Disclaimer: See the previous past five chapters
Summary: Claire's parents come home and are somewhat less than supportive of Claire's "activities" while they were gone.
A/N: This chapter takes place after Claire's parents get home on Friday, so keep in mind that some time has elapsed.
Claire sat alone at the desk in her room under the pretense of doing homework. With her head in her hands she absentmindedly doodled away on the notebook paper on front of her that was originally her English paper. I love John and I love Bender were scrawled about 80,000 times from all possible angles. It seemed to alternate between that and Mrs. Claire Bender and Mrs. John Bender, which sounded even more delusional. She was jolted out of her daze when the front door downstairs creaked open and was promptly slammed shut again. It was followed in short succession by her father bellowing, "Claire!" so loudly that the Watsons down the street could probably hear. Cringing, she set down her pencil and began to slowly make her way to the family room.
She arrived in the den to find her mother waiting for her. "Sit. Now." Her father ordered. Reluctantly, Claire sat. The vain in her father's temple was throbbing, so she knew he was working hard to keep calm. She just hoped his resolve did not fail him, because he went off there would be no stopping him. Her mother's eyes were red and puffy. It looked like she had been crying. Normally Claire would have been very concerned, for her mother did not often cry and her father was not often angry, but in this past week she had begun to question how shallow her entire family, including herself, really was. She also began to realize that their entire life was about keeping up an image, a persona, that more often than not proved to be untrue. It was the answers to these questions that, once found, could not be lost again. It had been these questions that first made Claire want to change, to make herself more honest, less superficial. Or maybe it was John.
Discreetly she checked her watch, she didn't want to give herself away. John was coming in half an hour, and while she didn't want to challenge her parents any more than was absolutely necessary, she didn't want to subject herself to any more torture than was absolutely necessary either. That was when they started in on her. "Claire," her mother started, swallowing a sob, "I've just finished speaking to Mrs. Hernandez (Anita's mother), and I know that woman's a gossip, and ordinarily I wouldn't take anything she says for granted, but this time it was about you."
Great, thought Claire sarcastically, I'm glad to know my own mother has so much faith in me. Mrs. Standish continued, "Anita has been telling her that you've been hanging around with some delinquent boy at school. She also said that she's been out driving around these past few nights, and she's seen him coming and going from this very house. Now I have no doubt that the second accusation is false, as for the first one, I wish I were as certain. Honestly, Claire, do you really want to ruin your chance at being prom queen over some fling that you'll tire of in a few weeks? What about that other boy, Andrew Clark I think his name was. He seemed awfully nice, why don't you have him over sometime?"
Claire's eyes were practically bulging out of her head by this time. She'd witnessed Mrs. Standish's superficiality before, of course, but nothing like this. She hated the thought that she could be related to this woman. Suddenly, she felt uncontrollable urge to rebel. Who were these people to tell her what to do, and how to act, and whom to love? What did know about anything? Clenching her fists she answered back, "How dare you judge me! How dare you judge my friends! You don't know anything about any of them, least of all John. Andrew is nice, but I don' like him that way. Why is so important to you that I be popular, that I be prom queen? It's not important to me. Do you really think me so shallow that I use men until they cease to amuse me after a few weeks? Do I really seem so vapid?" By this time she was almost crying, too. She'd been told how little people thought of her, but hadn't wanted to believe it. Now she could see it was all true, and she hated herself for it.
Her parents looked at her with shocked expressions. Claire never talked back, and she certainly never lost her temper and yelled like that. This time it was Mr. Standish who spoke, "Listen here, young lady. You show your mother some respect. I don't want to hear anymore about this boy. You have a reputation to protect, and so does this family. Do you want to make us permanent social outcasts? Go up to your room and don't come down until you're ready to go to school in the morning."
Claire glared back at him fiercely, and try as she might she couldn't stop her own angry words from spilling over. "You think this is about you?" she cried, "This has nothing to do with you! You think you know me so well, but you only see what you want to see. You see the princess Claire, the popular Claire, the Claire that everyone loves. But what about the real Claire? The one who has problems, just like everyone else. I can't stand to live like this. I feel like I'm an empty shell of a person, and almost everything that I want to be is out of reach. I can't help whom I love, but even if I could, I wouldn't change a thing. You shouldn't believe everything you hear, but for once Mrs. Hernandez was right. John did come and go from here a lot over this past week. You think I'm some untouchable porcelain doll, oh Claire, she'd so sweet and innocent, but I'm not. Do you want to know how many times we did it when he came? Do you want to know how many places? Do you want to know how he makes me feel alive every time we kiss, every time we touch, every time we"- she fell silent as hand came into contact with her cheek, and a sharp pain followed. Her mother had never struck her before. She knew she was out of line, in fact she couldn't quite believe her own words, but she never imagined her parents would react the way they did. The doorbell rang before any further damage could be done. Thank heaven for small miracles, Claire thought, John was actually early.
The minute the door opened Bender knew. He saw the red mark on Claire's cheek, and the malice in her parents' eyes. They had to go now. He didn't even have to think about it. He just grabbed Claire by the hand, lead to the car, which he'd "borrowed" from his old man, slid into the driver's seat, and sped away from the house. Claire's head was buried in her hands, but she did manage a small thank you. This only served to wrack Bender with even more guilt than he already felt. Oh God, he thought, what have I done?