"Claire. Claire?"

It was an echoing at the other end of a long corridor. From afar, Claire could faintly make out the calling of her name, a ripple like echoing of a sound. Her dream so far had been a pleasant one, of flowers and all those pretty things she liked, but the voice stopped her in midst action. It was repetitive as it was annoying for it was disturbing her concentration. Whatever it was, it better shut up.

"Hey. Hey! Wake up, man."

Her eyes darted open, her mind back into reality only to find Jonathan's face looming over her. He smiled joyfully while she frowned, disappointed.

She turned to her side, grasping her bed quilt over her shoulder as she snugged her head deep in the folds of her pillow. "Leave me alone, Jonathan," She grunted. "It's early."

"Nonsense! It's never too early for…" In his hand he positioned a small red box beside his face as he pointed on the emphatic picture with a particular food item. "These!"

Huh? She looked over her shoulder, mildly surprised to find a box of—"Pancakes."

He nodded, like a hyperactive little kid, in agreement. "Now, get off your ass and let's make some."

Sighing, she responded, "Why don't you do it?" Claire closed her eyes again, holding her blanket tighter and trying to block out his voice.

He let his arms fall loosely, letting his head hang in mocking defeat. Claire was no fun, no fun at all, even in the mornings. "I hope you know that I won't be making you any and that you'll have to watch me eating a delicious batch of pancakes when you wake up."

She pondered this, registering his remarks to catch the overtones of his sarcasm. Was it really so hard to make pancakes alone? She gave in. "Alright, fine. Go. I'm going to the kitchen"

With this, he took her leave.

As she sat on her bed, she stretched out her limbs, yawning loudly and scratching her stomach in the process. Her eyes hurt in the usual morning way, her vision clouded up by remaining sleepiness left within her. She blinked a few times to get rid of the fogginess, but this seemed to make it worse. Claire noticed it was 5:30 in the morning, Tuesday. Her body immediately fell into a pit of dismay, realizing that Jonathan woke her up on a Tuesday, a school day, at 5:30 in the morning.

'School, school, school…' Her mind repeated. She hated school. Well, not entirely, but she hated it enough.

She headed for the bathroom...

The lights had set of a stingy off-white paleness that strained Claire's eyes, forcing her to blink hard for a few seconds. It was a rude sign, which reminded her that she wanted to go back to bed. Not only that, but the floor was cold against her bare feet. The mirror greeted her at first hand, and upon observing her frame, she saw how unruly her red hair had turned. Claire tied her frayed bed hair into a more secure ponytail, then rubbed her face with her hand, chafing out the small crusts in her eyes. Gray eyes people always said they liked. It was funny just how people noticed what she was instead of who she was. But Claire didn't have to worry about that with 'him.'

As she brushed her teeth, toothpaste foam and all, she looked at her reflection. Like most girls, she was insecure about her appearance although there were no apparent reasons for lack of self-confidence. Her hair was red, not orange-like but red, a color even Julia liked. But Claire hated it, she would rather dye it something more "normal" and commonplace. And her nose. It was so weird, so oddly shaped. She vowed to Julia that she would undergo plastic surgery and fix it, anything to make it better, but Julia refused on such an idea.

"Really, Claire," Julia would say. "You should like yourself for who you are." That was the problem. Claire didn't.

Claire's boyfriend would agree with Julia on that matter. Of course, he HAD to. He was her boyfriend. He would never want her to change herself; he adored everything about her already. There was no need in altering anything.

Claire begged to differ. Chris would preach otherwise, often making Claire feel worse about herself. Chris was known for being handsome. In any case, it was he who usually made fun of her as a kid for having red hair whereas he, mom and dad had sported the brownish hair.

"Yeah, Claire. You sure did get all the weak, recessive genes," He laughed.

It used to make her cry when he said this to her, but now, as she rinsed her mouth off at the faucet, she tried to suppress a chuckle. Stupid Chris, that idiot. She missed him so much…

Too bad he was gone…

A loud clang came from the kitchen, followed by a succession of more clashing of cookware. Jonathan cursed in the distance. He had seemed to be wide-awake, more like having been injected with an infinite amount of caffeine in his system. The only reason she as well got up was because of the pancakes. It generated a far off memory of her childhood, recollections shoveled up in a heap of occurrences long forgotten. Claire absolutely loved pancakes, especially when her mom had made them. Even so, Julia's were ironically just the same. It was awkward how Julia did things in similarity to Mom. It was if as though she and Julia were the same person.

Eighteen years ago, Claire would have been eight years old and in the 2nd grade, or 3rd. Thinking back she wasn't quite sure. It would be on mornings like these that Carolina Redfield would go wake up Claire in her room, greeting her daughter with a warm smile, making mornings a bit better to endure. Such was her mother's nature; her grandeur was incomparable then, without equal and without rival. Claire remembered her mother carrying her about, proclaiming her pride for her small child and telling just how lucky she was to have had someone like her. Never was it a sappy kind of motherly love, the kind where the child usually was humiliated at the things parents did out of care, at least it wasn't like that to Claire. She was never embarrassed about talking about her mom and what she did. Claire loved her parents just the same as they did her.

Out of bed and in her pajamas, a typical morning would have been sitting at the dining table, her feet dangling over the floor, flaming hair in a tousled mess. George Redfield, a tall and yet docile man, would greet her just as warmly as he would plant a small kiss upon young Claire's puffy cheek and ask her how she slept. He always received the same answer in the affirmative, this he always knew, but he asked every morning either way. It was a gesture of true concern, something Claire noted later on. And Chris. Well, Chris was Chris and had always been Chris. He would pull Claire's ponytail, teasing her for being scared of the dark and having to come over to sleep in his bed. Claire didn't want her parents knowing that, since she tried to pass herself as a responsible young adult who was capable of wearing make up. But still her parents treated her how an eight year old deemed to be treated.

That's how they were. A normal family leading an ordinary life, doing typical things. Breakfast would then be served, compliments of Carolina. It was Claire's favorite. Blueberry pancakes…

Eighteen years sure did have an effect on the later Claire. Those mornings, which had been so customary, so routine and unchangeable, were now eliminated. Mom wouldn't be there to smile her dazzling smile, she wouldn't be serving breakfast or any of the other things a mother was supposed to be present for, Dad wouldn't be there as a safeguard for Claire's well being or as the teller of tales at bedtime. Chris would never be the same person; his interest in life after Mom and Dad's death had reduced drastically. There was no vibrancy in his gestures or in his personality. No spark of an emotion, he heeded not a sentiment. He had been emptied, emotionally and mentally, and it had taken a very long time for Chris to recover. But having thought this, Claire sometimes wondered if Chris had ever recovered fully. Or recovered at all. He claimed he was over it, that it had been too long ago to feel any sadness again, but Claire sensed that it still bothered her brother to think of their parents.

After the night's sleep, Claire woke and found herself looking at the ceiling, with one thought in mind.

I hate him for lying to me.

He'd put up such a jovial persona throughout these years, always fake smile planted upon his face like a bystander without a worry, without grief. Claire didn't fall for it. She read him like an open book, seeing through the false appearance, realizing that Chris was the most miserable man she ever knew. And she felt sorry for him. But she didn't want to feel sorry for him. Chris was not a weak man. Perhaps the only thing he did not lie about was his gratefulness and devotion for Julia… This he mentioned to Claire and Claire only. Both Redfield siblings could agree that there could have been no better woman to take care of them than Julia. They owed her so much, at least Claire did.

She sighed, what could I ever do?

"Hey." Jonathan said lowly, interrupting Claire's looking at the ceiling. It seemed as though he'd been waiting for a long time. His eyes were deepened with concern but as he got her attention he smiled warmly.

"Hey there." Claire tossed her blankets aside and repositioned herself in order to sit on the bed, looking at up Jonathan. "How long were you watching me?"

"Long enough for me to think that you got paralyzed or something," He responded. "What were you thinking about?"

She shrugged. "Oh…nothing, really."

He snickered, not believing her words. "I figured you were awake already. You want to do anything today?"

"I'm not sure what exactly I'd like to do." Claire scratched her head and stared at her lap, as if contemplating it. "I'd like to do everything."

Jonathan placed his firm hand on Claire's shoulder, letting her know he understood. He had sensed the connotation in the way she said 'everything'. "Don't worry, there's plenty of time for many things."

She smiled, appreciative of his well-calculated response. "I better wash up."

Grabbing certain grooming commodities, Claire entered the small bathroom, barefooted. The stinging of the cool tiles against her soft feet made her alternate on standing foot, until finally a cool and numbness had come around. It was a process performed every morning when she lived in this house, which included a long session of staring at her reflection, observing her morning state. This she did. What she saw before her was anything but attractive. Claire sighed. She couldn't remember the last time anyone called her sincerely beautiful, although friends usually said most likely to spite her. But that's what friends were for, to make oneself feel better even though objectivity was lacking. She did, however, remember a person dear to her who told her things with sincerity, unlike her friends had. Someone…she forgot whom it was.

Claire wanted so much Leon to think she was attractive because she figured that's what he liked. He liked attractive women and she couldn't blame Leon for not noticing her. She couldn't blame him for falling in love with Ada…

Claire scowled herself. Stop this self-pity, Redfield.

Claire had been a lover of make-up and any other face enhancing substance that existed. It had been an adolescent obsession, a trend among the other girls in her surroundings that had eventually sucked her in as well. Although she hid it from everyone else, make-up was a particular thing she liked despite her natural exterior. Clare didn't wear any, but as she looked at herself in the mirror, noticing rather obvious adjustments here and there that she could carry out, maybe it wasn't a bad idea to start attracting somebody…anybody…

She shook that thought out, thinking to herself, you're not desperate. Remember that.

And for some reason unknown to her, Claire smiled diligently. It was difficult to do so. She'd lost all pretexts in smiling. But she knew insecurity shouldn't overcome her, a part of herself acknowledged that she wasn't so bad. At least to someone in this world, Claire's looks weren't so bad.

After having brushed her teeth, and having been dressed in simple attire, Claire sat at the dining table with Jonathan who had been anxiously tapping his knuckles against the surface. Julia could be heard scrounging around in the kitchen, doing whatever it was that she was doing. Breakfast most likely, she hoped. Claire was starving.

Julia came out of the kitchen, noticing that both her children were awake. "Good morning." She crossed her arms and looked at both of them. "I hope you like your eggs scrambled, Claire." It was unnecessary to ask, Julia already knew every one of Claire's food preferences.

She smiled. "I still do."

Moments later the three of them found themselves engaged in breakfast. Despite each other's company, they ate in silence. It was better like this, not talking, but only feeling the satisfaction that being together brought them. Why should words be involved only to spoil the very scarce happiness they shared? There was no need for it. Simply being there, as a family again reunited, only centimeters apart, was a good enough situation to be in. The tinkling of forks and knives against plates had filled them with an awkward peace, a realization that made them become aware that they were a puzzle once again complete.

"You know," Julia began as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I'd like to cook something special for you for dinner, Claire. Anything you'd like?"

"Oh, don't worry about cooking for me," Claire looked at her and laughed. "If anything else, I think I should be the one cooking for you."

"I'd like to see that," Jonathan intervened.

Claire rebutted. "At least my food is edible, pancake man."

He rolled his eyes.

"Anyway...it's been a while." Julia's thoughts faded. "I would rather cook for you."

Claire shrugged.

"Anything?"

She shrugged again. "I don't know what I'd like."

Julia was beginning to get annoyed. Why did she make things so difficult? "Well, decide!"

"Claire was never good at deciding, mom." Jonathan said, getting up from the table. Having him say this, a sharp pain out of nowhere had struck Claire. She was not good at deciding.

Julia faced the younger woman in order to grab her attention. "Why don't you go to the grocery store with Jonathan. That way you could bring me anything you'd like me to make." It was not a suggestion that should be argued. A "no" or "maybe" would not have been sufficient for Julia. When she said things, she meant it with sincerity. Claire only acquiesced lest the discussion became a silly argument over food. That had been common between Claire and Julia, arguments over trivialities in which in the end Julia would come out as the victor. It was not meant to say that Claire had ever been a rebellious child, quite the opposite. Claire was not like that, she was much more fearful of choosing. Her intermediate defiance was due largely in part by the fact that she simply never had the sense of domination over her life; it took her a while to understand that decisions she made were hers alone. Even if having to choose over what to eat seemed silly, it was a minute choice in her life, minute choices that would inevitably change the whole. That's what Julia tried to show Claire. Decisiveness.

The elder woman got up to give Jonathan the list of extra groceries she needed, whether or not Claire would get anything.

Claire herself moved to the sofa, and stretched out her legs. Just then, Claire heard the vibration of her cell phone in her back pocket. Phone in hand, the caller name "Chris" appeared on the screen. Without hesitation, Claire headed out the front door, figuring she'd take the conversation outside.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Another update soon!