Disclaimer: I do not own "The Clique".

I have no idea where this one came from. It's an angsty Claire-centric. It seems to be post "Sealed with a Diss"... I don't know how it couldn't be.

I know it seems monotonous, but you have to get to the end.

Claire sobbed. She stared at herself in the mirror. Who was this? Pretty Committee Claire? No, she would never let the crumpled mess her face was right now show in front of Massie. Was it Daughter Claire? No. Her parents had no clue she was like this. NO CLUE, I hate them, they have NO CLUE! Claire's furious thoughts shot through her head like bullets. Was it Actress Claire? Who the hell is Actress Claire ANYWAY, I haven't seen her sorry face for too long. If she was FUCKING here I may be able to convince myself I can get past this! She's not and I'll always be weak! Claire shouted at herself in her head and maybe out loud.

And it would never, ever be Cam's Claire again.

Crying harder, Claire slapped her reflection in the mirror. The mirror didn't even crack. It just hurt. Red hand. And it felt better than anything else had that day… this set off something in Claire's mind, and her sobbing was softer for a moment, but the thought was pushed out by another red, shouting, hateful one. She cried. Red eyes.

Claire fumbled for her cell phone. Who would possibly want to listen to her? Layne. Claire began to dial the first two numbers, but something prevented her from doing it. What would Layne say after seeing Claire broken up over a boy for the umpteenth time? She wouldn't say anything after realizing how superficial Claire actually was. Massie. Yeah, RIGHT.

Something occurred to Claire as the tears rolled. What would make her damn clueless parents notice?

Red MARKS.

NO. Claire wasn't a cutter. Cam couldn't make her go that far. She wouldn't self-inflict. She WOULDN'T. What would Massie think?! Besides Massie, how could she ever do that to herself?!

Although.

NO NO NO, FORGET ALTHOUGH. Cam cried. Oh no, wait, she's Claire. She didn't know anymore. Was Cam crying? Of course he's not! He doesn't care! HE DOESN'T GIVE A CRAP ABOUT ME OR MY FEELINGS! More sobbing. More more more. When would it stop? I'm a freakin' fountain. Claire looked around desperately for something, anything, to get her mind off Cam. Somethingsomethingsomething. She's already dunked her face in a sink full of cold water too many times. She lost count of the showers and baths, hot, cold, cool, warm, sudsy, herbal, nothing added. Nothing helped. Her eyes slowed across a razor.

…Although…

STOP IT.

Claire left the bathroom and flew into her room in a crazed sadness. What could she do in here? Curling up in her quilt didn't help. Books, magazines, all reread. Too much time spent searching for some sort of escape on the internet from her laptop. Hours of TV shows clocked in on her little TV. She ran to her DVD collection. "Kung-Fu Hustle". Four times. "National Lampoon's Animal House". Five times. "South Park: Season Nine". The whole season. "Seinfeld: Season Six". That, too. She frantically flipped through her movies. Seen it seen it seen it seen it SEEN IT! With a shout, she flipped her DVD case over and put her hands to her face, sobbing harder once again as she stomped her feet.

…Although…

She sobbed and thought of the razor. Therzortherazortherzortherazorrazorrazorrazor.

NEVER.

Unable to take the temptation, she ran out of her door. Down the hall, down the stairs. She would be thankful that her parents had gone out for dinner and a movie, but she was crying and gasping too much to think of anything but Cam and her harsh breathing. She passed Todd, who was eating chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream from the carton (or rather, the half of it that was left. Claire tried to eat half the thing to get her mind off Cam and the only result was being nauseous while thinking about Cam). As Claire ran out the door, Todd called out to her, but she didn't hear him and didn't care.

She ran down the steps and onto the grass. Across the grass and onto the gravel driveway. Past Massie's stone mansion. Off the driveway and on to Birch Street. A sight Claire must have been, running down the empty street in the nighttime, in blue plaid pajama pants and yellow sleep shirt with a graphic of a generic fairy across it, bare feet. She ran and ran and ran away from that damn razor. She would never be a cutter. Never! If she didn't have the willpower to keep herself away while in a different room, she'd run away from the house, go to a different city, leave the state if she had to.

All on foot.

----------

Two-and-a-half hours later, it had suddenly occurred to Todd that when his sister left (he assumed it was to see Massie), it had been quite a while ago. He decided he should head over to Massie's and tell Claire to come back before their parents arrived so she didn't get in trouble for leaving without their permission. In white socks, he opened the door and stepped outside. When he closed the door, he turned around to see something that left him speechless.

Claire was standing about fifteen feet from him. Dark blood reflecting moonlight was scattered up and down her pajama pants. The bottom three inches of her pants revealed no patch of cloth that wasn't stained with blood. Her legs were shaking in pain. Her feet were red, blood seeping from cuts ranging in all sizes. The sight made Todd's stomach turn. It appeared she had broken bones, if not in the foot than at least a couple toes (wait... could he see bone?). There was hardly any skin left; it obviously called for stitches and blood on her red, swollen feet mingled with dirt and pine needles and whatever else her feet picked up on Westchester's sidewalks. Patterns that looked like messily drawn footprints in red ink were spread unevenly from where Claire was standing to the driveway, and all throughout aforementioned gravel driveway.

Todd's eyes began to fill up with tears out of fear more than anything else. When he finally looked up at Claire's eyes, she was smiling.

Her molars were showing in her absurdly wide grin, her eyes looking at something Todd couldn't see. Her tears had long since dried. She looked up at Todd. "Guess what?" she murmured, her voice tired but with an odd happy ring to it.

Todd swallowed. Not knowing what else to do, he struggled out a "What?" as his voice cracked.

"I'm not a cutter!"