Note: Sorry for taking so long to update. Life has been busy and I haven't been able to find the drive or time to sit down and write. But today I did and re-edited the last scene because I had always had issues with it. Hopefully I can get the next chapter up soon!
"Ah, dang it all," Sandra sighed, leaning over the pot of boiling water so the steam curled the ends of her hair. "My wedding ring fell in with the eggs." And people wondered why I was afraid to eat her cooking. Claire came over to take in the situation before – as simple as you please – she reached her hand in and then pulled it back with her fingers to her wrist red and raw looking. We waited a beat as the red faded and she flexed her fingers already healed.
"We do have a colander, dear," Sandra chastised, curls shaking in her good natured indignation. "No need to be flashy." I snorted under my breath and cut another bite off the banana, the way I usually ate it having made Sandra uncomfortable.
"It's no big deal," Claire insisted, walking around her to stand beside me and reaching up on her tip toes to kiss my cheek. I tilted my head down to accommodate it which she took as the chance to steal the slice I cut off and dancing out of reach to eat it in peace. Worse than Mr. Muggles.
"It isn't until it gets you noticed," Sandra continued, blowing on her ring to cool it and turning it back and forth between her pointer finger and thumb. The diamond caught off the light to flicker on the tiles and Mr. Muggles watched it with rapt attention, paws a tapping in an attempt to kill the oh so dangerous shimmer.
"I can't even be myself at home?" Claire whined, resting her elbows on the table and leaning forward to put her weight heavier on them. "It's bad enough that I have to be all fake at school."
"That's high school, babe," I told her, taking another bite of my banana and kicking my legs back against the counter to make the cabinets rattle. Sandra looked over her shoulder to see that it was me who spoke – besides the multiple other females we had in the house with attitude – and gestured for me to climb down. I rolled my eyes and dropped down onto the tile – narrowly missing crushing Mr. Muggles head – and not commenting on the double standard that he was allowed up there but I wasn't.
"We simply asked you two to stay low," Mr. Bennet reminded her, now standing in the doorway in the purple and yellow uniform he had to wear for work with his name stitched over the breast. He turned his gaze over to me and I turned my back to busy myself with nothing so I didn't have to return it.
"High school doesn't work like that, Dad," Claire educated, the endearment ringing like a taunt in my ears. "You lay low, and you get noticed more than anyone. They have metal detectors for people who lay too low. I have to be someone." She walked over to sling her arm over my shoulders as if to use me as a prop for her point but I was still facing the counter so it came off as more awkward that I was facing the wrong way.
"You know I trust you, Claire. And Jess," Mr. Bennet closed the fridge door behind him and I reluctantly turned to face the conversation again while keeping my fingers on Claire's wrist so her arm wouldn't slide off. "I mean, we got you your own car." Car or Freedom? Ah, how the scale balanced.
"You know, it may be easy for you to pretend that you're the most boring photocopier in the world," Claire continued, gesturing to him as he got a glass. "But I can't not be who I am – whatever that is." Beautiful, smart, talented, sweet, funny? The list went on ...
"Making copies is not my job," Mr. Bennet insisted, coming closer and setting the juice and his glass down together. "Keeping this family safe is my job. And if it means that I don't have time to make you breakfast in the morning or I have to dress in this stupid shirt so that we stay invisible and nobody finds us ... then that's what I'll do. And I need you to do the same." Charismatic, warm, bright ... I should probably be concerned about how extensive this was. Claire's slid off me as she stood on her tip toes to kiss his cheek and I took it as a sign to discontinue with the list.
"I forgot how weird it must be for you to play normal for the time after being ... whatever that was," she sighed, her gaze sweeping over the table as she tried to find the right word and coming up empty on the real reason for why we'd changed our name and moved thousands away from home. From normalcy and calm. From mom.
"Don't you feel sorry for your dad," Mr. Bennet smiled, finally being able to pour himself a glass now that the conversation has lightened enough for it not to be out of place. "Compared to the life I had ... normal's a pretty nice vacation." He looked over at me to include me in the thought but I ignored it in favor of taking my plate of eggs from Sandra as she passed the second one to Claire.
"Thanks," I mumbled, noting the absence of a fork and that Sandra probably already knew I wouldn't use one.
"You're welcome," she said, warmly smiling at me as Claire swung her bag over her shoulder before turning to lead me down the hall and to the front door, paper plate folded between my teeth to hold it while I tied my shoes – and not quite making it. But what can I say? It's me.
"Hey! Hey!" I barely glanced to the side to see if they were taking to me before turning my eyes front again after realizing I didn't care. Over a thousand kids in this school the chances that it actually was for me was in the negatives. And then some.
"Hey, I'm talking to you," my arm was jerked back by a boy – who apparently had been calling me – with enough of a jolt to give me a second's warning that it was the guy I smoked and made out with before school the other day. Well, this should be fun.
"Sorry, there are a lot of people called "hey" I just assumed you were talking to one of them," I said, pulling my bag over my shoulder and digging my hands deep into my pockets. Shutting down. Closing off. Go the fuck away.
"You're funny," he said with an uneasy grin, not sure if I had been joking or not and whether it was funny enough to laugh at but finding safe territory with a compliment. Great, I picked a dumb one.
"My prize quality," I shrugged. "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" He raised his eyebrows in confusion like it had never occurred to him before and was unsettled by the possibility. "Well, I want ... I don't know to talk? I mean we made out yesterday and ... then you kind of left? Was that your girlfriend because I'd be into that." He grinned with encouragement as if to encourage the idea and I could feel brain cells dying just from watching him.
"Yeah, no she wasn't. And even if she was she's reasonably classy so don't keep your hopes up," I advised, comfortingly patting his arm and thinking "among other things." "But listen I really have to get to class ..."
"Well, hold on," he took my arm again as I made to walk away and I felt my patience fraying that he had touched me twice within the span of a few minutes and that I had allowed him to do more than that only a few days ago. But then again it wasn't like I had any self respect to defend. "That's it?"
"Looks like," I said with false apology and sliding my grip out of his hand as his fingers scrambled to get it back. "But hey it was fun and you're a great guy and you know ... have a good life." Ugh, I sounded like a so so inspirational poster. Hang in there baby to the sad looking cat! As soon as we're done with all the fires we'll get you down.
"So you talk my smokes, kiss me and that's it?" He demanded, eyes darkening with anger now and coming closer so I took another step back to allow the distance between us to stay the same.
"Life's a bitch," I defended, wondering at what point I should hit him and willingly take the detention. "But if you're worried about the smokes then I have some change ..." I started going through my pocket for any loose change and pulling out a few crumbled bills that had been through the wash a couple times and could either be ones or hundreds.
"No," he said, taking a step back and his tone giving me hope that I didn't have to pay him after all. Especially if they were hundreds. "No, keep the money. You're worthless and you're a tease. It's only a matter of time before everyone else out figures out how worthless you are." The bell rang and he sauntered after the sound of it, everyone else milling to follow to the doors and leaving me standing in the middle of it with people going through me like I'd gone invisible again and hadn't even noticed.
You're a tease. You're a tease. You're a tease ... Not a whore. That's what Max had told me before ... That's what he meant. That I wanted it and I made him and that it was my fault that he'd pinned me to the ground with his hand between my legs. But it was my fault. I told Mr. Bennet what happened and he "took care of it." He never told me what that meant. And I wasn't sure if I wanted to guess. If he was dead or just gone or... taken care of. Out of the picture. I sagged back in my seat and ran my fingernails along the scars up my arms so I felt a sliver of pain like a turned blade and the hurt enough to focus me. But not enough to take down the thought. The words. A tease. You're a tease. My heart was pounding at this point now and I could feel panic settle into my chest like I was suffocating and couldn't claw free of the pressure. The girl next to me barely glanced my way before back to her work and I licked my drying lips, wanting to scream at her that I was having a panic attack and to take notice or care. When everyone else figures out how worthless you really are ... But I knew that. I'd always known that. Hearing it out loud though ... confirmed by those who didn't dull it with sarcasm was different though. More real. More honest. I dug around in the front pocket of my bag and pulled out the half empty carton of cigarettes that I'd kept hidden as "just in case" method and then the lighter that I kept with it. I put the cigarette between my lips and lit it as my breathing started to slow with the inhale and my thoughts calming enough that the echo went quiet so it was only a pathetic murmur. There. That was better.
"Ms. Butler?!" The teacher – something or something – called from the front and I looked up to see him angrily staring at me, chalk in his hands and half finished words scrawled across the board. Busted. "What do you think you are doing?"
"Smoking?" I offered and the other students stared at each other with open mouths and nervous giggles as the teachers face turned an ugly shade of purple that I attested to anger or the sudden transformation into an eggplant and wouldn't that be interesting.
"Put it out," he said, the words choppy like he had bitten off pieces between his teeth and many of which would have probably gotten him fired. I took another inhale, trying to savor it as quickly as possible.
"Give me a minute," I offered, holding up a finger so he had physical representation and taking another puff. Something snapped and everyone jumped as he threw the chalk to the tile and started to stalk back towards me. The other classmates edged their desks aside to make way for him while at the same time craning in their seats to see what would happen and breathlessly anticipating. Vultures.
"Give it here," he held out his hand, a vein straining on his forehead and a muscle pulsing in his temple that made me tempted to put pressure on one or the other to see if the other would grow larger with the transfer. I ignored that impulse though and took another inhale before letting my breath out slowly in a puff of smoke – right into his face. He blinked and stood back, chest heaving as he fought to keep down his anger and allowing me the chance at another inhale as my mental timer told me that my minute was up. And that I was in deep shit.
"So, Mr. Williams was telling me that you were smoking in class?' The principal asked, bald head illuminated by the fluorescent lights and the sparse hairs around – and in – his ears blowing with the force of the air conditioner. So that was his name. Well, now I knew.
"I was," I admitted, leaning back in the seat and holding my arm close to my chest with the scars almost burning through my sleeve and into my other hand. Even now I could feel the knife, the desperate cries in my chest as it didn't go deep enough, that enough blood wasn't shed, and that I was still there and trembling.
"Now you must know that smoking is prohibited on school grounds?" He asked, thick eyebrows raised and making me wonder why he simply didn't pluck his eyebrows and ears to make a toupee. He had more than enough.
"I do now," I conceded, scratching at my arm and pushing down the memory of stabbing myself over and over again as the shower tile swam with blood and I screamed with frustration. He sighed and I felt sudden regret for making fun of him and being so much of a bitch that I was taking up his time. He seemed nice. Which is more then I could say for most people.
"Sorry," I mumbled, so quiet I wasn't sure he heard and the sudden sharp sympathy on my face correcting the thought.
"Now, I know it isn't easy. You're new to school, you haven't made any friends yet ... being a teenager is tough and I want to be respectful of that. Is there something else that is bothering you, anything you want to get off your chest?" He folded his hands together and leaned forward expectantly, his eyes warm and accepting as he waited for me to start. To unleash all my woes of boys and friends and makeup and feel relieved after I was done that it was out in the open and that I didn't have to hide who I was anymore. Normal. Ordinary. Simple. But instead I saw blood. Blood from Jackie's forehead and the searing of flesh and her screams, Max's weight on my legs and his insistence that I was a whore and "what did I expect?", Sylar's hand brushing back my hair and telling me that I would live, Peter going up in that bright light with that smile on his lips and the pain in my chest as I told mom goodbye and knew it was for the last time ...
"No, sir. Just ... stupid teenage stuff," I tried to smile but the feel of it twisted in my chest instead and came out like a grimace. That was me. A stupid teenager. He nodded, not believing me but not willing to push harder to show his doubts in what I said.
"Well, I'll have to call your parents and tell them what happened. I'm sure they have their idea on how this should be handled and for the time being I'd like to leave it in their hands. If this happens again however I will have to intercede," he rested his hands on top of the desk like a private prayer that I wouldn't do it again. Don't worry. I never got detention for the same reason twice. He nodded, apparently satisfied. "Now, for the time being how about you get some fresh air and clear your head and be there ready for next class. I'll call down to excuse you for the rest of period." I blinked rapidly for a moment, not the answer I had been expecting and something in my chest aching with the kindness of it. I slowly nodded and gathered up my stuff to go to the door as he picked up the phone to dial the number, sighing deeply in preparation for what came next.
"No one's home right now," I told him, vaguely remembering Sandra saying something about Mr. Muggles and the words shorting out soon after. "You'd probably have better luck calling my dad on his cell. He's at work." He froze to look up at me, surprised that I had offered so much and I shrugged off the weight of it and letting the door snap shut behind me.
I kicked at the deadened grass and then at a rock that had found its way into the green and sticking out like a sore thumb. Or a gray stone in a green field. I kicked it again and it rolled away at an angle so I didn't bother to go after it and only continued my morbid pace. I could see Jackie's face again, the look in her eyes as blood dripped down her lips and the murmured word that repeated in my ears so often that I didn't even need to think it to know that it was there. Run. So I ran. From here, from Sylar, from Claire and the Haitian and at the end of it to Peter. But now he was dead. And I couldn't run anymore. Running didn't take you anywhere. The scenery changed but you were still here. Still alive and the running didn't change that. I kicked at another rock and looked back up at the school and the occasional people out on the pavement waiting between classes. What was it like? Being normal? Not having to look over your shoulder for something you didn't understand that would kill you at a moment's notice? Knowing that the man who claimed to love and want to protect you had been in the thick of it and was now supposedly rehabilitated? That the reason why your parents were gone / dead was your fault? How did you reconcile with that? You didn't. That was the easy answer. You let it eat and eat at you until there was nothing left and then crumbled into what remained. That was the longer answer. And the one that hadn't been working out for me to well. I dug my hand into the front of my bag again where the box of cigarettes was and counted out the last three that were inside. I turned the box back and forth like the movement could reveal more before purposely walking over to the trash can and dumping them all inside. I crushed them down farther just in case and then once more again so I couldn't see them anymore and feeling like a weight lifted now that they were gone – that and the remains of an apple juice sticky on my fingers.
I hummed "Barbie girl" under my breath as I made my way through the parking lot and not being able to resist an out of the blue hip thrust followed by a spin as the people around me raised their eyebrows and laughed. I ignored them and skidded on the gravel as I came around the corner to where Claire had parked this morning to find her alone in the spot with a look of horror on her face as she examined every inch. I came to join her as I also looked around and only half concerned – which might have been a little bit of withdrawal.
"Dude, where's your car?" I wondered as she turned to look at me, mouth agape and a silent swear word already forming. Hint: it rhymes with duck.
Claire's hand tightened in mine as she pushed open the door to Copy Kingdom and boredom already hitting me as we stepped in. A whole store dedicated to making copies? We had clearly hit the peak of evolution. Probably a good thing considering that this is what we'd come up with.
"Hey, girls!" Mr. Bennet called, standing by the counter and a kind smile that became cautious when he took me in. Either it was becoming habit or he'd gotten the phone call from the principal and was expecting a confession of murder. The day was still young ...
"Five-pound bag of Gummi bears," he said, holding up one of the bags so the plastic crinkled. "Receptionists love them. A well-stocked candy dish makes them feel popular." Oh, that was sad. Claire hesitated next to me and I pressed down on her wrist which seemed to jolt her enough to the present and taking another few steps. Mr. Bennet looked up again and his smile faded when he took in her expression.
"Dad, if I told you something, will you promise not to freak out?" She asked, fingers biting into mine with her posture tight with fear so the lightness of the music was almost comical behind it. "My car kind of got stolen." Yes, they took the car but left the tires which makes the rest of the process somewhat futile. His shoulders sagged with relief and he let his breath out all at once.
"My God, Claire," he said, now able to grin again now that the danger had passed. "My heart just about stopped."
"I know," she said, now breathlessly relieved and almost amused about the situation. "What's a stolen car when you're running for your life? Not that ... Look, I loved the car, and if you were ever to get me another one, I promise that I will never leave it unlocked, ever again." His face paled again and I had a brief moment of concern to what the constant shocks must be doing to his system.
"You left it ... unlocked?" He repeated, eyes darting to me to confirm and I shrugged like I didn't understand the question. Lock? What locked? He took her by the arm to lead her to the back and still attached by the hand I was forced into a stumble to follow. He took us into one of the back rooms where shelves of supplies lined the walls and I was reminded of murder scenes from half a dozen movies.
"I have to be able to trust you," he said, finally bringing us to a stop and deep enough inside that no one could overhear. "Both of you." He rewarded me with the distinction with a quick glance. "And not just with the car with everything." His look lingered longer on that note, telling me that he had gotten the call and that it wasn't put up on the fridge material.
"She made a mistake," I defended, not bothering to put up a fight in my own case where I was as damned as the rest of them. Claire though? ... She tried. She really tried.
"We can't afford mistakes," he told me, eyebrows low over his eyes and making them darker then they should have been.
"Cause we're hiding and it's dangerous," Claire explained, a tired mantra that we had been forced to repeat over and over until the warning held no more power.
"That's right," Mr. Bennet congratulated, satisfied that she was still the daughter he knew and loved and that I hadn't corrupted her beyond that – yet.
"We're hiding because of something we can do," she continued, gesturing between me and her with her fingers still locked through mine in the action. "And we don't even know what it is." Well, let me put it this way ... you can't die and I make empty rooms like emptier.
"You know enough," Mr. Bennet sighed, standing back up to glance back down the aisles and making sure that we still went unheard.
"But I don't even know how it works," Claire protested, the gateways now open and the questions coming out. "Or what my limits are. I mean, if I cut off my arm, would it reattach itself or would I grow a new one?"
"W shouldn't be discussing this," Mr. Bennet warned, looking above our heads and through the shelves as Claire continued to gesture to her arm and almost knocking me in the nose.
"Who else are we supposed to talk to?" She asked, finally dropping her arm now that it was no longer required and trying to maintain eye contact. "I mean, I could be missing my opportunity to help people. If my skin can grow back after I boil it with eggs, then maybe my blood can help someone who got burned, or – or someone who's sick. I don't even know if I can get sick ..."
"That's enough, Claire!" He burst, voice tight and attention now fully on us as Claire had wanted but not with the reaction that came with it.
"Look, you can yell at me all you want about the car, but this is who we are!" Her voice rose in pitch with his but with desperation not anger so the sound of it grated into my ribs of what she needed but I couldn't give her.
"I have kept you out of danger your whole life so you wouldn't have to find your limits," he was eye level with her now, hands gripping her shoulders so she couldn't shy away with it and the words spoken through gritted teeth. "Because if they find you, that's what they'll do. To both of you." He looked over to me so I knew that I was included and that the threat was extended over both of us. "They'll cut you. They'll test you. And they will push you so far past your capacity for pain you'll wish you could die. Believe me. You may feel confined here, but this is far freer a cage then the one they'll put you in." She stared back at him as he finished and I could see those words and the weight they held reflected there as it sunk in the danger that we were. What we were running from. Hiding from. Like a childish game of hide and seek where you cover your eyes and say I can't see you so you can't see me.
"I've gotta go back to work," he said, the remains of the speech still worn in his words as he touched her cheek. His gaze came over to mine and the edges of his mouth tightened. "We'll discuss it later." I mock saluted off of my forehead and without commenting on it – as it was usually safer – he ducked out of the storage room and leaving Claire and me alone.
"When I checked her pedigree, she ended up having 17 champions ...," the TV announcer was saying, a fluffier version of Mr. Muggles being groomed on the screen and the feathery pom – pom himself tilting his head in interest next to me on the table. It was a testament to how far my life had fallen that this was almost enjoyable.
"Turn that off," Sandra said in mock outrage – or what should have been mock outrage. "That is salt in the wound for poor Mr. Muggles."
"I'm sorry," Claire apologized, sarcasm dripping on the words as she shifted back on the couch and the smell of nail polish growing. "That was very inconsiderate of me." The footsteps lead away as one of the less hairy dogs was lead on its leech and prancing as it went and hopefully about to trip – the dream unheard as the TV switched off. Mr. Muggles and I turned to Claire who seemed surprised at the mirrored reaction.
"You're right," she admitted, grinning at the lack of amusement in my features – or so I presumed I was lacking a mirror and energy to form them properly. "It doesn't help to avoid it." The TV came back on and we both turned but if the dog had tripped or not was uncertain as they had already moved on to another one. Damn.
"Well, this is depressing," I remarked and pushing my hands on my knees to get to my feet. "I'm going to take a walk." Claire cleared her throat as I passed and I stopped at the box of Nicotine that she was holding out to me. I sighed and took it from her, making sure to rattle it as I left and making Mr. Muggles scatter to his feet and after me with glorious – or as glorious as being a show dog could be – reminders of the past was left for purely Claire's enjoyment.
I tossed the Nicotine in the grass at my feet and flicked on the lighter so the flame burned the end of the cigarette and curling black down the white tip. Ah that's the stuff, italicized in my thoughts to indicate sarcasm. I should use the method more often. Avoid confusion. I exhaled and watched the smoke break loose on the breeze. Claire and I used to pretend to smoke on the rare cold day. Back when it was our definition of cool and the word was as high as we went in outside concerns. I smiled faintly, breathing out in the gesture and tasting the bitterness of the cigarette on my lips. Gravel crunched under wheels and Mr. Bennet drove up into the driveway, hands balanced on the wheel and face solemn even through the glass. I stepped back against the house, exhaling deeply as weight dropped from my skin and I couldn't see my feet under me or my arms folded over my chest. He stepped out of the car and locked it, standing for a moment and looking at the spot where I now hid. He looked older. Older when I first met him and he wrapped his jacket around my shoulders and older from this afternoon when he told me we'd talk after work. The sunlight was behind his glasses so I couldn't see his eyes but I knew he was watching where he thought I stood. He could come over if he wanted. Tell me that he knew I was there and that I needed to come inside. Reprimand me for smoking in class and everything else that I did. Every moment I fucked up and didn't apologize. My whole life from that moment on the highway with his jacket around my shoulders an apology that I knew he wouldn't ask for but that I wish he would. I could lie about an apology. I couldn't stand in his silence. Whatever I was waiting for didn't come and he nodded as if acknowledging me and walked past into the house. I closed my eyes, in relief or disappointment I couldn't tell and took another inhale from the cigarette and breathed it out slowly. Look at me, Claire. I'm cool. Wait. Look at me, Claire. I'm cool. Better.