Thank-you!

Cataclysm

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

Chapter Ten

Clare finally went back to work the next morning. She was met by countless inquiries regarding her health, to which she responded with a sad smile and a pathetic cough or sniffle. She felt pathetic. She waited her tables like a zombie, pouring coffee and wiping up spills as though it were second nature. And second-nature it may have well been, because she felt utterly purposeless. There was nothing and no one left for her - she'd pushed it all away.

The sun was out and shining harder than it had been for months, and Clare was forced to untie the scarf from around her neck while she walked home that afternoon. She was uncomfortable and sweaty beneath her thick jacket and sweater, feeling oddly juxtaposed while the snow crunched beneath her feet.

"You're so... inconsistent, Clare!"

Hadn't it been his intention for her to make a decision? Hadn't he been begging her to demolish this wall of animosity, to regain the dynamic that had existed between them ten years ago? Clare wanted to be angry again; she wanted to reverse her steps four days and advance full-throttle with renewed hatred. She wanted every step she took into her apartment building to be heavy, and every look she gave a passing neighbour to be dark and bitter. Instead she walked with light defeat and smiled sadly. Her limbs felt drained from the brief hours of exertion, and it was with dead fingers that she lifted and turned her key in the lock.

The glass by the door had been cleaned up, and she smelled her favourite cinnamon candle burning in the kitchen. It took her a moment to register her observations, and when she did, her palms began to sweat. "Hello?" she called out, her voice shaky but adamant. Her heart was beating quickly and she felt suddenly nauseated.

"Clare..." Jake slowly stepped out of the kitchen, a slight smile on his face and his hands fiddling awkwardly in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. Clare's face fell at the sight of him, and she took half a step backwards. She twisted the scarf in her hands, wringing it tightly and trying to focus on the weave of the wool rather than the oddly apologetic stare that Jake was giving her.

"Why now?" she suddenly blurted, feeling nervous and intimidated by his presence. Jake frowned.

"It's been days, I thought enough time had passed..."

"No," Clare cut him off, "Katie." Jake squinted his eyes in confusion.

"What about Katie?"

"Why go back to her now, after the divorce?" Jake looked away, evidently guilty.

"I just needed to see the kids... get out of the city, clear my head. Katie and I barely spoke." Clare tilted her head.

"But you said you were working things out," she began. Jake's mouth popped open and he gave Clare a look of shock.

"Between you and I, Clare - I just needed to work out things in my head!" Although infinitely relieved by the information, Clare felt suddenly overwhelmed and dizzy, and her entire demeanor crumbled. Rapidly, she moved to the couch and collapsed into it, trying to organize her ragged and shallow breaths. Jake rushed to her side, his hand on her back in a gesture of comfort. "Clare, no - no, it's not like that. I love you, I'm here, don't worry..."

Clare could barely register his words, barely feel the hand moving up and down her back, barely hear his quiet 'shh.' She was overcome with an overbearing guilt and confusion that she couldn't quiet place - he loved her, he was here, she didn't need to worry. Eli... how could she have done something so stupid? Who was she? Her own image of herself was beginning to blur in her mind until she was barely a reflection of herself. She was changing - maybe losing herself, maybe gaining - and she wasn't sure how to handle it.

As she slowly gained control of her breath and her heart beat slowed to a more normal pace, she grew vaguely aware of Jake's words and actions. Like a splash of cold water, his presence and intentions hit her squarely.

"Jake," she suddenly exclaimed, her eyes wide, "You can't do that. You can't do that anymore, you can't. Don't leave, you can't do that to me." Her words were hysterical and although she knew somewhere that she needed to get a grip on herself, she couldn't seem to control her compulsive chant. Jake knowingly wrapped his arms around her tightly, pulling her against his torso while he tangled one hand in her hair and laid the other gently around her hip.

"I'm not going anywhere, Clare, I'm not going to do that again. I promise."

Jake had kissed Clare gently on the forehead before retreating to their untouched bedroom for a much-needed nap later that evening. Clare sat numbly on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around her while she stared blankly at the television. Everything was white noise.

She couldn't make out the words blaring at her through the speakers, so she was startled when a quiet shuffling by the door interrupted her barren mind with a reverberating echo. She glanced over her shoulder, waiting until the sound of her heart beating in her ears faded to a quiet hum. A slight piece of folded, white paper was sitting on the floor, one corner still tucked into the doorway. She furrowed her brow in confusion, glancing towards the bedroom. She grabbed for the TV remote, muting her show and listening for Jake's faint snoring. Quietly, she discarded her blanket and tiptoed to the door.

The paper had been ripped unsteadily from a notebook, it's edges frayed and uneven, and the fold down the middle mirrored this lack of concern. Hesitating for a moment, she reached out and picked it up, pausing before her fingers danced across the top edge to pull it open. The blue lines had been disregarded, the painfully-familiar handwriting scrawled all-but-sideways on the page. Biting her bottom lip softly, she had her fist around the door-handle before she could even begin to read.

"Eli," she hissed as soon as she had stepped into the hall, looking in either direction so quickly it sent a jolt of pain through her neck. "Eli, get back here!" She crossed her arms over her chest, the letter crumpling slightly in her hand while she tapped her foot with condescending impatience.

She waited with bated breath for a brief second, but as expected, a sheepish Eli presented himself from around the nearest corner. He approached her with his head down, his hands shoved self-consciously in his pockets. "Hi," he whispered, coming closer until he was towering closely to her tensed frame.

"What is..." she trailed off as her voice cracked, the scent of his cologne assaulting her senses and catching her off-guard with familiarity. "What is this?" she demanded, clearing her throat and looking away.

"Did you read it?" She met his green eyes again, only to be deterred by the unsettling intensity behind them.

"N-no, I... Jake came back. There's... it was nothing with Katie, just a misunderstanding. He's here, he apologized." Eli let out an indeterminate sound of acknowledgement at her words, but her attention was focused on the way he seemed to be inching infinitely towards her.

The silence hung between them momentarily, thick with unspoken words. "Does that really change... anything, Clare?" His voice was low and she felt it reverberate through her tense muscles. She swallowed heavily.

"Of course it does. I- I was confused and overwhelmed... I shouldn't have..." She trailed off, her eyes darting up to his face, taking note of how little space was being left between them. She tried to step backwards, but her feet would not move.

"I don't believe you." His statement was clear and concise and showed no sign of hesitation. The determination that she felt exuding from the man before her made her knees shake and parts of her began to feel numb; her nose, her ears, the toes on her right foot. She wanted to speak - she wanted to say something but her lips would not form the words that her mind was screaming uselessly. Out of the corner of her frozen eyes, she saw his hand, approaching her form at a steady pace until suddenly his long fingers were cradling her head, lost in the tangles of her hair. Oh.

This was new.

Her breath was caught in her throat. His hand slowly disentangled itself from her hair, traveling slowly from the back of her neck to grip her tiny waist. She felt his fingertips trailing along the skin of her collarbone as they made the long trek, and everywhere he touched felt suddenly aflame.

Had they ever been this close before? She swore she could feel every particle of air that escaped his lips.

She let her head fall back, only to realize she was pushed up against the wall. When did that happen? She didn't remember. Everything before three moments earlier was a blur, not that she cared.

Had his eyes always been so... smoldering?

"Clare..."

Guttural. His voice, her name - the only thing interrupting the silence between them as neither could find the courage to breath - had never been so low, husky, throaty. It was almost more than she could handle; it nearly drove her to break this moment in which they both stood frozen, paralyzed in each other's gaze.

She could barely stand; up,it,this,him. Yes, standing in all conceptions was definitely growing more and more difficult.

Suddenly, she felt him breathing and it was enough to shock her but not enough to entice a reaction of her yet.

The most benign of actions, and to her it felt adventurous, the way it tickled her lips, her tongue, her nose... and then disappeared into everything. It swept through her body and then her eyes dropped. Ever so slightly, but enough to make him say it again.

"Clare."

Demanding. So rough and hard she could feel it resounding through her unwavering joints. It drove her absolutely wild, and she knew that if he hadn't cracked yet, she would soon.

Her eyelids moved again. Fluttering this time, reminding her that moving was an option; moving was simple and she could do it anytime she wanted. Anytime now. As easily as she could breath.

Her stiff muscles and empty lungs remained as such.

This was unbearable, she had established so already. But what else was this? This was wrong. This was unprecedented. This was spontaneous, and shocking, and without a moment of question the most intense instance that existed in her memory to date.

This was perfect.

This was so...

She swallowed hard. It felt nice; relief washed through her torso, emanating throughout her limbs. She felt the muscles contract in her throat for a split second, but he had heard her. He had heard, or seen, or felt, or something, but he knew. She had cracked, and he knew it.

She had nothing else to lose.

"This... We can't..." Her words were shaky and unconvincing.

"I thought you were done questioning yourself." Oh.She swallowed again.

"I thought you said we wouldn't make the same mistakes." Her voice broke out from between her lips hoarse and cracked. His resulting smirk made her knees weak.

"This," he breathed, "Is not a mistake."

He wasted no time crashing against her like a tidal wave, and a swell of goose-bumps across her skin was the first thing she noticed. His lips were the second.

And just as quickly as it had begun, it escalated. His fingers were the first thing to move, aside from their impetuous lips. Instead of leaving a trail of searing heat, the spot which they had now left vacated felt cold and empty, and she immediately wanted it back. She needed him to hold her like he had been - she needed to feel him at every possible point.

He complied shortly after as his hand began a torturous dance from her stiffened shoulder, across the awaiting skin of her arm, her elbow, down to her clenched fist. His fingers gently tried to work their way into her grasp.

His lips began to slow in their movements; no longer urgent, but frustratingly languid. She struggled to contest his change of pace; his mouth seemed to control hers, forcing her pink lips to follow his lead, and he was leading them right...

To...

A stop.

She fought the urge to whimper and cry and whine when his lips finally disengaged from hers, their contact now just a fond memory of hers. Instead, she furrowed her brow, her face crinkling in what she hoped was not inexplicable confusion.

He rested his forehead against hers for the briefest of moments before their faces ceased to touch altogether when he placed his head on her shoulder, his serene breath now washing slowly over the patch of exposed skin right above her collar.

Inaudibly, Clare let out a low growl which, had she let him hear, would have been his first indicator of her sudden-and illimitable-aggravation.

"I've wanted to do that since the day you knocked on my door. No, the funeral. Fuck, Clare, I've wanted to do that for over a decade." Clare took in his words, shifting her weight from side to side to quell the churning in her stomach.

"Then do it again." Eli lifted his face, and his eyes were widened slightly. He stared at her for a moment and Clare was preparing for an, 'are you sure?,' but it never came. His face was against hers again, and his tongue was forcing its way into her mouth. She threw her hands around his neck, tugging at his hair impatiently, her hips jerking forward to meet his. He groaned into her mouth, his hands gliding down her sweater and onto the back of her jeans, the force of his grip telling her that no degree of closeness would suffice.

She fought to keep contact at their lips, having never so-appreciated the taste of coffee and cigarettes, but his mouth travelled insistently to her cheek, across her jaw, around her ear and down her neck. She whimpered at the sensation that shot through her when his teeth dragged slowly along her collar bone, and her fingers clamped around his shoulders, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

He pulled away again, but this time they both remained still and quiet, staring at each other while they shared the same ragged breaths.

Now what? Clare was unsure of how to proceed. Eli seemed unplagued by the question, as a small smile graced his lips and his eyes looked so relaxed, he appeared nearly sleepy. Wordlessly, Eli leaned forward and left a soft, gentle kiss on Clare's lips, his fingers grazing her own quickly before he turned and walked away.

Clare stood in the hallway alone for a minute, contemplating his actions. He had turned and walked away, but something told Clare that there was no need to fear the abandonment she had come to expect from him, and despite the fact that she remained isolated and solitary outside her apartment, she felt less alone than she had in a very long time.