Hello! Thanks from both of us for coming back to read the next chapter!
This chapter, we'll be in Clare's shoes for the first time.
Just as a note, it should be known that this story is extremely AU. As in, Clare and Eli's personalities are worlds different in some ways in comparison to the show. You'll see how that is in this next chapter.
Read and review if you like! Enjoy!
Subjects are thrown around the room,
Looking for the ones that got away
A feeling of soft anticipation,
Another confrontation I won't make.
But how do we do it,
We turned into something else entirely
We fake it,
But I wanted it so desperately to be real
The blinds were torn back from the window briskly, allowing the squint-inducing sun to pour in. They hit Clare Edwards directly in the face, clawing a loud, spoiled mumble of discontent from her. She turned on her side, gripping the pillow from beneath her head and propping it on top of her face. It made for a fine shield from the sun's rays, ones she could only assume were there because it was well before noon.
As a rule of thumb, Clare didn't like to get up before noon on any day that she didn't have school. To her knowledge, the calendar read July eighteenth, or some date vaguely around those lines. Her mind was still a messy place to be, traces of her dreams and sleepy disposition fighting to bring her under once more, despite the rush of sunlight to her room.
"I said up, Clare!" a voice boomed, ripping the covers back from her slumber filled body. She immediately wrapped her arms around her own torso and assumed the fetal position, greedy for whatever warmth she'd previously had in her possession.
Rolling onto her stomach, she buried her face into the pillow, feeling her curls falling on either side of her head. "Let. Me. Sleep." Clare grumbled against the soft surface, her voice muffled and drowned out to her mother, who stood near the bed. The covers were in her hands, being held ransom for the price of Clare slipping out of her primadonna sleeping habits.
"You're not the only one who didn't want to wake up early this morning, Clare." her mother, Helen, stated sharply, nudging her daughter's shoulder. "This isn't exactly my idea of an ideal morning but you need to get up. Chop, chop."
Finally she relented, turning over on her back and sitting up. Immediately her hands shot to her eyes, blocking the blinding rays from her blue orbs. "If this is for another Avon meeting, honest to goodness mom..." she trailed off, rubbing her eyes angrily.
"It's not, it's not. We're not due for another meeting until next Tuesday. And even then, it's not necessary for you to go so don't start with that, young lady. We both know you just enjoy the free make up."
A guilty smile painted Clare's lips as she nodded to herself. Everything had a usefulness if looked at from the right perspective. All too often, her mother saw through her motives, knowing that she viewed most outings as a means to an end. It was a characteristic she'd picked up from her, after all.
Clare saw opportunities and choices in terms of connections, those who could get her farther in life. Whether it was befriending that Katie Matlin girl only to take over her spot as head editor on the paper shortly after, or dancing with that boy two weeks prior at the country club to see if he truly was a good kisser or not – she knew how to manipulate situations and people to her liking.
(Much to her dismay, the rumors about his kissing prowess were nothing but lies. It took a gross, tongue-infested make out session to find that out. But now she was wiser from the experience. It was the only silver lining she could take away from the experience.)
Finally tearing her tiny fingers from her face, Clare adjusted to the obnoxious bright light filtering through her room, then looking to her mother. She was hunched over her dresser, picking through articles of her clothing.
"Um...mom?" She sat up from her bed, walking carefully over to a very concentrated and somewhat angry looking Helen Edwards, "I think we got past that you needing to dress me stage about eleven years ago."
While Clare found her own words humorous, her mother did not. She shoved a sundress into her hands, and continued to rifle around through the drawer. "You will wear this today. Now take a shower."
Pausing, she narrowed her eyes at her mother, refusing to move an inch until she clarified exactly what it was she was preparing for.
Helen craned her neck up at Clare, impatience overtaking every one of her features. From the deep grooves beginning to form in her forehead, to the mild bags hanging beneath her eyes, she could feel the exasperation oozing from her. "Did I or did I not just say now?" Shoving a bra and a pair of underwear into her hands, Helen stood up and closed the drawer again. "Time isn't a luxury we have at the moment, Clarebear. I mean it when I say hurry up."
"But...why?" queried Clare, her brows furrowing at her mother. "You didn't tell me we had anywhere to go last night. Is something wrong?"
It was too easy for Clare to throw herself into a panic, seamlessly conjuring up circumstances where her mother or father would be in harm's way, or a scenario in which they would have to up and leave, abandoning the only life they'd ever known.
Needless to say, each imagining was more dramatic and grandiose than the last, but that didn't make them feel any less feasible to the oftentimes naïve girl. She was sheltered and uncultured, to put it mildly.
Blowing out a long breath through her nostrils, Helen blinked slowly, seemingly collecting herself before looking back to Clare. "I'll give you all the information soon, okay? For now, get your caboose in the shower and get dressed."
Realizing she wasn't about to get any more information out of her, Clare bowed her head at the white and yellow sundress in her hands. It wasn't her favorite in the least, far preferring anything of the blue variety that she owned but it wasn't a prime time to debate with her mother. She trudged off in defeat to the shower, but not before her mother barked out,
"And tame those curls, Clare Diana! I won't take you anywhere if you look like you don a beehive atop your head!"
She rolled her eyes as her fingers wrapped around the doorknob, letting herself into the restroom and then shutting the door behind her.
From behind the door, she could hear her mother's heels clicking against the hardwood floor, echoing all the way down into the living room. The slamming of her shoe wear at times was enough to strike some mild fear into her, reminding her that she needed to move quickly.
It wasn't the first time that her mother had set up plans and mentioned them at a moment's notice, expecting her to simply comply and follow along. For as long as she could remember, her mother had been doing things of that nature, dragging her along to impromptu baby showers or shopping trips. Clare was expected to follow along soundlessly each time, and she did.
After turning the water on and adjusting it to a reasonable temperature, Clare stripped off her pajamas, shoving them down the laundry chute immediately after.
At times, she wondered what made her blindly obey, why she hadn't been equipped with a moral compass that allowed her to directly rebel against authority, but the musing was always fleeting. Ultimately, it didn't matter why she obeyed. It just matter that she did.
As she stepped under the water, she quickly realized the water was scalding and attempted to adjust it, but found that the settings seemed to be scalding hot or freezing cold. Choosing the former of the two, she hurriedly washed up, rushing out from the steamy bath as quickly as possible. Even if she had been granted her happy medium, she wouldn't have had long to revel in it, what with her mother's demands to get dressed and ready to leave.
Clare grabbed a towel, quickly wrapping it around herself and then swiping one for her hair. As if on cue, a loud pounding could be heard through the door.
"We're running out of time! Get dressed!"
With a loud sigh, Clare realized she wasn't going to have any time to try and slip back into her room to find a better dress. After drying herself off as thoroughly as possible, she pulled the dress over her head, zipping the back of it up with slight difficulty.
About fifteen minutes later, or "fifteen minutes too late" as her mother frustratedly phrased it, Clare emerged from the bathroom. Her hair was blown dry, lightly tousled and only mildly frizzy. She wore a small amount of makeup, unsure of how much would be appropriate for whatever outing they were going on.
Her mom stood poised at the foot of the long staircase as Clare descended, holding a pair of flip flops in her hand.
"Great, now the hospital will think we have no regard for punctuality. Truly Clare, we're making a wonderful impression already."
At this, Clare's eyes narrowed, the word catching her off guard. "H-hospital? Excuse me? Is something wrong?" she questioned anxiously, only earning a light swipe at her flip flops from her mother in return.
"Put these on, we need to leave." she stated sharply, making it clear that she wasn't about to offer up more detail at the moment.
From around the corner of the banister, Randall Edwards appeared. Clare took the opportunity to hound him, hoping it would yield more results than needling her mother had.
"Dad, where are we going? And why so early?" Last she had checked the clock, it was eight thirty a.m. Her nothing-happens-past-noon rule was in direct violation, and to say she was miffed about it would be an understatement.
Raising a quieting hand to her, Randall shook his head. "Just...wait until we get in the car, Clarebear."
Even he sounded defeated, as though her mother had badgered him into submission earlier. There was a withstanding anger in every one of her mother's steps, words, even her expression. It was something Clare couldn't comprehend if she tried; why her mother was so caught up in her own emotions for the time being.
Emotion was a rare thing in their household. Something that was all too often smothered and beaten down into their misshapen hearts. Forced to stay inside, where it didn't belong the greater portion of the time.
Despite the fact that this brand of emotion was a rash and angry one, Clare found it odd, but kept her lips pursed as the trio left their grand household. It was truly too lavish for their own good, spoiling each member of the family rotten. But the Edwards always stated it was something earned, not gotten without good reason. Clare's father earned enough to easily support them with money left to burn, which allowed Helen to lounge around the household, leisurely selling cosmetic products to the rest of the neighborhood.
Did the women who traipsed in and out of their home once a week truly need them? No, not really. It was just the same as the way Helen didn't truly need to work to make ends meet. It was something she did because she could, because she had the choice. Clare got the feeling that if it really was a financial necessity, she wouldn't have enjoyed it nearly as much.
Nothing much was a true necessity to the people in their town. While she might have lived in one of the loftier homes around them, that didn't make the rest of the houses unimpressive by comparison. Clare had been born into a stable, successful home. It was something that, although she was reminded of constantly, she barely paid any mind to. It was easy to take her life for granted, as it was all she'd ever known. No privilege she'd ever had stood a chance at being revoked.
So it went on in much the same fashion, the inertia of the situation allowing it to continue on undisturbed. Nothing could mar or taint the spoiled simplicity of her life, or make it any more difficult than it ever had been.
Until a morning such as this one, Clare would later find.
As Randall started up the car and Clare buckled herself in in the backseat, she stayed quiet, attempting to pick up pieces of her parent's hushed conversation.
"How was I supposed to know a tragedy had happened? I haven't talked to her in...well I can't even round up how many years. We haven't talked in a long while." her mother huffed, crossing her arms much like a five year old put in timeout might.
Her father pulled out of the driveway and down the road, waving to neighbors and friends from the country club as he drove down the path. It was always smile and wave, smile and wave. It was even something Clare had grown accustomed to doing over the years, finding herself waving demurely to the familiar faces around them. Everyone was busy with their own lives, but not busy enough that they couldn't spare a few moments to be nosy about what their fellow neighbor was doing.
"Then why were you reached? Helen, I thought you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with them."
"I did!" There was a small hint of trepidation in her voice, one that seemed to even shake her as she paused to collect herself. "Cecilia knew all too well that I wanted nothing to do with her. I couldn't have made my wishes more explicit if I-"
"Cecilia?" Clare broke in, recognizing the name vaguely but unable to place it to anything. She leaned forward in her seat, pulling the seat belt to give her some slack. "Who's Cecilia?"
Helen was struck with a sudden case of zipped lip at the inquiry, and instead her father answered. "The Goldsworthys, sweetie."
At the mention of the Goldsworthys, Clare knew to keep her mouth shut. The topic was a surefire way to upset her mother, so she learned over time never to bring them up. But the fact that she'd been shaken awake, told to get ready to go out and now the family was being brought up made no sense. What did they have to do with any of this?
"Well, what about them...?" prodded Clare, her curiosity getting the best of her though she aimed not to offend her already visibly distraught mother.
"They died." her father said simply, making a left turn and then stopping at a red light.
Clare felt her chest tense up her blood running cold. Though she didn't know who these people were, only small tidbits about them in passing, the mention of anyone passing away had an immediate effect on her. She was sensitive, despite her parent's efforts to mold her into a stoic protege of themselves.
"Except for their son, Eli." Helen broken in, shaking her head. "And now he's suddenly our problem."
"I bet you regret saying we'd be the godparents now, don't you?" Randall joked, looking to his wife for some sort of response that she too found humor in his words. But she didn't. Instead, she shot him a death glare.
"I certainly do, but it's too late to take it back."
The words were flying over Clare's head, confusing her more than offering clarity on the situation. "Wait, what are you saying?" she asked directly, looking to either of her parents for an answer.
Helen turned her head to her, looking to her as if she was the sincerest nuisance known to man. "We're saying Eli Goldsworthy is now our responsibility. Cece and Bullfrog," she shuddered for a moment, no doubt judging the unusual name, "passed away in a car accident. Eli is only one year older than you and, as his godparents, now we need to take him in."
She didn't sound the least bit pleased by this and truth be told, neither was Clare. All her life, she'd been an only child and the thought of having that situation shift was less than pleasant. It was a reality she never imagined would be thrust upon her. "He doesn't have any other family? Why us? How did they even reach us?" she spit out the questions in quick succession, her mother's anxiety beginning to rub off a bit on her.
Her father interrupted, sensing this. "Clare, this is the situation at hand. We talked to his social worker and he needs a home. We're the only viable option here." He sounded somewhat bored over the news, as if it hadn't taken long at all for it to sink in for him personally.
An awkward silence fell between them in the car as they neared the hospital, until she piped up once more. "Is he okay?"
In return, she got a shrug of the shoulders from Helen. "We'll see shortly, Clarebear."
The overly sterilized scent of hospital hit Clare like a brick wall the moment she wandered in behind her parents, attempting to keep up with both of their quick steps. She could tell they were eager to get in and out quickly, despite the fact that they'd be leaving with another human being in their ranks. The more Clare thought about it, the more it felt like they weren't even going to pick up someone. It was as though he was merely cargo, dead weight.
The notion sat uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach, until the nurse led them to the boy's room.
The first sight of Eli left her taken aback, rocking uncomfortably on her heels near the door. She'd never seen a boy like him before, and the fact wasn't something she necessarily comfortable with.
He had a noticeable chip on his shoulder, just about the size of a whole planet but she quickly chalked that up to his recent loss. Glancing to her parents, she couldn't even fathom how she would cope if she lost them both in the blink of an eye. It wasn't something she could fault him for, at least not yet.
Her parents busied themselves talking with his nurse and social worker, but Clare only picked up on tidbits of their conversation. For the most part, her blue eyes were fixed on his green, sizing him up curiously.
She took a tentative step closer, making her way around to the left side of the door. Her hands smoothed over her dress subconsciously, straightening out bunches in the material that weren't even there.
It wasn't that he made her nervous, no. His severe stare, the way his clothes were a bit haggard looking, his rough-around-the-edges demeanor, it couldn't be that. He didn't make her nervous in the least.
Except he did. Extremely nervous.
It was the fact that she couldn't look into his eyes and get something out. So many of the people she grew up around and went to school with were paper thin, their motives and aspirations written all over them. Each person in her community seemed to wear their heart on their sleeves, but not this boy. She couldn't tell where he had his heart tucked away.
She wondered what influenced her to keep looking back. Eli made her feel on edge without saying a word, but there was a lingering urge to look on him, an itch she felt the need to discreetly scratch without his notice, hopefully.
It was the fact that he possessed an unprecedented beauty that most boys his age did not. His shaggy bangs hung over his face, sitting just above a pair of emerald eyes that made her body quake. To her, it felt like he could see straight through her, reading her movements and posture without exerting much effort.
Surely she knew this wasn't a real possibility, but the fact that he could even make her question it was unsettling.
Still, it didn't take away from his blatantly handsome appearance, one that was equal parts attributed to his distraught, tortured expression and his clothing. He donned an all black wardrobe, which would prove to be troublesome once they arrived back home. It was a brand of handsome she hadn't been around in her community, where button-up white shirts and neat hair cuts were abundant – unoriginal and overwhelming. No one stuck out like a sore thumb in the way Eli did.
But for now, contrasting with the obscenely white hospital room walls, she couldn't think of anything more aesthetically pleasing.
His stance was guarded, even his balled up fists registered to her as daunting. It wasn't as though she worried he would strike out, at least not with her parents right there. They had warned her not to start up conversation beforehand, ranting about how they might be able to find a loophole in it all once they arrived at the hospital. The bleeding heart in Clare still couldn't understand how they could even imagine passing him off to someone else after he'd just lost his family. While she knew very little about the situation, her conscience knew enough to let her know that such a move would be cruel, unfeeling.
Feeling at all took great effort for Clare in a community where such things were buried, but that didn't stop her from dabbling in it.
It crossed her mind to attempt striking up conversation with him, perhaps even a hello to break the ice despite their warnings. But before she knew it, they were being led out of the room, Eli trailing about ten paces behind.
Keeping her mouth shut while they signed the discharge forms, she stole glances at the boy, though he didn't return them. His stoic indifference to it all had to be a put-on, a mask in front of everyone else. How was he not a nervous wreck, influenced entirely by his emotions? Had she been in his shoes, she wouldn't have been able to collect herself in such a situation.
She kept having to remind herself that not everyone really did react like she would. There was a whole world outside of her bubble, though she wasn't granted much access to explore it. Anyone who talked to Clare might have considered her extremely sheltered, a bit narrow minded at that, but it wasn't until she was put in foreign situations that she recognized it herself. At times it made her feel self conscious, as though she really was on the opposite side of the world, cut off from the normalcy everyone else experienced. It was the only time that she ever considered that perhaps there was more out there than her blind optimism.
But the thought was always short lived, and usually followed by a snotty inner musing.
This time it was the fact that he hadn't even said anything to her parents yet – the people who were so charitably about to take him into their home. She could only imagine the looks neighbors would give them when they wandered in with Eli. As though they were bringing a dirty dog into their home after he'd just spent a few hours rolling in the mud. The very thought had her cheeks scorching red, secondhand embarrassment already settling in.
After some banter with the nurse that, yet again, Clare paid no mind to, they were cleared to head home. Helen started off towards the exit in her angry stride, her father following shortly behind. Clare lingered a bit farther back, but not nearly as far as Eli, who loomed like a dark cloud over the three of them. If any joy could have been found in this unusual situation, this bizarre union, he would have been sure to suck the happiness right out of it. He had that sort of heavy presence, and it was already sickening to Clare.
The entire ride home, she fidgeted in her seat, creating as much space as she possibly could between her and the boy. Being near him at all made her squirm. While her parents could sit up front, acting as though Eli wasn't there at all, she was stuck sitting beside the haunt. The air around them felt heavier with him inside the car, noxious and suffocating.
She all but burst from the door when they arrived, ignoring the haughty comments from those around them that she had previously predicted.
For as much as she pitied Eli and his unfortunate circumstance, she quickly realized she couldn't stand his presence. Until he did something to change it, she knew things would carry on in much the same fashion.