thought of Wesker at her throat. The woman didn't know how many dreams she'd had where she wished fervently that the man would just snap her neck and end it all.
And then there was when she tried. A month ago when everyone was gone that sinking feeling had struck her again. She'd crawled into the Jeep in the garage and turned on the motor. Claire remembered how the seat felt so nice and comfortable. The dark around her was so peaceful. Then her head started to nod. Her eyelids became lead and tried to shut. She was content to let it happen and fade peacefully out of existence. Her eyes shut and the motor got louder and then she heard him. Steve, calling her name. The memory had so alarmed her that she hit the garage door opener, stumbling out of the jeep and into fresh air. Staggering to the house she'd called 9-1-1 and then convince both the paramedics and her roomates that the whole thing had been a cooking accident.
It was a lie. She wanted to kill herself.
Suicide sounded again like the best way out. Her body was just so heavy anymore. She felt so alone, and she wasn't afraid of dying. No, she'd accepted that once at Raccoon City, then again in the prison at Rockfort, then again in Anarctica before Steve forfeited his life. The woman tired of playing games with her friends, pretending to be happy when she was miserable. In her mind, they were better off without her. She did no one anygood now--the third wheel when around anyone.
The blue eyes opened to the blurry, close fuzz of the couch. Claire tried to shake off the feeling of worthlessness but it wouldn't leave. She had made a list of all the reasons that she should live, but they all seemed hollow now like her body.
A headache throbbed at her temples. Reluctantly, the young woman stood and stumbled to the kitchen, looking for aspirin. It was in a box on the counter in the child-proof bottle. It took her a few tries to open it. She finally popped the top and the thing flew across the room, seemingly on a will of its own. The red-head sighed, and filled her glass, picking up the bottle from the floor and viewing the remainder of its contents.
She took one and swallowed, sinking to the floor with her glass. The little white pills looked at her from the bottle and she smiled deliriously. She poured them into her hand and took another one, then another one, then another one until they were all gone. She felt propelled to do it, as though each pill killed a different pain, one the headache, one the loneliness, another the guilt. Claire laughed at the pills on the floor like they were escapees and resisted the urge to pick them up and kill more pains. She felt giddy, tired, nauseous. The red-head stayed on the floor with her glass--eying the couch that now seemed so far away. The glass slipped and shattered across the floor and the world went black.
TBC in Part II.
Kasage Starrunner
Disclaimer: Resident Evil is Capcom's. I have no affiliation with them whatsoever.
***
The painted smile clung to her lips until all the guests had disappeared. All she wanted now was to be alone in her new apartment with her thoughts. She hated the mask she had put on her face for them, but hated most that she hid herself from her brother, but the young woman's integrity had long since gone out the window. Claire was a Redfield, she was a survivor, she was strong. It were as though she had some desire to prove her independence to Chris, who remained in the doorway, looking as though he could see through her trasnparant disguise. Those blue eyes were observant, but said nothing. Claire could feel that gaze pierce through the exterior into the soul within. She looked away, and began to clean up the soiled paper plates that a few of the guests had left behind.
"It's a nice place," ventured Chris. The statement had been dug into the ground multiple times since they were here. It was probably the fifth time her brother had said it, as though he were trying to convince himself. She could feel that. He didn't trust her alone, and the young woman couldn't blame him. The uneasy way he stood told her that he knew what she wasn't saying: the smile was fake.
She looked at him and forced the grin wider. "It's nice to have my own apartment. No men to throw their socks on the floor."
The tall brown-haired man didn't take the bait. "Are you sure you're okay on your own?"
"I'm okay. I'm twenty years old and after all that's happened there's no reason why I can't take care of myself. Besides, you have a life now."
Chris gave his sister a guilty look. There was this half-sheepish blush on his face. The red-head threw the pile of plates in a trashbag. She found out tonight that Chris had a serious girlfriend. He'd never told her that he had been dating Rebecca Chambers. However, the younger Redfield wasn't the only one who'd been out of the loop. Everyone had automatically assumed that Chris' dates were with Jill. Little did they know she was now seeing Leon, set up, of course, by the man who now had Claire frazzled. He could have told her, rather than letting her be blind- sided. But then, the red-head had been blind-sided before and it hadn't bothered her. What was it now?
"You going after her, or are you staying here all night?"
"I thought I would stay and help clean up."
"Well, there's a first time for everything. Why don't you wrap up the food." Claire, quite frankly, didn't trust herself with anything edible. She was determined now that anything she touched turned foul. The woman would have to cook on her own from here on out. Lucky Leon and Chris- -they'd no longer have to down her slop, and they had someone.
And that was it she supposed. Everyone had someone. Everyone but Claire. It wasn't that she hadn't been asked. She remembered all the nights Leon had pursued her, asking her out to movies, offering to make her dinner--even though he was only a slightly better cook. The red-head had dismissed him and she'd never let on exactly why.
Steve. She still felt guilty.
Chris rejoined her in the small living room and tried to snatch the garbage bag from her grasp. "Let me help you witht hat."
"I can get it myself," she snapped. The brunette jumped back and scratched his head, completely unaware of her mental attitude. She walked outside of the apartment to the dumpster and threw it in, listening to the clunk it made inside. There, she did it herself. No help needed.
Claire was trying to convince herself she was okay now.
The read-head walked back to the door where Chris stood and smiled again, however there was only a dull glint in her eyes. The older man bit his lip and shuffled on the small stoop, still red-faced from the jab about Rebecca. Claire sighed. It wasn't that the young woman wasn't nice, its just that Chris never told her. Didn't he trust her? She had no need to protect her brother from the big, bad women in the world.
"That's everything, Chris. You done being helpful?"
"Well, if there's nothing else I can do ..."
"You sound tired. Why don't you go home and go to sleep? That's what I'm doing."
"I guess I should go. You to old for hugs yet?"
He held out his arms and Claire fell into them, resisting the urge to set her emotions free. The older Redfield squeezed hard, so she almost couldn't breathe. All of the sudden she missed being a child. Chris was always there then--he wasn't always around now. She pulled away again and walked to the door, looking back after her. "Thanks for helping, Chris."
"No problem. Take care, Claire. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Alright. I'll be here." She started to shut the door. "I love you, sis."
"You too. Good night."
The door clicked shut and all the sudden her body seemed to lose its energy. She fell against the wood of the door, sinking to the floor. Her face pressed to it and the smile faded. God, Chris could never see her do this. Everytime it got sooner after he left. Her nailes scritched the paint as she resisted the urge to sob. With everyone gone that sinking feeling was stronger than it had ever been, dragging her down. The red- head crawled to the couch and dropped her head on the cushion, letting the tears roll down her face. It hurt so much. No one knew it hurt so much. They couldn't afford to--they had memories too. Some had worse, and all she could think about was Steve and how he died. Then she'd remember how everyone has one person for life, and that he may have died. Then their was the guilt, and the nightmares, and the thought of Wesker at her throat. The woman didn't know how many dreams she'd had where she wished fervently that the man would just snap her neck and end it all.
And then there was when she tried. A month ago when everyone was gone that sinking feeling had struck her again. She'd crawled into the Jeep in the garage and turned on the motor. Claire remembered how the seat felt so nice and comfortable. The dark around her was so peaceful. Then her head started to nod. Her eyelids became lead and tried to shut. She was content to let it happen and fade peacefully out of existence. Her eyes shut and the motor got louder and then she heard him. Steve, calling her name. The memory had so alarmed her that she hit the garage door opener, stumbling out of the jeep and into fresh air. Staggering to the house she'd called 9-1-1 and then convince both the paramedics and her roomates that the whole thing had been a cooking accident.
It was a lie. She wanted to kill herself.
Suicide sounded again like the best way out. Her body was just so heavy anymore. She felt so alone, and she wasn't afraid of dying. No, she'd accepted that once at Raccoon City, then again in the prison at Rockfort, then again in Anarctica before Steve forfeited his life. The woman tired of playing games with her friends, pretending to be happy when she was miserable. In her mind, they were better off without her. She did no one anygood now--the third wheel when around anyone.
The blue eyes opened to the blurry, close fuzz of the couch. Claire tried to shake off the feeling of worthlessness but it wouldn't leave. She had made a list of all the reasons that she should live, but they all seemed hollow now like her body.
A headache throbbed at her temples. Reluctantly, the young woman stood and stumbled to the kitchen, looking for aspirin. It was in a box on the counter in the child-proof bottle. It took her a few tries to open it. She finally popped the top and the thing flew across the room, seemingly on a will of its own. The red-head sighed, and filled her glass, picking up the bottle from the floor and viewing the remainder of its contents.
She took one and swallowed, sinking to the floor with her glass. The little white pills looked at her from the bottle and she smiled deliriously. She poured them into her hand and took another one, then another one, then another one until they were all gone. She felt propelled to do it, as though each pill killed a different pain, one the headache, one the loneliness, another the guilt. Claire laughed at the pills on the floor like they were escapees and resisted the urge to pick them up and kill more pains. She felt giddy, tired, nauseous. The red-head stayed on the floor with her glass--eying the couch that now seemed so far away. The glass slipped and shattered across the floor and the world went black.
TBC in Part II.