There's a week time skip before this chapter, just so you know.
Also, I can't guarantee a speedy update after this one, seeing as though this has been written for a long time and I don't know where to head next with the story. I might discontinue it for a while. But we'll just see.
And...I don't really know what this chapter is, like shit this just took on a life of its own.
But enjoy. Review if you like.
"Is that all the cleavage you're willing to show? We're going to a club, not a carnival, Saint Clare." Bianca snaps, tugging down the front of the halter top I'm wearing. The black studded shirt doesn't seem my speed at all, my creamy skin making an appearance that it normally doesn't.
I wouldn't call myself a prude, necessarily. Even if Bianca would, and has. I never see the need to show more skin than absolutely necessary, but I don't wear turtlenecks either. Modestly would be an appropriate word for how I dress. No one ever seemed to have a problem with it, before Bianca at least.
I can't even pretend to emulate her free spirit. She's got it all. An attitude that intimidates and lures men in, a body that puts all else to shame, and she dresses herself to compliment it all. I feel like a protege of her dressed like this, gaudy makeup all over my face, clunky jewelery around my wrists.
The cross around my neck feels like such a lie, dressed this way. She even straightened my hair. This is a version of myself that I don't recognize. But, I like her. This is one that Eli never would consider bossing around, or cheating on. This is a Clare that would dominate the discussion.
As well as everything in the bedroom.
I feel my cheeks flush a light shade of pink from my own thoughts, though I stay mum, as always. It's gotten to the point where I rarely speak of Eli even in a brotherly context. I've never been a good liar, and I feel as though my face lights up like a sure telltale sign whenever he's brought up. For all intents and purposes, he's merely my brother, who I feel indifferent about.
Bianca seems to buy it each time, thankfully. She's not a nosy girl. Perhaps a bit too self-absorbed but that suits me just fine. As the very first friend I've made at this new school, I'm not in a position to be picky.
The week has been a tiring one, chock full of arguing the moment Eli and I wake up. I'd try my best to tolerate his bickering, if he gave me a redeeming factor or two to remember in the midst of his tirade. Instead, his over-protective nature just ends up feeling stifling, suffocating.
It was what drove me to take Bianca up on her offer to hang out after school. I know I must have walked into homeroom a complete mess, still on my first week of school, no less. The chances of making a good impression were dwindling quickly and I knew it. Even though Alli, from science class offered to have me over for a sleepover, I couldn't say no to Bianca. No one says no to Bianca, it's just not something you can manage with how persuasive she is.
And either way, it was abundantly clear how much more rebellious her plans would be over Alli's. I'm aiming to make Eli worry, not placate him with my safety.
"How are we going to sneak in?" I ask, feeling like such a noob as I pile on some more eyeliner, my face resembling a raccoon more and more with each added layer.
"I know a guy," she mumbles sweetly as she adjusts her hair, tousling her curls just so.
My eyes widen at her and she smiles, answering my unspoken question.
I don't want to fathom the places Bianca DeSousa's mouth has been.
Either way, it seems as though we'll be able to get in, even if I don't look a day over sixteen. This makeup and clothing won't fool anyone. If anything, it makes me look younger, just for how ridiculous it all looks.
It seems Bianca can read my mind as she stops primping her own hair, then walking over to me. "Stop fidgeting like that, you're going to ruin the nice job I did on your nails." she says, swatting my hand away from my mouth.
I look back down at my fingers, thankful that the black didn't chip too much. I resemble Eli's style so much right now, wearing black head to toe, my nails even smothered in the shade.
Part of me wonders if he'd like this getup or if he'd prefer how I usually look. Not that he gets a say in this, since I have no intentions of coming back home looking this way.
I feel Bianca's eyes staying on me, and I swallow the lump in my throat that forms. Her stare can make me freeze like a deer in headlights. I'm not even sure why. I'd like to think I'm not the only one she has that effect on.
"Your tits aren't half bad, you know, when you actually show them." she smirks, batting her eyelashes in a way that makes me wonder in what light she was scrutinizing me. I've never, ever taken an interest in a woman but with the way she stares...
No, Clare. Control yourself.
I breathe out, closing my eyes and then returning my gaze to my reflection. Tonight won't be an average one, but I'm tired of the average. The mundane. Doing things by Eli's book. He may be my boyfr- brother, but his control freak tendencies are working on my last nerve. He doesn't need to know where I am all night. Quite obviously I'm not privy to every one of his outings, and who he's with. It's only fair that I get to have some separate fun too.
Even if I'm still really bitter over finding that number.
The hour hand hits eleven, and I hear Bianca's compact click closed. "Come on, Mother Theresa. We've got places to go."
"I'm hardly Mother Theresa material anymore." I quip back, slightly offended at her comment. I wouldn't be dressed like this if I was trying to copy a nun. My appearance screams teenage rebellion.
"Until I see you dancing up on some guy at the club, you're Mother Theresa to me."
Her words come across as a challenge to me, one I'll willingly accept. I can't dance for the life of me, but here's hoping the skill finds me. And quickly.
We get inside her car and drive the short way to the club. All the while, I feel myself chewing on my nails but I can't stop myself until she slaps me again, my hand shooting back down to my lap.
"If you fuck up those nails, so help me God, Edwards." she hisses, but then smiles a moment afterward. I can't say I fully understand Bianca, but I'm about done trying to. She runs about as hot and cold as Eli does.
Once we arrive, I see the long line of people waiting to be let in at the door and my stomach coils up. I don't like crowds, especially ones in the city. My claustrophobia has doubled in intensity since arriving here and now I'm wondering what possessed me to go with Bianca at all. Having a sleepover with that nice girl, Alli, would have been just as fun and enough to piss Eli off, but no, I had to come here.
I'm so very bad at decision making. I'm even worse at realizing it in a timely fashion.
She gestures to me to follow her once we're out of her car, and I nod silently, following along like a lost puppy. For all intents and purposes, I am. I know nothing about the part of the city we've found ourselves in. If I tried to walk off on my own right now, I'd be lost for sure.
We make our way over to the bouncer; a burly, unhappy looking man. I can feel him sizing me up, paying special attention to how my breasts pop out of my top. Now more than ever, I wish I hadn't gone with her. I don't like feeling like a piece of meat to be ogled and used. I've already lived like that once...
"Marcus, let me and my babe in?" Bianca asks, her arm winding around my waist possessively, her eyelashes doing that batting thing that they did at me back in her bathroom.
I can see him drawing up a scenario in his mind in which I would definitely be Bianca's "babe", then letting us in before everyone else.
The way he stared made me sick. What made me feel even worse though was the fact that she didn't mind at all.
"Babe?" I question, side glancing at her as we walk into the bass thumping room.
"I needed a reason to get you in too. Men can't resist the mental image of two girls fucking." She leans in and kisses my cheek with a wicked grin painting her lips.
Until we reach the booth at the front of the room, I stay quiet, letting her hold onto me until she takes a seat. It seems like she knows everyone here, chatting them up like old friends. I zone out for a moment, trying to take in the sights.
It's all body heat and heart pounding music, seizure inducing lights and sex on the dance floor. I feel so juvenile in a place like this, both because I am too young to be here, and because everyone else seems to know what they're doing. I'm a sitting duck, transfixed by all the illegal goings-on and every scantily clad woman who walks by.
Maybe I really am Mother Theresa in comparison to them. My mini skirt luckily doesn't ride up when I bend over, like most of theirs do. Still, I feel disoriented in comparison to how I normally look, even if I blend in perfectly here.
I push my hair out of my eyes, hating how it tends to flop in front of my face when it's straightened.
"Here, drink up, Mama T." Bianca commands, shoving a small glass in my hand.
My eyes narrow at it. "A shot?"
She nods her head as if I'm a nimrod for even asking. "Can't handle it? You need to loosen the fuck up or you're going to hate it here."
I consider it for a moment, the small shot glass mocking my innocence.
"Do you want your brother to worry or not? If so, drink it."
Her words are all the encouragement I need, a brave face working its way onto my features as I chug it down, my features then contorting uncomfortably as I feel it burn all the way down my throat.
Bianca smiles to me, then taking her own. She grabs another and puts it in my hands, but not before leaning in to my ear.
"Good girl," she whispers sweetly, in a way similar to how Eli does, but her voice is smoother.
I don't even think about a thing as I take a third and fourth shot from her, my mind swimming by the time she drags me out onto the dance floor.
When I get home, there's an unsettling silence in the house, and I know it's because of the fight I had with Clare.
She doesn't understand how precarious things are- she really doesn't. That's partly my doing for not cluing her into it, but how does one even do that?
Remember our dad? The one who abused you for years? He's fighting tooth and nail to get you back and I'm busting my ass to make sure that doesn't happen. Why didn't I tell you sooner? You didn't need to know yet.
That's the most reasonable and true explanation I can draw up in my mind, but it offers no comfort. It stills comes up empty, ultimately.
I have to hold her close, almost suffocatingly so. If she's one moment late from school, that's a risk. If I let her out of my sight, that's another risk. They're all prime opportunities for him to snatch her. And then what would I do?
I'd search to the ends of the Earth for her but I don't put a damn thing past that man. He has more power and influence than I ever could hope to acquire. He has friends in high places, and that's working against me.
Her nightmares haven't lessened much in the time she's spent here. She still tosses and turns. She still screams for an invisible figure to let her go, to stop touching her. She calls out for me to help her, and when that happens, I just wake her up. I can't stand to hear her so helpless, even in her sleep.
I keep failing her. Years ago. Even now.
My footsteps pick up in pace as I scour the house for her, my pulse racing as I realize she's nowhere to be found. It's eleven at night. She's supposed to be here. I already told her I'd be home late because of play practice. There's no feasible reason for her to not be here.
I grab my cell phone and dial her number, holding the screen to my face as it goes straight to voicemail.
"Damn it Clare!" I spit out, pacing the length of our bedroom, my eyes checking for her book bag, her purse, anything to show she might be around. But they're both gone. She's gone.
While I'm trying not to jump to conclusions, I find it nearly impossible. She could be anywhere in the city. She could even be far gone from here. My palms start perspiring, my breathing becoming shallow as I work myself into a panic attack.
Cool it, Goldsworthy. You need to keep your head on straight.
I remember the list of numbers she left on the fridge after I hounded her about needing to know where she was. Though she wrote it out reluctantly to appease me, I'm glad she did. There's only about five numbers, but that's five chances to figure out where she could be.
Surely, she could just be at a friend's house, attempting to regain her bearings like I did at practice. I wouldn't be happy with her if that was the case, but at least I'd know she was safe.
The first number gives me hope, as a bubbly, chirpy female picks up.
"Hi, uh, I'm Clare Edward's brother, Eli. Do you know where she could be...Alli?' I question, realizing I must sound horribly mechanical and panicked, but there's no helping that.
"Oh...I had no idea Clare had a brother!" she says cheerily, but the words make my blood boil. Is she ashamed of me? Ashamed of what we've become? The concerns work their way into the back of my mind as I push on, needing answers.
"I- yeah, she does. Just, she isn't home and it's really late. She's not usually out this long. Do you know where she could be?"
I hear girly laughter in the background and hope wells inside me, knowing Clare could easily be one of the girls I'm hearing.
"I'm sorry, I don't know. I invited her over for a sleepover earlier. She came to school crying and I thought maybe she could use an escape. But she ended up talking to Bianca about a club afterward." I can hear the disdain in her tone as she says this other girl's name, and it makes my blood run cold.
"A club?" I repeat, dumbfounded. Clare, at a club. My Clare at a club? This sounds like such a meager attempt at a practical joke, something lame enough that Clare might actually think I'd fall for.
"I really, really wish I could tell you more. That's all I heard. That Bianca girl though...I don't like her. I might be bias, but I wish Clare had come over to my house instead." It strikes me to question her further, but her sincerity seems to ring out in her words.
"No, it's alright. That helps, it helps considerably. I'm going to try finding her." I pause, thinking to myself. "If she shows up there, give this number a call, alright?" I ask, to which I receive her promise to.
Shortly after hanging up, I'm in my car, driving towards the only club I can think of that lets in minors. Out of the dozens upon dozens of clubs in this city, I'm hoping my instincts are leading me in the right direction.
I'll check every goddamn one all night long if I need to.
My body sways almost without my permission, a lightweight, warm sensation flooding through my system. I can feel Bianca in front of me, but it's hard to make out her face with everything going on around me.
Her fingers drum on my waist as she dances, her eyes flitting around all around us to see who happens to be watching, I assume.
And we've acquired quite the audience. All male, of course. There's still that nagging voice in the back of my head telling me this is wrong. That I've gotten myself into a very sticky situation which may or may not have an out. But it's too late. My brain is already swimming with alcohol, my inhibitions and fears mostly tucked away in the recesses of my liquor riddled mind.
If Eli saw me now, I'd be dead in a second.
"Everyone thinks you're so damn cute." Bianca half yells, half whispers into my ear, and I can feel myself smiling at the fact. I've never really felt desirable before now, except for with Eli. And that carries its own bizarre quality which makes it hard to trust.
"I think you're the cute one." I yell back, my own voice slurring the words together as I smile at her.
She pulls me in closer, our chests pressed closer together, her lips lingering dangerously close to mine.
"You wanna stop being Mother Theresa now?" she says against my lips, and I feel myself aching to get closer to her. To touch her lips with my own and let it engulf me. I'm too shy, even when inebriated to make the move but my heart stops when I feel her leaning in. She catches my bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling on it a bit before letting me go. I'm entranced as I eye her lips curling up, smirking seductively.
I see her nodding her head behind me, a broad, dark haired man lurking not far behind us. I can see his eyes are trained on my ass. This should offend me, I know it should, but it's almost exciting to me now.
Bianca trails her hands down my frame, gripping my backside and pulling her to me. She kneads my ass, her sharp nails digging in through the material of my skirt. My eyes loll to the back of my head as I lean into the crook of her neck, and I can feel her yelling to the man behind me.
"You want some of this?" she asks, and once more, I feel like meat, but I say nothing. Truth be told, I'd rather stay with Bianca, with her hands moving all over me but quickly she lets me go, gently pushing me back into the arms of a man I don't know.
He towers over me, his large frame looming over my significantly tinier one.
"Hi." I yell out to the man like an idiot, giving Bianca a panic driven stare as she winks, then finding someone else to dance with in the crowd.
"Hey baby," he says back, leaning down to look at me. "You're a wasted little thing, aren't you?"
My words feel lodged in my throat as I try to reply, but he's right. Nothing about my body feels normal right now, and I can't completely stand up without support. He's more than willing to offer it, his hands fixing themselves around my ribs, positioning us so my ass is rubbing against his crotch.
I try to move away but I'm too drunk, my body swaying fruitlessly instead. I can feel a humming in his chest against my back, which I assume is his laughter. "Don't worry baby, I'm going to make you feel good. You stay right here with me."
I nod obediently, a string of moans leaving me as he cups my breasts harshly, his front thrusting against my back. As crazy as I know it all is, I start liking it, letting him grope me as much as he likes while I roll my hips against him.
It all becomes more intense, his hands beginning to fish under my top when I hear a loud yell, my body freezing as I hear it. Suddenly the man is jerked off of me, a familiar face then turning me around to face him.
"I- I...what are you doing here?" I spit out, caught off guard as Eli wraps his hand around my wrist in a death grip.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he retorts, his voice far louder than anyone else around us. I can see Bianca nearby, cringing as she watches the scene play out.
He looks enraged, his eyes dilated without the aid of drugs or alcohol. His grip on my wrist only tightens and for a moment, I'm actually fearful of him. I've never seen my brother look this unhinged, at least because of me.
But the longer I make him wait for an answer, the more ballsy I become. The alcohol starts speaking on my behalf, making me blurt out nonsense I never would otherwise.
"You can't keep me home, Daddy." I drawl out, not even sure why I'm calling him dad other than the parental mention, and the added fact that we both despise him. "I'm not your little prisoner. I can go out and have fun if I want to." I pull down the front of my shirt a bit, exposing my breasts more to him.
It's nothing he hasn't seen, but I can tell it's getting to him. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, and I smirk at my handiwork. I know how to make Eli eat out of the palm of my hand.
Her smug little smirk makes me shake with fury, her breath reeking of alcohol. My little baby sister, here of all places. I could barely believe the predicament she found herself in. I could only imagine the things she'd already done while I was waiting for a half hour in line.
Nothing she says makes sense, and her calling me "daddy" only makes me more angry. She knows. She knows what that means to us and she did it on purpose.
"You're dressed like a little slut." My words are harsh and I don't care. That's exactly how she looks, with her breasts all but bursting out of her shirt and her skirt riding up her thighs.
"Like your little slut," I feel her reaching for my shoulders pulling her closer to me as she starts to dance.
This isn't Clare. This isn't the sweet, oftentimes timid, brilliant Clare I've become so accustomed to. I can't even try to estimate how much she must have had to drink to turn her into this.
Briskly, I jerk her away, my eyes widening at her. "Are you fucking losing your mind?" Just then, the music changes to something a bit slower, the room darkening considerably. I can barely see anyone around us, Clare even becoming a black blur before me. Protectively, my hands reach for her, to keep her near me.
"Dance with me." she says loudly, leaning up to my ear. I shake my head, but her body is beckoning me. Everything about her is getting to me and I'm not even drunk. I hate the way she can sway my rational mind.
Her mouth curls into a pout, and I shake my head again. "Just one dance? Then you can take me home and get mad at me." she giggles, tilting her head questioningly at me. I know she'll make a drunken scene if I don't do it.
But more so, I want to. I hated seeing that other guy dancing with her. Clare is mine. I want everyone to know that.
My attempts to resist finally fall through as I spin her around, pulling her close to my body.
She all but melts into me, her hands grabbing mine and placing them on her hips. She dances like a woman possessed, with a confidence I never knew Clare could exude. It's sexy as hell, if I'm being honest.
My head leans down to her neck, my teeth sinking into her creamy skin as her hips roll again and again against me.
"You're mine, Clare. I don't want you ever dancing with someone like that again," I pant into her ear, my hands gripping her hips in a bruising manner.
I hear her whimper but she doesn't reply. To get an answer out of her, my hand skims up her chest, gripping her breast. "You'll never dance with someone like that again?" I question, my finger brushing over her hardened nipple. The only way to get a grip on Clare sometimes is to make her so senselessly aroused that she'll say yes to anything.
She arches into my hand as she nods. It's enough for me, at least if she never overindulges in alcohol again. I place a gentle kiss against her ear. "That's my good girl."
We spend the rest of the song gyrating against one another, my hand eventually slipping into her top and groping her in the pitch black of the room. She moans and whimpers at my touches, and I feel like a power hungry monster. It's all too easy to get drunk with control and lust when it comes to this girl.
With my free hand, I run my hand down to her ass, groping it and then holding her as close to me as I possibly can. I get lost in her. Her scent, her revealing clothes, the way she pants out my name. I convince myself that no one else in the room could affect her like I have, and they never will.
Once the song ends, she turns to me, her eyes darkened with a lust I know my own are mirroring.
"We're going home." I mutter impatiently. Clare nods in reply, no fight left in her.
I wrap my arm around her, holding her protectively to my side. If anyone tries to pry her away from me, I'll make sure it's the very last thing they do.
As the cold air hits us outside, I shudder in relief, the air in the club far too humid and heated for my taste. But Clare looks uncomfortable, goose bumps lifting on her skin. I pause, shrugging off my leather jacket and then placing it over her.
The smile I receive in return lets me know that all the trouble, all the worrying, it was plenty worth it to get her back.
She dozes off as we drive home, the intoxication finally hitting her. I let her sleep, playing the radio softly to keep myself company.
The song sounds familiar to me and I register it as The Kills, one of Clare's favorite bands. I love having these little facts about her now, knowing her far better than I used to.
It took far too long to reach that point with her, but better late than never.
Once we reach the apartment, I carefully lift her limp, sleepy body from the passenger side and carry her inside.
She looks like such a fucking mess. Her straight hair is getting curly again in places, her makeup is smudged, but she looks like the cutest badass I've ever seen, especially in my jacket to top it all off.
Had she not been in a club, extremely drunk, I might have encouraged the look. But even then, nothing beats seeing her in those flowery dresses and sweaters. That's my Clare. The one I know and love.
I relieve her of my heavy jacket as she half consciously gets comfortable on the bed, then pulling off a pair of leather boots I didn't know she had. Eventually she's in her favorite pajamas, cozy under the covers.
I strip off my clothes, climbing into bed beside her in my boxers and t shirt. After clicking off the light, I can feel my own eyes getting heavy. I curl up against her, tucking my head against her neck when I hear her singing drunkenly to herself.
"Steam's working I see it, in everyone.
Like a lost idea, under a light bulb sun.
Your eyes, ready for takeoff, melt in your head.
What a beautiful state we're in."
I can't help but grin as she attempts feebly to sing the lyrics to the song in the car, one I didn't even realize she was aware enough to hear.
I run my hand up and down her arm, nuzzling my head against her as I sing back,
"Jailers in my mind, are all dead.
I love you so much, never forget.
All of our secrets, coming undone.
What a beautiful state we're in.
Goodnight, another bad morning."