Ok, so...the last two weeks have been a shit show. I tested positive on a lateral flow for covid, and then had symptoms a day after that test. Got my lab test back on the 13th, had to isolate, of course, and I thought I'd be ok and I could do some writing while I was off work.

Covid decided it wanted to make me wrap myself in a blanket on the sofa and feel sorry for myself while watching Phasmophobia gameplay XD but I'm ok now, I may have a heavy chest every now and then but I'm all good, yo! I'll be sure to leave a 1 star review on Google.

Anyone on my Instagram would seen that one of my Redfield budgies/parakeets died too. Budgie Claire died, and if she died the way I think she did, I'm 100% sure it could've been prevented. I'm not going into details, just that I quite possibly fucked up. I bred these two myself, and I'm heartbroken. All I can do now is try to give budgie Chris lots of attention and company. He lost his clutch sister, the least I can do is make it up to him and spoil him. I'm going to try to tame him too. He was tame as a young chick, he can be again aged two.

Anyway, enough about my petty two weeks, let's have at this chapter, finally!

The fading light of the day filtered in between the off white blinds of my new apartment as I stared down at the plain, boring desk before me. I had picked it up cheaply. Just like everything in here. Cheap and pre-owned; bought quickly to furnish. For the first time since I was in college I was sleeping in a single bed, which lay by the kitchen surface a few meters behind me. My bags lay at the foot of the bed, half of the contents strewn about on the floor and pushed under the frame. A worn two seater sofa sat only a few feet from my back, facing a simple 28" inch flatscreen TV. I rarely watch TV, so I don't even know why I bothered to get one. Maybe to add some sort of normality to the place?

I stood up, crushed the empty box of emergency contraceptive pills in my hand (why did I leave the empty box on the desk for so long?), tossed it into the trash by the kitchenette and looked about. The apartment itself was sparsely decorated; it didn't have the vibrant college team banners or rock band and movie posters that teenage me had. The faint musk of damp lingered lightly in the air, but no matter how many times I had checked the corners, or under the sink, or the bathroom, I couldn't find the source of the smell. One of the two windows in the main room didn't open properly either, so airing the place out was hard. It didn't have the homely feel that the apartment I shared with Chris had. It was just a studio apartment, no more, no less. It was never going to feel like home.

I hadn't made any contact with Chris either, but he sure as hell tried to contact me. So many calls, so many text messages; he even started sending me emails! All of them were along the same lines; Claire I'm sorry! or Claire, please! I've stopped drinking!

Sorry about what? Drinking, or does he remember what he did to me? Does he remember beating me or does he remember sleeping with me? Both? Should I believe him when he says he's stopped drinking? Or is it just a ruse to convince me to go back? I gave him chances, he fucked them all up.

If he cared so much he would've stopped from the word go, I don't give a shit if he has PTSD, he knew he shouldn't have been drinking so much and he deceived everyone who was just trying to help! There were plenty of people who cared! Old friends, newer friends, colleagues...family. I glanced over at the photo on the shelf by the desk. The last photo of us all as a family. Before a single car crash ruined everything.

Me? I cared. I keep trying to tell myself I don't care about him anymore but every time I tried to convince myself, I get dragged back by my trademark ponytail! How can it be this fucking hard to just let it go? To let him go? Because he's my brother and I've only ever known a life with him in it? Am I really that petty?

I sat back down and scratched my TerraSave ID card against the desk, cutting the fine white powder into lines. Dave had been reluctant to give me a little bag of it when I met him the other week near the office, but I had insisted I needed something stronger than weed, which I still smoked, albeit whilst leaning out of the window. The first time I had tried this stuff was at my desk at work; the day I first attempted to pick up the morning after pill. Every other time I had taken cocaine had been right here at this desk. I rolled up a scrap of paper from my notebook and snorted the line, and an instant wave of energy warmed every fiber in my body, and hell yeah did I feel good!

Until there was a knock at my door.

Shit!

I stood up quickly, the chair screeching against the floor, and I bolted to the door, pressing my cheek to it and peering into the peephole. Ah, fuck!

"Barry?! Gimme a sec, I'm not dressed!" I shouted through the door, and turned to my right to grab kitchen paper and soaked it in the sink.

"Ok, Claire!" was the muffled response. I ran back to the desk, snorted the remaining powder through my other nostril and wiped the surface down with the damp paper, before moving my laptop over the spot. I pulled my t-shirt up my belly some, hid my glass of vodka in a cupboard and opened the door to Barry, pulling the shirt back down as if I really had just got dressed.

"Barry!" I exclaimed, beaming at him.

"Hey, Claire. You mind if I come in?" he smiled at me.

Did I mind? Had I hidden everything that needed to be hidden? I sniffed.

"Sure, sure!" I stepped to the side and beckoned him in, "I'm sorry it's not as cushy as Moira's place."

"No, it's fine, Claire, don't worry. I've come to see you, not your abode!" Barry laughed, entering the room. I glanced about quickly, double checking that I had definitely hidden anything incriminating.

"Coffee, Barry?" I pointed to the kettle, that plastic ten dollar kettle.

"Sure!"

"A sandwich?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He rolled his eyes and groaned at me. No one was ever going to let him live that 'Jill Sandwich' story down. I laughed and made a black coffee with no sugar for him, which he graciously took from me. He sat down on the sofa and almost immediately gave me a worried look as it squeaked under his weight. I shrugged.

"Does it to me, too, but it'll hold." I remarked. I took my own coffee to my desk and spun the chair about to face him, the legs once again scratching at the floor.

"How does it feel to have your own place?" Barry asked, turning the mug about in his hand.

"It's, er, it's different." I replied, also turning my own mug in my palms. I could feel the tension in the air between us, and I watched him thumb the mug handle, his face heavy from thought. I hadn't confessed to anyone what had happened, not even Moira, though she had pretty much world it out. She was the one who pointed this place out to me, after all. I had mostly left people in the dark. Aside from Moira, Anna was the only one who even had a vague idea, and she had promised to keep it confidential. But Barry's face told me he also had suspicions.

"Your nose is looking better, at least." Barry finally spoke, nodding at me. I grinned and lightly touched the tip of my nose.

"Hell of a sparring session, right?" I smirked, but he only shifted his gaze to meet my own, and took a quick sip of his coffee, smacking his lips at the hot liquid.

"Claire, look. You can't keep trying to hide it."

"Hide what, Barry?" I quizzed. I forced a look of confusion, but like any other time I forced my facial expressions, I think I failed miserably.

"Hiding the fact that Chris physically abused you."

The tension thickened almost unbearably, so thick that my arm hung in place as I lifted my mug to my lips, suspended like a marionette. Barry squirmed into the sofa, and it made another squeak.

"How many people do you think you fooled, Claire? How many people do you think actually believed you when you said you had had a hardcore sparring session with him? I've known you both longer than anyone either you or Chris know."

I lowered my coffee back down and set it on the desk, sighing.

"I hate to break it to you, Claire, but you don't fool me. And you don't fool Moira, either. Why did you hide it?" Barry asked. I sniffed again and scrunched my nose. I could do with some more cocaine right now. The high was already long gone.

"I didn't want him to be in trouble." I managed to utter. Barry stared at me for a few seconds before scoffing.

"In trouble? Claire! He was abusing you! There's no way around it!"

"It was his medication, though!"

"No, Claire, it wasn't! You do realise I hear of his psychological reports at work, right? I might not be a psychologist but he opted for me to sit in on his sessions. I started getting him breathalysed at work and he failed every single time! He was mixing! He was mixing and he relapsed! Why didn't you tell anyone what was happening, Claire? This could've all been fixed!"

"I don't know, Barry!" I weakly answered.

"Did he convince you to tell people that he wasn't doing anything wrong? How long before he could've done more damage, irreversible damage?" Barry barked, but softly, in a way only Barry could. I grimaced and rubbed my hand against the tiniest of stabs in my belly. Whooooo, yeah, that's the pills working, alright, Jesus, I hope I'm not about to start my period while Barry's here.

"I wasn't aware he was still drinking...until Mom and Dad's day...I just thought he needed different tablets. But then if you knew he was still drinking, Barry, why didn't YOU say or do anything?" I retorted back at him.

"Because I didn't know he was being violent. I didn't know he was violent and you didn't know he was drinking. Maybe there was a huge lack of communication between us but I honestly thought you would've been the kind of woman who would've immediately said something."

"I'm a weak woman, is what you're trying to say." I snapped, and I breathed in harshly. We sat in silence for a few seconds, before I rubbed a tear from my eye. Barry scooted across the couch to be closer to me.

"I never said you were weak, Claire, I'd never say that, you're stronger than a lot of men I know. I'm just...surprised...that you never once spoke up about it. But now I'm more concerned for you than him. Your bond with Chris is unshakeable. Indestructible. The fact that you of all people felt you had to run away from it shows that something was seriously wrong. How bad did it get, Claire?"

I sat in silence once more. There was literally no way I was going to tell Barry about the worst of it, but I can't totally lie to him, not for how long I've known him for.

I took another long deep intake of air. It was time I came clean to Barry.

"Chris...got violent. Very violent. I can confirm that. I won't hide it from you anymore, Barry. He broke my ribs, he broke my nose, he...he squeezed his hand around my throat. He did try to make me believe it was just sparring, or that every mistake was my fault. I really did think it was his medication, I literally had no idea he was still drinking. I wish I knew sooner." I whispered slowly, and I closed my eyes as I thought of him taking me that night. No, I can't tell him. Don't tell him.

"I'm sorry, Claire. I should've told you he was still on the drink. This is in part my fault."

"No, Barry, don't blame yourself. I'm alive, I'm not seriously injured, and that's what matters. We both know the deal now but please don't go over to him and kick his ass."

"He'd be lucky if I didn't kick his ass, what an imbecile," Barry ran his hand over his chin and stared at the wall. "Does he know where you are right now? Does he know you're here?"

I shook my head.

"No, I haven't spoken to him since I left."

"Mm hm, he did mention that you had stopped talking to him, but he would get very quiet and reclusive if I asked why."

"Because he doesn't know why. He doesn't remember any of his actions if he was drunk at the time."

"I think he knows he's done something wrong. Ever since you left he's almost a completely different person, not the brash, loud Chris that we're all used to at BSAA. And his breathalysers became clean a day or so after you left, too."

So he really wasn't drinking anymore?

"I want to help him, but I can't face him. Not after he attacked me like that. Just because he doesn't remember it doesn't mean I don't. I think it's going to be a long time before I can trust him again."

"Which is a huge shame, Claire, it really is. I know how much you both mean to each other."

"He means less to me now." I spat, raising my mug and drinking deeply from it.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. Like I said, it's not your fault." More silence fell on the room, much like night fell outside the window onto the city. Another tiny little stab appeared and disappeared almost immediately in my abdomen, and I excused myself to use the bathroom.

I sat down on the toilet and, well, peed. I peed and I zoned out at the tiles opposite me as I contained my emotions. Come on, Claire, cram them into that metaphorical bottle, Barry said you weren't weak, don't break in front of him. I sat there long after I had finished before glancing down and sure enough, tiny red flecks dotted my panties. I smiled to myself; it wasn't often I caught my period perfectly like that. I'll wait for it to get heavier before I use a tampon. I pulled everything back up and washed my hands, and I had a realisation.

Period meant I wasn't pregnant! I got so damn lucky with the pills! Jesus, never again. Never. Again. Chris, you lucky son of a bitch! That's no way to speak of our mother but still. Fuck you, dude.

I dried my hands and stepped back into the room, taking my seat again.

"Sorry about that, Barry." I smiled.

"It's fine, when you gotta go, you gotta go." Barry said in turn.

Yet again, silence came upon us, and I watched Barry's face work hard for something to say.

"Aside from what happened, how are you right now, Claire? I don't think you and Chris have ever had such a huge falling out."

My eyes flicked ever so delicately over to the kitchenette, to the cupboard hiding my vodka, hiding my cocaine and weed.

"I'm...I'm ok. I just need a huge amount of air and space to collect my thoughts."

Hah, you thought a bit of snow could keep me away?

I'll just snort more, it's fine.

"Take as much time as you need. I can keep you updated on Chris if you want."

"I'm not sure if I want any updates on him, Barry. Just thinking about him or hearing his name makes me nervous." I confessed. I wasn't wrong, I felt sick every time. So sick.

"Ok, Claire, no worries. Do you at least want me to make him aware of what he's done to you?"

"In time, I think, but not yet. I want him to feel bad for what he's done. I want him to suffer. Let him wonder where I've gone, let him screw his head over it all." I mumbled, and I watched Barry straighten up in mild surprise.

"It's not like you to be apathetic."

"Yeah, well, it's not like Chris to be violent to his little sister but here I am, bruises and all. Like I said, I tried. I tried and clearly it wasn't good enough for him. If he can't see that then fuck him."

Fuck him.

"I'm scared, Barry."

"Of what?"

Yourself.

"Of Chris. I'm scared of what he could be capable of if I do eventually go back. I want to help him but I'm torn in my mind. I keep saying I want to help but I also don't want to and...oh fuck what the hell is wrong with me?! I can't decide if I care or not! One minute I do then the next minute I fucking despise him!"

I slipped off the chair and down to my knees, my palms firmly clamped over my eyes as I cried. I felt Barry gingerly wrap his arms around me and he patted my shoulder. He sighed roughly away from my ear.

"I can't fucking believe Chris has done this to you, I can't believe he's made you feel this way. He's really taken a chunk out of your confidence, out of you who are. He isn't the Chris Redfield I know and this isn't the Claire Redfield I know. You're both so much better than this, and you are certainly worth a lot more than what he's made you feel."

"Oh God if only you knew…" I started. Shit, why did I say that? Barry please, for the love of God please don't question that!

"If only I knew what?"

…

"Oh no, I think I know. Look at you! There has never been a time where your brother has mentally crippled you, I can't begin to imagine what's going through your mind at this time."

"I don't know what to do, Barry…"

"Hmmm. I've told you that his drinking has dropped right off. How about if anything big develops I'll give you a shout? I don't think it's a good idea for you to be completely out of the loop. But you said you're scared of Chris, so I won't tell him where you are, if it makes you feel safer. How does that sound?"

"It sounds ok...just ok. Oh God I don't know!"

"It may have taken as much as you walking out on him, but Chris has finally got his shit together and is slowly on the path to mending, now it's your turn. Fight this, slap it in the face, don't let it beat you, ok? You've got this Miss Redfield. Don't let this destroy the amazing relationship you have with your brother."

I pulled away from the hug and nodded. Yeah. I can do this. I had to make him think I can do this. He doesn't know the true extent of Chris' lechery.

"I'll keep in regular contact with you. No matter the time of day, if you need to talk just call me. I'm assigned to the HQ for the next few months so I'll always be nearby. Failing that, Moira will definitely be able to talk to you if I can't."

He got up and drained his coffee, and I took the mug from him. He hugged me once more, pecking me on the cheek.

"I'll leave you in peace, look after yourself, and remember, I'm just a call away."

"Thank you, Barry."

I saw him out of the door, and just like that I was back in my own company. I blew a breath out, peeled my hair from my damp cheeks and looked across at the photo of us. At Mom and Dad. I stepped into the kitchenette and pulled my weed stash out from the cupboard, rolling up a joint or two.

I was going to go for a walk.

The air fell humid and hot around me as the overcast sky reflected the city's orange glow; probably going to be another storm soon. For whatever dumb reason, Summer was my favourite season. It was also Chris' favourite, but I felt no desire to share the coming months with him. Not this year.

If I knew walking through the cemetery was going to give me vicious flashbacks I wouldn't have bothered at all. But I wanted to see them alone. I had to. And I just hoped Chris didn't have the same idea. I can't imagine he'd choose the dark of night to visit them, though. It did feel strange; even after eighteen years this was the first time I was visiting them alone.

Like I had a couple of weeks ago I crouched down in front of my parents' grave and lightly felt their embossed names with my fingertips.

"Do you know what has happened? Can the dead really still roam?" I asked them. It was a dumb question, but I was referring to ghosts, not zombies. I already knew zombies existed through those god awful viruses.

"Can you read minds? Can you see everything? I bet you're disgusted with me. And Chris. I'm sorry. We've let you both down, haven't we?"

I glanced over both shoulders to check I was truly alone, and pulled a joint out of my pocket, lighting it. I blew that first breath out into the air, and returned my eyes to their names. Louise and Paul Redfield. My parents. My family that had left me so soon.

"How different would things have been, Dad? How different would our lives be? Mom didn't have long left, but would you still be here now?" I counted in my head how old Dad would've been now; 53 years old. Yeah, he'd likely still be alive.

"I miss you. I miss you both so much. Why couldn't I just have had a normal life with a normal family? Why does the universe hate me? It took my parents from me, it threw me into bioterrorism, it turned my imagination and obsessions against me, it turned my brother against me, it made him…" I closed my eyes. I couldn't bring myself to say the word to them.

"It made him hate me." I whispered. I toked again, but choked. Goddammit. I coughed into my hand to get the lump out of my throat.

"I wish I could see you both again. Even for an hour, just an hour. I'd do anything to be able to talk to you again, to be able to talk as adults. To hug you both. To tell you both how much I miss you and how much I love you."

I sat down completely and crossed my legs, my jeans soaking up the mildew from the grass. Another toke of my joint.

If Dad was still alive, would I have gone to look for Chris? Would I have worried as much as I had when he cut contact with me? After all, I worried because he was my only family. Maybe Dad would've told me I was worrying too much, but I don't know, not without knowing how he would've interacted with an older version of me.

If Dad was alive, Chris would have never left the USAF to care for me. He'd still be going all Top Gun. He'd have never become a police officer. Never joined S.T.A.R.S. Never got pulled into Wesker's plans. He never would have gone to France and I would have never gone to Raccoon City. He would have never tackled bioterrorism so much and for so long and developed PTSD because of it. Or an alcohol problem. He would have never raped me if Dad was alive.

I bit my lip and squinted at Mom's name.

"Mom, I don't even know what to say to you. I knew I was going to lose you anyway, but not in the way that I did. I'm sorry that Chris and I are so messed up. I hope you and Dad are just turning a blind eye to us. No parent should ever have to see their kids do the things that we have done."

I sucked the remainder of the joint as hard as I could.

"I hope you both continue to rest easy. At least you have each other. I have no one now."

A month has passed since...since my parent's death anniversary. My inner voice had only grown to be more malicious and lustful, and I've come to realise all too well of the various illegal substances I had procured to keep the voice away. God, if TerraSave found out I'd be clearing my desk into an archive box. But right now, I couldn't care less about what I was putting into my body to escape any voices or emotional trauma. At least my birthday was in a few days. I can go out with Moira and some friends and try to push those thoughts from my mind. Thirty years old. Damn, my life is flashing by!

I paced in my bathroom as I waited for the test to do its thing. How stupid of me to assume those flecks in my panties were the beginning of my period. It's happened to me before though, right? Kind of like trying to kick start a motorbike, maybe there's a little sputter, but it'll come to life as it should eventually? I'm worrying over nothing, it's just my periods making me paranoid as usual.

I rubbed at the needle hole in my arm, and looked at the test on the back of the cistern.

"Okay, come on, it'll be fine. It'll be one pink line and then you can stop worrying." My voice echoed in the bathroom, almost trying to double, triple assure myself. I leant forward and there it was. One pink line. I laughed. Oh, Claire, see? Panicking over nothing! I grinned as I scooped the test up, observing that one line in pure delight.

But…

Hold on?

...

I dropped the test as if it scorched my fingers, and it clattered loudly against the toilet seat.

The song for this chapter is Mad World by Gary Jules, Michael Andrews.

Lyrics don't tie much into it, but it's another song I've had stuck in the backlog of "to use" songs. I do prefer the original by Tears For Fears but this cover version has the mood I'm trying to invoke :3

I can say that after this chapter I have another nine songs lined up for chapter names, and that only takes it to the "steam room" scene. So already this is going to have a far bigger chapter count than Made In Heaven, and I think the next chapter could very well overtake MIH for word count too!

NOTE: I noticed a huge continuity error about Hayley the Harley, but I forgot that Chris had already revealed to Claire that she in fact didn't ride Hayley to Raccoon, so I removed a couple lines of text. My bad XD