A/N: I guess four reviews is the same as five! I promised someone I'd have this chapter out before I went to bed, so here you go!
Knock, knock.
"Five more minutes!" I groaned, burying my face in a pillow.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Claire!" My mom called. "It's time to get up, it's after twelve." So what, the awake part of me argued internally. "Lunch is on the table and if you're not down in five minutes, I will get your father to carry you down."
I was awake officially at that moment and I flew out of bed and out the door before my mother could even take a step. "Not my father." I snapped, stalking past her as she mumbled something I didn't bother to listen to. I'm sure I looked just pleasant with my scowl; un-brushed teeth, slept on hair and slouchy posture but my step-father still made an effort to be nice. I didn't respond to him as I sat down in my chair and crossed my legs just for the hell of it. I also really had to pee.
I looked down at the slop on my plate and grimaced. Obviously, my mom tried to cook today. "Don't worry. Its half edible." My step father Brian joked with me. I offered him a half smile because he wasn't really that bad. It's just that he wasn't my father. And he never would be.
My parents had a… disagreement. As they call it. When I was seven, they divorced. Apparently, they had been having that same argument since I was four and eventually decided to call it quits. My mom and dad head butted and clashed on different beliefs about something that was never explained no matter how much I begged my mom.
Dad used to visit me once a year, always coming here. That continued until I was eleven when he suggested I spend a week or two with him in La Push. Mom had a cow. I can still remember her screaming at him on the phone as he managed to stay calm. I haven't heard from him since and that was six years ago. So I guess I couldn't ask him about the subject either. My Aunt Emily lives on the La Push reservation as well… She has a better relationship with Dad than Mom, her own sister. Actually, I've never heard them talk before. She called me once and my mom slammed the receiver down so hard that it actually broke.
We used to live on the Makah reservation, not too far from there. But now, we live here in sunny California. Big change isn't it?
It's not that I don't like it here… Actually, that is the case. The sun is too predictable, the people act fake and the place is so overrated. Good for a vacation but to live, no. I love the rain, it barely rains around here. I've always wanted to build a snowman or catch snowflakes on my tongue. I have never seen snow before, there's rarely any place around here that snows and by the time you drive all the way there to see it, it's melted already.
Besides, I don't look like the stereotypical California mall rat. My hair wasn't bleached blonde, it was a deep chestnut. It wasn't long or silky and straight, it was just above my shoulders and annoyingly curly. My skin wasn't a fake orange tan; it was naturally dark and creamy. I wasn't tall, slender and chesty either. In fact, I don't even think I broke the five foot mark. I was toned though, because I played volleyball. And I was insulted by my lack of a chest, merely a 32 B. My eyes were brown, just plain brown.
Plain, ah, that word was used to much in my life. I was Claire, the plain Jane. I was a good buddy, but not datable material. People would ask to be my partner in class but when it came to after school activities, was I ever invited? Nope, you guessed it. I suppose it was my old fault for being antisocial but whenever someone got too close to me, I would back away. So that's probably why I didn't have any friends here. That and the fact that this place held no interest for me so I would probably bolt out of here the first chance I got when I finally turned eighteen and having no social life or friends would make the whole goodbye thing very bearable.
Would I miss my mom? Sure, but not too much. It's not like I'd never see her again and I always got along with my dad better anyway. She had Brian anyway and to my surprise, a baby on the way. She was five months pregnant. I thought it was weird because she was so old and there would be a 17 year difference between us but my mom just shrugged and said there was nothing she could do about it now.
It was sort of gross to think of the things they did while I was under the roof to achieve that but I was happy that my mom was happy. Plus, Danni usually came home to visit a lot from college. She lived nearby, so why did it matter if I didn't?
Plus, I missed Dad a lot more than I realised. I missed talking to him over the phone at night and getting so excited when he would tell me that he was coming up for his yearly visit. I remember crying every time he left, begging him to take me with him. I knew he wanted to. He missed me just as much. In fact, I never understood why my dad never filed for custody. He didn't even put up an argument when Mom took both me and Danni.
I realised I had been staring off into space when my mom hit me over the head with her little wooden spoon. She had on an apron that said 'Kiss the Cook' and was frowning at me with her hands on her hips. She looked so motherly that I had to giggle at her. That got Brian laughing and pretty soon, we were all in hysterics. After, she smiled brightly at me and turned away, forgetting about whatever lecture she was going to give me.
Hum, so what was on my schedule for today? Oh right, a big fat nothing! I sighed. "I really hate summer."
"Maybe if you actually took time to make friends, then you wouldn't be so bored." My mother chastised me from her position over the sinking cleaning dishes. "Maybe even get yourself a boyfriend."
I giggled. "Mom, I don't sit around and make friends at all. What makes you think I'm capable of landing a boy?"
She looked thoughtful. "The Marks' next door have a son. He's real nice, and such a gentleman."
"The nerdy freshman with the acne and glasses? No thanks Mom, I'll stick with being a single, antisocial loser." I smiled triumphantly as she scowled because she hated that I never wanted to make friends. I told her that I hated it here and that the girls around here were not my type of people to hang out with. That's about the time she got mad and snapped at me, saying this was my life and I'd have to get used to it.
The subject of living anywhere than California really pissed her off so I usually avoided it unless I wanted to purposely make her angry. Especially now that she was hormonal and pregnant because even the littlest mention of how I missed Dad would get her seething. She really hated La Push, my father, her own sister and any of the people associated with them.
Honestly, I didn't remember any of the people from La Push. It was probably because we left when I was four but still. Not even a single memory. It's like my mom had gone into my brain while I was asleep and washed all the pictures out. It sort of made me sad, not remembering or knowing people who had probably babysat me or been a big part of my life. Not even my childhood friends, aka my only friends. Ever. "I miss Dad." I moaned aloud accidentally.
My mom's face twisted into a scowl and she turned to yell at me, her slightly pregnant belly hitting the milk on the counter and sending it flying on the ground. Suddenly, her face crumpled and she had started crying. I really wanted to use the phrase, there's no use crying over spilled milk, but I didn't think that would really help the situation. So I sat watching awkwardly as Brian rushed over to comfort her. "Can you get me a towel from the hall closet?" He asked me.
I jumped quickly, anything to get out of that room. My house was a quaint cottage like thing, perfect for a family of four. It was wooden and smelt of honeysuckle and vanilla and air freshener. Oddly, it was a nice scent. The second most refreshing scent I've ever smelt. The first would be the musky, wet scent of the woods and the bark, the grass and the fresh nature. It was like a sanctuary to me. I always snuck out my window at night to the forest that we lived by. It was a stupid forest, more California style than I would have liked, but the scent was there. And I inhaled it as I sat on the ground for at least an hour. It lulled my body to sleep. Sometimes I fell asleep out there, on the grass, curled up under a tree.
Then I'd wake up and pray no one noticed I was out all night. They didn't. Either I got in right at the nick of time or they thought I had gotten up early and went out to the beach or the boardwalk for a stroll. While I was wearing my pyjamas and had grass stains on my knees.
Idiots.
The hall closet was packed with stuff, cluttering everywhere. Mom never usually let me look at any of this stuff, let alone go in the closet. I don't know why, it wasn't like a magical wardrobe about to send me to Narnia was it? Something magic was waiting for me in there? I chuckled and shook my head, grabbing a towel from the back of the middle shelf. Unfortunately, I lifted my head too early and smacked it hard off the other loose shelf, completely knocking it half off and the content of it slid off. I had no idea what was up there because I wasn't tall enough to see and getting a chair would set off my mom's radars and she would freak out as usual.
A massive cardboard box fell at my feet, spilling a content of letters, drawings, pictures and trinkets to the floor. I didn't know what this stuff was, letters from my mom's past? An ex-boyfriend perhaps? I was curious never the less, so I got on my knees and starting sorting through everything. Imagine my surprise when I looked at the name on the letters.
Claire Haynes.
They were for me. I ripped one open and looked at the date sent. They had started coming when I was seven. They were from someone whose name I didn't recognize at all. Who in the world was Quil? As the years stretched on, the letters began getting shorter and shorter. The final one was dated this month and it was one line short. No signature or anything. It was a simple question.
Did you forget me?
The page was stained with dark patches which I ruled out to be tears. I knew that because my tears made the same mark as the rolled off my face and splattered onto the paper. For some reason, this mysterious stranger's pain was apparently my pain also. Another half of the letters was from my dad. Claire-Bear, I miss you. Why don't you write to me? Do you miss me too? Claire, are you ignoring me? Are you mad at me? Sorry. The letters were all related to those sentences someway. In one letter, he apologized for not being able to continue our visits and then he apologized because he couldn't explain why. In another, he expressed how much it hurt him when I didn't write back.
My heart was silently breaking in my chest as tears rolled harder and faster down my cheeks. He missed me too. My dad, who I thought I had forgotten me, had been writing to me since I was eleven.
And my mom had hidden it from me.
Then I remembered that I was only here to get a towel and someone would probably come looking for me any second. So I shoved everything back into the box, shoved the shelf in the closet and shut it. After throwing the box in my room and delivering the towel, I excused myself as quick as possible without giving myself away. Brian told me he was going to take my mother out to cheer her up and I mentally added on more points for Brian in my head. I hummed and hawed around the kitchen anxiously until they left and then I bolted into my room so fast that I slipped and fell on my butt, right in front of the cardboard box.
I read every single letter in that box. I cried more than I had in the past ten years, actually feeling emotions for once. And I was angry at my mother, so angry. How could she hide something like this from me? As I was reading one of Dad's letters, my eyes froze on the end of it. Because scrawled neatly in the corner was his phone number.
And then I was running and sobbing at the same time to get my cell phone. I dialled his number as fast as I could, sweaty palms and beating heart. The dial tone rang in my ear over and over again and just as I was about to assume no one was home and hang up, the phone clicked. "Hello?" The familiar scratchy voice picked up.
And then I was heaving and sniffling so hard that I couldn't talk. I could hear the noise in the background and knew he had company. I should have hung up and called back later but I couldn't, no matter how rude I was being. "Daddy?" I whispered.
And just like that, all the voices in the background stopped talking and someone's breathing picked up. "C-Claire-Bear?" He choked back.
I closed my eyes and relished in the huskiness of his voice that I missed so much. "I missed you." I told him.
"You never wrote me back." He murmured.
"I never even knew." So then I told him the whole story about finding the letters and he just listened as I sobbed and blabbered. And finally, I said the words I'd been dying to say my whole life. "Daddy, I want to come home." That's about the time that the front door opened and I panicked, locking my bedroom door and lowering my voice. "I'll have to call you back later. Mom's back so I can't get caught, make sure you answer when your phone rings tonight." Then I paused and considered my next sentence. "I love you." And before he could reply, I pressed the end call button and slumped against the door, pulling the box towards me.
I sorted through everything. There were teddy bears, drawings that looked like they were drawn by a two year old, little macaroni pictures, books with engravings from Aunt Emily or Uncle Sam, stuffed wolves, a beaded and woven bracelet. All of these things seemed to be gifts and memories from La Push. The last thing I pulled out hit me with the most emotion because somehow, I recognized it.
It was a necklace with a thick black string that had a carved wolf hanging from it. The back was engraved and it said: "To Claire, love Quil."
And there was his name again. I nearly ripped my hair out of my own skull. Who was he? Why didn't I remember him? So I scrambled through the pictures and flipped through them anxiously, they all had dates and names written on the back.
Claire and Nessie. Claire and Jacob. Claire and Emily. Claire and Sam. These pictures had to be at least thirteen years old because the little girl in the picture couldn't be more than four or five. But even as I flipped through more pictures, I couldn't find the mysterious man whose name had just appeared everywhere all of a sudden.
Claire and Danni, Claire and John.
Then finally, I picked up the last picture at the bottom corner of the box that had been stuck when I dumped the box over and was flipped backwards. And what I saw, was astonishing. If my hair could have turned gray from shock, it would have. Every part of me trembled as I inspected the photo over and over again. It was impossible.
Because there he was, his chocolate brown eyes twinkled in the lighting like I remembered. His black hair hung the same, slightly shaggy and softly on his forehead. His white teeth contradicted and flashed against his dark, russet skin.
It was the man that has starred in my dreams all my life. And he was holding me.
And then, I was angry. No, I was downright furious. I threw everything back into the box carelessly with hasty hands and kept a tight grip on the picture as I unlocked my door and travelled into the kitchen where my mom was leaning against the table. I slammed the box down in front of her and thrust the picture in her face. "What the hell is this?" I growled.
She sighed. "Where did you get this?" She asked me, her voice was thick with exhaustion.
My blood boiled. "What the hell is this!" I repeated again, nearly screaming in her face. "You kept this from me? You knew who he was! I can't believe this. You made me think I was going crazy, you made me think my own father didn't love me! How could you? No, how dare you?"
I watched her rub her eyes tiredly and glance up. "I did this to protect you sweetheart."
"Protect me?" I asked, in a low voice. "Protect me. That's a load of bullshit!" I exclaimed, slamming both my palms on the table. "You want to protect me, I didn't ask for that. You're protecting me from something I don't even know about!"
"When you are older, you will understand." She said in a tight, calm voice.
I laughed bitterly. "Older? Open your eyes Mom! I'm seventeen! I am not a child. You had no right, you had absolutely no right." I seethed.
"I had every right. I am your mother."
"Oh really, are you? Because the mother I thought I knew didn't keep things from me. And so what? He is my father! Does that mean shit to you? Did you enjoy it, making me feel like the person I loved the most wanted nothing to do with me? Do you think I wouldn't remember the way you yelled at him over the phone and told him never to come back? Lies. You told me it was for my own good, that he never really loved me." I kept ranting, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. "I believed you, because I trusted you! I loved him more than anything and you took that away from me! I cried for weeks, mother. WEEKS!" And embarrassingly enough, I started sobbing again.
And then she started to speak before I realised I wasn't done. "And Quil, you knew. You knew that he was the one in my dreams. I told you that I thought I was insane. You took me to a damn psychologist! You made me think that I was a freak. You were the one that never loved me. You used my own sanity against me to keep that little secret that you think you're protecting from!"
I watched her eyes tear up in satisfaction. "What do you want from me, Claire?" She asked in the strongest voice she could muster through tears.
"I want-" I started, realising what I actually wanted. "I want to go home."
She blinked. "You are home Claire."
I rolled my eyes, she was so fucking clueless. "No I'm not. I want to go live with Dad. I want to go home, I-" I paused to take a deep, calming breath, avoiding my mother's gaze like the plague. "I want to go to La Push."
