Age Eight


"Claire, maybe you should stop eating so much--"

Claire interrupted me with, "NO! I will eat as much as I WANT! Leave me alone!" I couldn't pretend that didn't hurt, because it did. I looked down. "Sorry, Claire, I just...you're going to be sick!"

She turned her eyes stubbornly back to the T.V. screen, watching The Parent Trap for about the thousandth time. She stuffed another handful of popcorn into her mouth. I could see that she was full, stuffed, and yet she wouldn't stop eating! Argh, she was so damn stubborn!

I settled back on the couch, thinking that if Claire threw up or something, she would learn. Even though that would hurt me, too, to see her sick and miserable, but it was better than forcing her. And she was pretty strong. Not too strong for me, of course, she wasn't a werewolf, but strong enough that it made me feel bad when I forced her to do something. And I wanted her to be happy, I did. I needed her to be happy. As I was thinking that, Claire suddenly lurched to her feet. She mumbled "bathroom," and ran, with a hand over her mouth, to the bathroom.

I jumped up and followed her, but she closed the door in my face. Why was she acting like that to me? Usually she acted like...like she loved me. My chest ached. How could she affect me so much? Even after so much time, it still wondered me...I leaded against the wall opposite the bathroom, waiting for Claire to come out, or ask for me, and I heard the sounds of her throwing up. Oh, god, why wouldn't she let me help her? I could, I could--

A loud bang came from the bathroom, along with a rattle of something falling. I burst in, not thinking, except that something had happened to Claire. But the door was locked, and I busted it off its hinges. When I got in, I saw Claire lying on the tile floor, her head against the bathtub, and the shampoo bottles on the floor. I ran to her and picked her up. She looked so pale...and green.

"Claire." I shook her. "Claire." She opened her eyes. They were dull, and glazed with sickness. I didn't know she was that sick! "Oh, Claire...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"S'not your fault...Quil...I'm sorry..." She tried her best to smile at me, but closed her eyes closed. I looked at her, and she looked horrible. She was covered in vomit and sweat. And she looked sicker than just overeating could make her. Oh, Claire...I sighed.

"Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" All she did was murmur in response. I sat her down on the floor, turned the water on in the shower, and pulled her sweatshirt off.

"No...Quil...I can do it, it's okay, you don't need to..." She mumbled. I looked at her, doubtful, but if that's what she wanted...

"Okay, but I'll be waiting outside the door in case something happens. Yell for me if you need anything, kay?"

"Yeah..." She started to stand up, and I left. I sat down against the wall opposite again and waited for her to come out.

In a little while, Claire came out of the bathroom in some sweat pants and a t-shirt. She still looked sick, but at least she was clean now...I stood up and hugged her. She swayed, and I released her and looked at her worriedly. She said, "I think...I think I'll go to bed..."

"Yeah, you should. You look so sick, Claire. Come one." I picked her up and brought her to her bed. I put her down on it and started to pry her hands off my arms, unwillingly, but she held on tight and mumbled something like, " No...Quil. Quil..." And she totally melted my heart, so I had to stay. I lay down next to her and put my arms around her little body. She snuggled in closer to me and buried her face in my chest. I had to stay, so I did. Her mother would understand...I drifted off to sleep with my mind wandering and Claire tight in my arms.