I upload fanfiction chapters at 11pm in the night this is normal
"Randall, what are we going to do with that girl?" Helen whispers lowly, peering at the sleeping girl with a disapproving wrinkle of her eyebrows. The way she puckers her lips gives off the impression that she had eaten something disgustingly sour, when in reality, this is how she looks all the time.
"Her pillow is damp," Randall squints, gripping the door knob as support as he leans forward. "She must have been crying all night."
"She had been oddly unresponsive the night before," Helen scowls in dissatisfaction, shaking her head. She folds her lanky arms across her chest. "The miserable, disgrace of a child. Doesn't even know what the appropriate reaction is when a parent is merely trying to guard her in the right way."
"We've given her too many chances," Randall adds solemnly, keeping his voice just over a whisper. "We've become too lenient with our parenting, Helen. We let her spend too much time with that wretched boy- he's become a bad influence on her."
"She was better as a young child, following orders and doing exactly what she was told to do," she says. "I always say, too much freedom turns a child wayward."
"Perhaps now is the time…"
"We will speak with her when she wakes up," she says decidedly. They nod, silently agreeing to allow their daughter to sleep in for a little while longer on the fine Saturday morn.
Clare's eyes flicker open, having never been asleep during her parents' discussion. She's been waken up at seven am every morning for as long as she could remember, and her body wakes up mechanically at that time. And having been jarred awake by the gravity of their conversation, she is more alert than ever before.
What are they planning to talk to me about, she wonders anxiously, remaining perfectly still on her mattress. Her intuition warns her that it's something bad. Really bad. Not only because her mother had sounded so resolute of their plan, but because there had been a slight air of sympathy drifting around the two whilst discussing. They are never sympathetic. They never allow her to sleep in.
She rolls to her side, glancing at the mirror hanging directly across on the wall. Her complexion is ghastly, and the bags under her eyes look beyond repair. From her appearance alone, she can remember what sleep had temporarily allowed her the forgotten, and she lets out painful exhale. It's as fresh as it had been the night before, only now, it's sinking in a whole lot better. Someone trample on her heart and shove her into a pool of burning acid- at least it'd distract her from the pain of being ripped away from someone she loved.
A knock on her window.
It must be the rain, she convinces herself, too drained to think much more about it.
Another knock, followed by a louder one.
"It's the dead of winter," she mutters confusedly to herself. "Why would it be raining?"
And like a jolt of lightning, she flips her covers off and jumps to her feet, her heart suddenly accelerating. Hopes washes over her as she rushed over to her windows, and Clare prays desperately that the improbable would happen and Eli would be outside her window, rescuing her from the steel grasp that are her parents. That he would be standing on her front lawn, holding a bag filled with necessities and a rock in the other. "Come on," he would say, an inviting grin on his face. "Let's blow."
Clare rips open her curtain excitedly, glancing downwards to see, indeed, a boy holding a handful of pebbles.
Except it isn't the boy she hoped it would be.
"Clare!" Adam calls as she slides open her window pane. Trying to ignore the sharp stab to her chest, the feeling of immense disappointment surging through her entire lifeless body, she musters a hello in return, slumping her shoulders slightly. She loves Adam, she really does, and would be delighted to see him in any other situation. Just not today, not when she is deprived of Eli's presence.
"What are you doing here, Adam?" she asks dully, just loud enough so that the boy would be able to hear.
He holds up a folded piece of paper in hand, pointing at it with his other to emphasize. While under her scrutiny, he wraps it around a pebble with an elastic band, going over it a few times to secure.
"Stand back," he warns, raising it over his head as a universal sign that he's going to throw the object.
"Wait, you're going to break the-"
"Clare, your mom could catch me at any minute!" Adam cuts her off urgently, gesturing her with a hasty flick of his wrist to move back. "Move back!"
Given no other choice, she immediately obeys, dashing onto her bed and diving under the covers. She cups her ears and squeezes her eyes shut, anticipating the sound of shattering windows to disrupt the silence of the morning. Instead, however, the sound of something dense landing on her carpet causes her to flinch. It skids across the floor before coming to a complete halt.
Gingerly lifting up her blanket, she takes a peek, and spots the note and rock sitting lone next to the leg of her chair.
"Adam, what is this?" she calls, frowning when she realizes that no one is there standing anymore.
It's just her and the note now.
Hesitantly, she moves over to where the object lay still, bending over slowly to pick it up. It feels cool against her warm fingers, and she rolls over around her palm a few times before scraping together the courage to open the note. She doesn't know why, but she's a little afraid to open it. Her fingers are quivering as she unfolds it, stretching out the wrinkled paper.
Clare,
I had Adam send this to you because I couldn't risk getting you in more trouble- I can just imagine what you had waiting for you at home, and I didn't want to exacerbate the circumstances any further. I'm sorry I'm not there with you, I'm sorry. I love you, and I'll come get you soon. I know you're hurting, and I am too- more than you could ever imagine. I love you and I'm sorry, and I'm asking you to be strong for the both of us now, okay? We'll figure something out, I promise.
Eli.
Attached to it by the means of tape, is the second picture in existence of them both: they sit, backs gently leaning on each other and hands woven together on the side. The gritty sand under them buries their feet. Clare's eyes are closed in utter bliss, and she appears perfectly content with the serenity of the situation; Eli on the other hand, always seems to thrive in more cognizance. His head is slightly tilted to the side, just enough to see a bit of her. Because his head is downturned, she can't read past the thick lashes resting on the delicate skin under his eyes. She sees for a sure a hint of a coy smile playing on his lips, though, and it sends her heart in a frenzy. The sky and lake provides a gorgeous scenery, deep blues and golden oranges and yellows melding together harmoniously, but she notices this only from the corner of her eye. The picture had been out of her reach for a so long, it's more or less new to her.
She smiles softly to herself, and though it's bleak, it's a smile nevertheless.
"Oh Clare, you're up," Helen suddenly comes walking in. In her haste to hide the note, she shoves it underneath her bed, covering up with a nose-to-nose inspection of the carpet.
"I-I um, seemed to have lost a bobby pin somewhere," she lies badly, fumbling around for effect.
"Please get off the floor, Clare, you look ridiculous," her mom demands, folding her arms over her chest. "Your father and I would like to talk to you."
She gulps, standing up at her command. Like a robot, she follows her mother out and down the stairs. Like a robot, her feet are moving mechanically so that her pace is just quick enough to keep up with her. It's surprising that she's able to move at all, given the extreme anxiousness swirling around in my stomach so early in the morning.
With her mother's presence, the warmth Eli's note provided her with evaporated in an instant.
"What's going on?" she inquires fearfully, gripping the fabric of her nightgown tightly. Her face is suddenly white upon seeing her father and Jake sit peacefully at the dining room table. Equally calm and certain of themselves, a warm mug of coffee placed within their reach. "What's Jake doing here so early?"
"We've been talking to Jake all morning, and we've all reached a decision that we believe is best for you," Randall says sternly. There were a lot of we 's in that sentence, but Clare doesn't recall being a part of any of them.
"What's going on?" she asks warily, not liking the inflection in her father's voice, nor the eerily tranquil atmosphere drifting around them.
"We're moving to Ottawa," Jake informs casually, downing his cup of espresso. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I'm sorry?"
"Jake's father found a job there, and he would be moving regardless," Helen elaborates. "Perfect timing, really- your father and I have been discussing moving away for a while now."
"But…why? My school's here, and so is- so are my friends," Clare gapes, skin turning more translucent by the moment.
"You look green, Clare," Jake states, scrutinizing her face.
"We decided as a family that it'd be most prudent if we start fresh-"
"I don't remember being part of this discussion," Clare says, appalled. "Aren't I just as part of the family as either of you?"
"Don't interrupt me, Clare," Helen says austerely. "The move is the best for us all. Clearly, this place serves as too much if a distraction for you. It'd be good for you to meet some new people, find your grounding again."
"It's because of Eli, isn't it?" she says, legs buckling underneath her. They feel as flimsy and thin as paper, weaker than all the strength she could muster on her pinky finger. Nausea is rolling all around. And when no one immediately jumps to prove her accusation wrong, she gasps. "Oh my God. We're moving because you don't want me anywhere near Eli."
"Clare, don't be such a child about this," Randall glares, folding up his newspaper. "Look at Jake over here- he's got lots of friends, and you don't hear him complaining."
"That's because Jake's not in love," Clare shoots back, though she's afraid of the consequences of talking back.
You have to give the terrified girl some credit for being deathly afraid of her parents, and having the courage to provoke them with what strikes their nerves the hardest.
"Be quiet and don't pretend like you know what love is," Helen orders, voice lowering dangerously. Her eyes flash with red, a sure signal that her patience is at its end. "We're moving, and that's final."
"Pretending?" Clare scoffs, but not in the condescending, sardonic way. She's in disbelief, taken aback by the utter rubbish coming out of her mother's mouth. Three pairs of eyes flash to her at once, each warning with different levels of lethalness- Helen's as deadly as ever, Randall's coming a close second, and Jake's as more of a I don't think that's such a good idea look. But between her boiling blood, escalating infuriation, and overall offensiveness of her mother's assumption, she doesn't register the severity of the situation. She hadn't imagined it would happen this fast, in this way, but she knew that a blow-up was inevitable. She hadn't given up Eli, not now, not yet. "You're telling me that I don't know love. You don't look at your husband the same way I look at Eli. You wouldn't risk a fraction of what Eli risked for me."
"Clare," Helen hisses astringently. Her hand raises, and Clare knows she's about to strike. She knows, but she has so much to get off her chest, she takes the chance.
"Why are you so hell-bent on keeping Eli away from me? Why do you hate him so much?"
"Jake is better choice for you!" her mother says shrilly, lifting her hand up. Her red face twists into a threatening look of utmost lividness, just daring her to say more. "One more time Clare, and…"
"Or what?" Clare challenges bravely, seeing the trembling hand above her. She narrows her eyes, advancing towards Helen without the slightest falter in her step. "You'll hit me, like you always do? Even when I haven't done anything wrong? You think in some way, I'll transform back into the scared little girl who obeyed your every ridiculous command?"
Her hand is shaking violently now, but it remains suspended in the air. Something flashes across Helen's eyes- realization perhaps. But the fury is still there, still seething underneath her skin, still directed towards her daughter.
"Clare," Jake says quietly in the background. He's ignored.
"I am sick and tired of being pushed around like a ragdoll, and frankly, I'm not afraid of you anymore," she says vociferously, only half-certain of this. She's still afraid, but more of the situation then her mom- how had she let it go this far? Why hadn't she stood up for herself earlier? "You don't get to tell me who of if I love!"
A loud, deafening slap fills the room, and Clare finds herself staggering backwards with a piercing pain on her cheek. It's not only stinging- it's pounding hard. The right side of her face feels almost deformed from the impact, as raw as raw could be.
And you'd think that by now a mother's heart would thaw and produce some sort of guilt and realization, but no. Not for Helen, no.
Clare touches her cheek, slowly lifting her head to meet her mom's fiery glare of venom and anger.
"I don't need this," she spits out, turning on her heel and storming towards the front door. Though her mind is complete mess and her surrounding is blurring into a fog, she finds it in her to grab her mom's prized vase by the neck and smash it on the floor. Thousands of fragments scatter across the room, separating her and the rest of supposed family.
And then she runs out the door, sprinting harder than she ever had in her life.
-x—
"Did you get it to her?" Eli presses urgently, practically cornering poor Adam into a –well- corner. The boy with the beanie stumbles backwards, palms up in front of him as a universal signal of defense, knit hat falling anew.
"Whoa, relax Dr. Doom," he says hastily, shoving his chest to put some distance between them. Best friends or not, the proximity was a tad bit unnerving. "It's all good."
"So she read it?" Adam nods, and Eli exhales in relief. "Thanks for doing this for me, Adam. It means a lot."
"It's a just a note," he shrugs, pulling open the fridge. He pokes his head inside, taking out a fresh carton of milk. "So, you seem a little better today. What do you have up your sleeve?"
Seeing Eli grimace, he tore his lips away from the carton opening and swallowed deeply. "Okay, so you look like you've been to hell and back. But seriously, you have a plan, don't you?"
"No, I'm anticipating that she'll walk right through that door any moment now and tell me that her parents have gave us their blessing and that we can get married and live happily ever after."
"Ouch. That's a tad optimistic, don't you think?"
"I don't-"
A loud banging sound disrupted their conversation, causing Adam to spit out his milk into the sink. Eli makes a disgusted face, but his attention is diverted towards the continuous banging sound- it's urgent, persistent, and coming from the door.
"Serial killer," Adam mouths, eyes wide with fear.
Eli shakes his head, glancing at the door once again. Swiftly he makes his way over to it, taking a deep break to compose his nerves. Behind him, Adam is holding a pitch axe over his head.
He doesn't question it.
Slowly, warily, he reaches towards the knob, startled again by how loud the banging has gotten. Adam shoots him another fearful look, gulping. He twists the knob, opening the door to reveal…
"Pizza delivery!" Adam screams.