"Oh, John."
With those two words, everything he ever felt came flooding back to John Bender. Her sadness, her care... it overwhelmed him to the point of breaking down. He shouldn't have come. He should never have come to see her. He should have known that this would happen, but... he had no where else to go.
"Good to know you remember my name," he said, coldly. She reached for his hand. He pulled out of her reach.
"John..."
"Bender," he corrected. She looked heartbroken when he said it. Shouldn't have come, he thought again. He shoved his hands roughly into the pockets of his light jacket, and regretted it. Broken finger. Of course. He tried to hide the wince. He failed.
"Joh- I mean, Bender. Come in, please. Come in."
He was about to say that he should go, wondering why he had come here in the first place, when she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder before he could move away. He almost melted. She managed to lead him inside and shut the door.
"Who was it, Claire, dear?" someone called from somewhere in the huge house. John was overwhelmed by the size of it all, and the fact that Claire didn't seem to notice it at all.
"No one, Mother. Prank, probably," she lied. She lied so easily. No wonder turning her back on her new found friends hadn't caused her to even break a sweat. "I'm going to bed, now."
"Good night, dear," two voices yelled at the same time. John almost laughed. If he had said that he was going to bed at his house, his father's only reply would have been a belch and a Good riddance, slacker! Hope you die in your sleep!
Claire ushered him up long, elegant stairs, down a hallway that overlooked the entrance hall (it was the most regal thing he could think of to call it) and into a large, overly embellished bedroom. She closed the door and locked it, all without taking her eyes off him. It was as if she was afraid she would lose him. He began to get uncomfortable under her gaze, but didn't show it. Or at least he hoped he didn't.
She motioned toward a lavish bed, covered in pillows, blankets that looked warm, and a four poster, pink, lacey curtain that wouldn't have shielded anything from view. "Sit down."
"I don't think so, Princess," he said.
"John, please. Just sit. Sit and tell me what all of this is about."
This time he did laugh. As if she'd ever know what any of it was like. Looking around her room at all the magazines and posters and little, frilly knick knacks, his thoughts were confirmed. He really should never have come, not to her. Allison, Brian, hell, even Sporto would understand better than Duchess Claire, sitting in her tall tower, away from reality, waiting for some prince on a white horse to gallop by so she could let down her goddamn hair.
"Actually, Rapunzel was a princess, not a duchess," Claire said, a hint of humor shining through the sobreity. John realized with slight horror that he had said all of that aloud. He really had to start watching that.
"Semantics," he said.
"If you really didn't think I'd understand, or care about, what happened to you, why'd you come?"
That, he had to admit, was a very good question. He didn't know. He'd just wandered over here after hours of aimlessness for no discernable reason. "What can I say," he said, shrugging venemously. "I have an avid curiousity. I wanted to see how you... others live. You Richies."
She gave what might have been a laugh bitterly through her nose and looked at the ground. "I, uh, thought we were more than that to each other."
"Yeah. Me too."
She wandered over to a table that might have been a dresser. He couldn't tell, there was too much makeup all over it. There also sat a phone. She began to dial a number. He grabbed her wrist after the third button, wincing again at the broken finger, but managing to turn it into a snarl. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Calling your friends," she hissed back, just as angry. "You obviously want your little buddies to take you under their wings and not me. Don't worry, Andy'll be over here in a little while to take you home and make it all better."
"Sporto? Like I want that guy to know all of my problems," he laughed bitterly, letting go of her wrist. She continued to dial. "Hey, stop that. Stop calling him. I don't need his help."
"Too bad," she said, bringing the phone to her ear. "You're getting it. Now shut up and sit on the bed before I make you."
He raised an eyebrow at her, and she did the same back. Finally, he conceded, not because she told him too, but because his legs were tired from walking and he needed to sit. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.
She called Andy, and he was surprised that there was a lot of shouting involved. He wondered if her parents would hear, but they were probably in one of their underground bank vaults counting their money or some other stupid thing rich people did. He wished she wouldjust hang up with Andy. He would rather get help from a hungry shark than Andrew Clark and his stupid hero complex at the moment. He wasn't anybody's rescue mission, and the way Andy had treated Brian and Ally, that was where he was headed.
After she hung up the phone, she dialed again. "Who the hell are you calling now?" he demanded.
"Brian," she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"No! Don't you da- you hang up that phone right now!"
She held up a hand as she asked politely if Brian was at home and could he speak please, it was important. "Yes, really important, Mrs. Johnson, a matter of life and death... No, don't call the police, Mrs. Johnson! That was just a bad choice of words... Okay, thank you so much, and I'm so sorry."
Brian was probably the last person who would want to help John out, not after the fight they'd had. That fight was really all Andy's fault anyway. All John had tried to do was talk to Brian, and he'd jumped on him, saying that John had no right to do what he did, to throw everything away the way he was, and how was Brian supposed to trust a drugged up, high school drop out anyway? John didn't know what he was talking about, but when he asked, all Brian said was, "Ask Andy! You and he are so busy looking out for me you don't even notice you're too screwed up to get out of bed in the morning!" and stormed off. John would have attributed it to PMS if, you know, Brian had been a chick.
Claire finished with Brian and informed John that Brian would be calling Allison and they'd all be over here in a matter of half an hour. John wasn't exactly sure why Allison hated him, but she did. They all hated him, and he hated them back. Or at least he could pretend he did. He was really good at pretending.
"Now," Claire said, sitting down beside him. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"
He considered it, staring into her eyes like he was, and it was hard not to. But all he did was flop down onto the pile of pillows, ignoring the throbbing pain in his chest, arms, legs, and head, and said, "Not a chance, Princess."
"Then why are you here, John?"
He just looked at her. "I don't really know."
A/N: There's the Claire/John for ya:-D I'm going to wait for the rest of the group to get here before I explain what happened to our lovely Bender, but I bet you guys can figure it out. ;) Bender's just angst witing to happen, ain't he? Haha. Well, keep the reviews coming, I'm really flattered that you guys like it so much. But if you find anything wrong with it, be sure to tell me! o.O
Much love,
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