Chapter 2

Ring. Ring.

Claire woke up and turned her alarm off. As soon as she realised where she was, she sat bolt upright. She was in her room. Why should she be scared of her own room. Because the door was open. Hadn't she locked it last night? She heard whispers and didn't want to get out of bed. Was she going crazy? No, this was reality and if she were to try and live, she might as well give them what they wanted. Claire stepped out of bed and walked into the middle of her small dorm room.

What if she died today. She hadn't spoken to mom or dad in a while, had she told them she loved them. She could imagine the newspapers the day after her body was found: Tragic teen dies an accidental death in dorms at TPU. She knew nobody would blame Monica or Gina or Jennifer. They would tell her parents she had hung herself or slipped and bled to death or something along those lines. No one would be convicted of her murder. She couldn't think like that though, as difficult as it was not to, she couldn't. For the sake of everything, although it might have been easier to die, she couldn't. From the shadows of her room Monica and Gina appeared, while she heard a noise behind her and saw Jennifer shutting her door. This was it, Claire thought.

"Hi freak. Took you long enough to get out of bed, huh?" Monica said and Jennifer pushed her into Gina. Gina pulled her up by her shoulders and skidded her along the floor into the wall. Monica walked up and placed a stilletoed foot on her chest and pressed down. The pointed heel digged into her, making her yelp. "Wanting to cry, freak?" Truth was, Claire did want to cry. She wanted to get up, run away and into the loving arms of mom and dad. But that couldn't happen. She looked back up to Monica and the Monickettes. Claire felt weak and ill. Her breath was gone and replaced by short, wheezing rasps. Monica dug her foot in harder and searched for something. Something glass. The only glass thing Claire had brought with her was an expensive perfume bottle she had gotten as a gift from her grandmother before she passed away. Monica had found it, it was in her hand.

"No! Don't!" Claire tried to say as Monica's perfectly manicured hand holding the bottle smacked down on the window sill above Claire, shattering the bottle into lots of little shards. A tear escaped Claire's eyes, and all at once she knew that crying was a bad idea. Monica looked down at her.

"Aw, little baby Claire! You little freaky cry baby bitch! What are you?" Monica was almost shouting. She glared at Claire with nothing but pure hate. "What are you!" Her face twisted, eyes enraged.

"A cry baby." Claire replied.

"A what!"

"A CRY BABY!" Claire couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out into tears.

"Your damn right, freak!" And Monica bent down to slash Claire's little face with the broken bottle. "Take that you bitch!" And Monica swiped her face again. Claire stopped crying, though the pain was so unbearable she was scared she would spill over the edge, again. "C'mon girls. Time for our pedicures." Monica spoke as if nothing had happened, she looked back down at Claire and spat on her. She left. Gina spat on her too, then took the toe of her wedges to Claire's face and rubbed her foot on her as if she was a cigarette being put out. She left.

Claire was aching all over. She felt dirty, and hoped she was dead. She sat up. Bad idea Claire, she thought. A pounding headache began. She wiped the spit of her face and saw a hand reach down to her. It was Jennifer's. She grabbed it as Jennifer pulled her up. There was something in her face. Guilt.

"I'm so sorry." Jennifer said.

"Yeah, er." Claire didn't really know what to say to that.

"JENNIFER!" It was Monica's voice from down the hall.

"Coming!" She shouted back and she gave a kind of smile to Claire.

Claire, well Claire was just in shock. She thought by now she would have been dead. That was probably the shortest attack ever. But she knew she couldn't stay here. She knew, eventually, it would get her killed. She ran for a shower, hoping not to run into Monica ever again. Claire was a straight A student. Never missed a day of school in her entire life. She had a 4.0 and was well ahead of all her classes she was in back home. She was only sixteen, yet she was at TPU placed on early admission. She was nearly seventeen, she protested in her head. She'd read every textbook, cover to cover. And being a sheltered child, school was all she really knew. But today didn't seem right. She didn't want to go to class. After her shower she got dressed in blue skinnies and a white tank top. She packed everything she'd brought with her into her backpack. Luckily she hadn't brought a lot, well not after Monica had stolen half of it. Including her iPod. Once she was all packed up, she left the room and locked it. Carefully, she wandered down to the lobby and out into the open Texas air. She would do anything to get off campus, so she called a cab, and asked to go to the nearest coffee joint. Claire didn't like coffee, hell, Claire didn't like a lot of things, but right now, coffee seemed, good.

The cab stopped outside of a little place called Common Grounds. She paid her money to the driver and he sped off. A little too fast. She was all alone. Claire opened the door, to hear the tinkly chimes of a wind chime as she entered. The place was quite busy, full of students studying or chatting to friends. The place went silent as she walked in. Claire had never been centre of attention. Never. She didn't like this, didn't know what to do. So she kept her head up and walked to the bar. Claire could here whispers, she didn't like whispers. She added a mental note, I hate whispers, and continued on the trek to the bar.

"So what can I get you, oh, bloody hell!" The goth girl waiter turned and saw Claire's face. She hadn't realised she would look that bad. "What in the hell happened to you."

"I fell."

"Yeah, right into somebody's fist. I've had that before." And she gave Claire a weary look. "So what can I get you?" "Um," Claire had never ordered coffee before. "A coffee. Er, black. Please."

"Woah, okay." Said the goth girl, she seemed, nice. "Had a rough day?"

"Er, yeah." You could call it that.

"I'm Eve. Eve Rosser." She smiled the nicest smile Claire had ever seen. Especially for a goth. Somehow, Eve seemed familiar.

"Claire. Er, Danvers. Claire Danvers."

"What classes you got?" Eve said, staring strangely at her backpack, which was probably about to burst.

"Oh, um. None today. That's just my stuff." "Everything you own stuff?"

"Um, yeah."

"Been there, done that. So your looking for somewhere to stay?"

"Yeah."

"Well, where I live, we have a spare room. Were looking for someone to rent it out to. My shift finishes in fifteen minutes if you'd mind waiting, I could show you the room."

"Uh, thanks Eve." Claire said with the best smile she could manage. And the cut on her lip cracked open, spilling blood as she lunged for a napkin.