From Claire's point of view.

I didn't remember anything.

Well at least I didn't remember much of anything. I only remembered that there was something that I wasn't supposed to remember and if I did remember what I wasn't supposed to remember then there was going to be trouble.

I might as well have remembered nothing for what I did remember wasn't worth remembering, it only scared me. Kind of.

It was more like a dream. You know, the feeling you get when you wake up and you remember that you were dreaming but you can't actually remember anything about the dream save one little thing, one useless thing. You remember something silly like Scooby Doo was there, or I was eating ice cream, we were underground, or it was winter. Sure I guess that that's remembering something but not really anything that can give you a clue as to what the dream was actually about. My useless clue was Morganville.

This, in my case, is even more ridiculous because that's the place I had been living in for the past two years and let me tell you, there is absolutely nothing extraordinary about Morganville. I think I would have remembered something extraordinary about the place, I mean I live there and there is zip, zap, nada. It's a hot, dry desert with one giant bowl of sun. That's all there is to it! Well except for the fact that the place has been haunting my dreams, my real dreams, not just my weird feeling dreams.

My subconscious is screaming at me that there is something I'm not remembering about this place, something colossal. I just don't understand how that's possible though. How can someone forget something that's really important? It really does feel important. It feels like I'm forgetting my own mother's name which is rather impossible, unless of course you have dementia, which I most certainly don't, but that's how it feels. I hate it.

But yet I love it, it's one of those love/hate relationships. Because you see this mystery, this nagging feeling, these psychedelic dreams are my inspiration.

I dream of fantastic things, of bizarre and remarkable people. My dreams are filled with blood and passion and loyalty and an ever vigilant fight for goodness. I have visions of a woman dressed in white, so icy in manner that her mere gaze annihilates enemies and forces people to their knees. I see a man beside her, black in dark leather, a merciless grin on his face. He is the hand of her justice. Another man floats close, he's transparent, his skin drained white and the only color that is still his is flaming red hair. He screams like an angel holding a blazing sword and says he believes in us. Pale creatures close around me and someone else, someone I can never fully see, only glimpse, is there. He's tall with thick curly hair, black soulless eyes and deadly white fangs. I love him. He's always protecting me from the pale creatures, from the distant gunfire, from the infernal singing and sometimes even from the white woman and her two companions. He's always with me. I love him.

The whole vision is swirled with bluish-white light that creates a border, a confinement around my dream world.

It angers me that I can't fully see him, my protector. I know he's beautiful and I every time I dream of him I simply want to gaze him, let myself be enthralled by his captivating charm and mesmerizingly good looks. I can't. There's always someone else calling to me, a different man. He's with one of the pale ones and a fake-pale one. I love them too.

Sometimes I'm not myself in my dreams, sometimes I'm watching myself. Sometimes I find myself as the fake-pale one and sometimes I find myself as the white queen. These images are disorienting and I remember the least when I'm them.

This is my inspiration.

All my songs that I write, every time I look into a camera for a photo, every time I'm walking down the runway, every time I'm acting, I'm emulating one of them. They are the basis for me, they create me.

I never actually wanted to be famous. It's just that after I left college I lost my dream. I just stopped desiring to go around science. It just didn't feel the same anymore, didn't feel right. I was always having these dreams and they were so overpowering that I felt this instant inspiration to create something from it, so I wrote a song and then I wrote another and then in less than two days I had written my first album, Good Girl Gone Bad. The title just seemed perfect somehow.

I convinced my parents to let me move to Los Angles and I spent two weeks recording my new life.

I never expected the album to become famous at all but it did and it did very fast. One month after it's release I was rocking the top of the charts. Suddenly offers came pouring in for me to do this and that. I guess I just got caught up in it all. It seemed like a good idea for I had a never ending source of inspiration and it helped me cope with this thing I wasn't supposed to remember but was trying all the time to. My fame became my armor.

Six months later I had released another album and one more single and had been in my very first movie. I was very, very famous.

Honestly it kind of felt wrong though, like I was using this gift in the wrong way, that I needed to be somewhere else, doing something else. It felt like I was missing something, forgetting something and no matter how many therapy sessions I went to I still couldn't remember anything that I felt I was supposed to. I was miserable.

Shrugging off this feeling I set to work, attempting to make myself the best known nineteen year old in the world and as you surely know by now that's exactly what I am. It's still not enough. I still want more. Not more fame, more memories, more clues. I crave them every single second of every single day. And that man, my protector from my dreams, I can't help but feel that he's real, that he symbolizes some real protector I have. I love him. I need to find him. I am miserable. I need to go home. I need to go to Morganville. I need to remember.

I can't go home. I can't remember. I'm no longer a geeky college student. I am a star. I need to shine. I don't want to. I am miserable.

l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l=l

These thoughts all raced through my head at a blinding speed as they tended to do every morning when I got up. They usually ruined my day. That meant every day was ruined. I was really starting to feel depressed, suppressed.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!

Groaning I rolled over in bed, half-heartedly smacking my alarm and rubbing sleep from my eyes. It was time to get up. Oh joy.

I sat up in bed, assessing the state of my room.

I had recently redecorated; the all white theme that I had originally loved was starting to make my room feel like a room in a psych ward. I was crazy enough and I surely didn't need to have a visual on exactly how crazy I was.

The walls were painted a shade of blue as my manager had instated; something to do with productivity. The bedspread was black and the furniture was white, pillows and cushions were the color yellow and the metal accent was chrome. The room had a weird feel to it, something cold and detached mixed in amongst my comforting anime posters and misshapen stacks of mismatched books.

It had been designed for me that room, in a coming together of my team which consisted of managers, publicists and parents. The whole thing was supposed to be "Zen", supposed to help be create and find myself, but honestly it just felt like a hotel room, temporarily comforting but definitely not mine. I usually slept down in the lab on my favorite red leather couch. That room was certainly more my style with the mismatched furniture, jumbles of computers and lab equipment, old wooden bookcases and stained lab tables. The place felt exactly like home.

My mother called it a interior designers worst nightmare.

I didn't really care for her opinion, it was my work space and I kept it just the way I liked it, organized and clean but with a well-lived in feel. It was a quiet place, a place to escape to.

Honestly, I never got to go down there much. I was supposed to be conducting research for my undergrad, I was supposed to be studying for my classes and exams, I was supposed to be figuring the world out, but I wasn't. I was singing, writing, talking, laughing, shopping, posing and being otherwise occupied with things that seemed pointless. I loved it, reveled in it. Music and acting, they were my escape. Something had changed within me after I left my first years at college at TPU, I wanted to be able to really experience life.

Here I was barely nineteen and I had never done the little things, like gone to concerts with my friends, stayed up all night partying, kissed a stranger, danced on tables like no one else was there, I had done nothing but study, study, study. Oh, and don't get me wrong I do love my science, I love my world of logic and proportions and reason and facts, but I needed to be a little stupid before I made a life entirely committed to it. It was my bachelor party of life.

Two more years tops and I was back to school, I had promised myself that much. It was fun to be me, but I knew that one day I was going to wake up and wonder what the hell I was doing. On that day I would go back to school, back to science. I estimated three years.

If only the dreams would go away, then life could be perfect.

I laughed to myself, nothing was ever perfect and this was as close as I was gonna get. I might as well stop fretting about the little things and start letting the wild side out.

Now smiling, I climbed out of bed, yanked on a robe and bounded down stairs to the waiting smells of coffee and bacon, stopping briefly to pick up a letter someone had pushed under my door.

I hope you guys liked this one. It is from Claire's POV so I tried to make it sound very different from the other chapters, I really hope that the mood and tone changed with her. Tell me what you think!

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