Hello readers! Thanks for the patience on all of my author's notes and such; I know those are annoying, but I felt it necessary to clarify a few things. Alright. This chapter turned out shorter than I anticipated, but I REALLY wanted to post the next chapter, which, yes, is in Eli's point of view. That's the first chapter I've written where I really think I've done a good job… I just hope you guys agree! Anyway, thanks for all the support you guys. It means a lot, especially your understanding about school and junk like that. I'm going to give a shout out to allweknowisfalling for her sweet reviews (and concern for my mental health). Hope you guys enjoy!

As Clare peddled down the streets of Toronto, the wind running its cool fingers through her hair, she could truly say she felt the presence of God speeding along with her. There was some air of perfection to this day, something that made her feel light-headed, as laughter bubbled in her throat. Maybe it was the warmth of the sun seeping through her paisley jacket, or the billowing breeze that cooled her flushed cheeks, or the fact that sanity and redemption were just within her reach. She nearly salivated in yearning to have the sweet taste on her tongue, not the vile, cottonmouth that came with… what could it be called? Depression? Clare scoffed out loud at this. Darcy had depression. Darcy had wanted to kill herself, which was far more extreme than Clare felt…

Right?

Clare gritted her teeth. Her parents didn't need another episode from one of their children. In fact, Clare remembered that time with what one might call fondness. Not fondness, pride. For once, yes, Darcy was popular and did have all the boys have chasing her, but she was unstable, insane. Her parents looked at her with fear. Then they looked at Clare and smiled. They questioned how one could go right, when the other was so wrong. Her mother once told her that she couldn't have made it through that time without Clare by her side. She said she relied on Clare. Clare was her rock.

Now she was number two. And Darcy was back on top. While Clare moped in her room, her mother reminded her that her sister was making a difference, truly helping the world. Clare would like to help. She really would. If she just wasn't so…

There was that word again; the word that popped into her brain the second she tried to describe the emptiness she felt. Those periods of bleakness, where she felt like she was sinking down, down, down, in icy waters that threatened to take her breath away; when numbness swallowed her body whole; when she felt as if she'd be better off… it'd be easy for everyone else if she was just…

Clare shook her head fiercely. She wasn't like Darcy. She would never become Darcy. She would be perfection. Her grades would be flawless, she would have friends, she would be happy. She was sure of it.

It was God's plan for her.

As Clare entered the church, the heavy oak doors booming open as if to signal her arrival, she was already devastatingly aware that she was late. Her breath came in shallow puffs, and her flats clacked against the echoing tile as she jogged into the coatroom. Squinting in the shadow clouded room and scrambling to remove the over-sized, vintage blazer as quickly as possible, she didn't notice the hat rack to her left. As her foot caught on the mahogany leg, she squeaked in surprise, tumbling to the ground with an almighty crash.

She lay there for a few seconds, nose pressed against the glacial granite, frustrated and embarrassed tears threatening to leak from her eyes. Today had seemed so promising…

"Every time I see you, Clare, you seem to be having issues with balance." A warm voice said.

Clare slowly raised her head, eyes straining to see the blurred outline of Father Smith's face looming close to hers. She could vaguely see him in a squatted position, arms wrapped comfortably around his knees, smiling pleasantly. Even in the darkness, his grin seemed to glow a pale silver. The light caught his gleaming canines uncannily, giving him an almost feral, predatory look. In an eerie way, he reminded Clare of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland; only his smile suspended in black.

Clare struggl ed to come up with an explanation, stumbling pathetically over her words. "I-I, I, um, well I—I…fell." She finished lamely.

Father Smith beamed and rubbed his bald spot absently. "So I see."

The reverend made no attempt to move and the two stared at one another, still as statues, only quiet and the slight scent of smoke filling the air until Clare's growing apprehension caused her to break the silence.

"So," she said "Um, why aren't you giving the sermon? I was really looking forward to it today…"

The deacon chuckled, and finally made a move to help her up. "Well, aren't you a regular saint?" he teased, slipping his hands into hers and pulling her to her feet.

Clare stiffened. "I don't like being called that." She said icily, removing her hands sharply from his. He held his hands up in mock surrender, and she was agonizingly reminded of Eli.

She hated it.

She hated that everywhere she turned, she saw him, that anytime she had a spare moment her thoughts always wandered to him—what he was doing, how he was feeling, if he missed her, if he had ever even thought about wanting her…

But she doubted he had. And she doubted Eli Goldsworthy had cared about her at all. And that thought was enough to make tears threaten to fall, enough to make her stomach churn, and her legs to become shaky and weak.

She hated it. Hated it all.

Hated being in love.

It does suck, doesn't it? It's kind of funny, I just realized that I've been putting feelings in this story for a guy I liked a year ago. Wow. Shows how bitter I am, right? Oh well. It works. I hope you guys enjoyed this, even though it's just more filler. I know you'll like the next.

3 Breathe