This'll probably be the last upload before school starts, and I'm depressed. So long to the days squandered accomplishing absolutely nothing; I welcome long school hours with reluctant arms.
I probably should edit this...but I won't because
no
After Jake leaves that evening, promising to see her again the next day, Clare takes the liberty to strip out of her worn hospital gown and into the fresh one the nurse had left her. She needs to regain her strength again somehow, someday, so why not start now? She didn't see the point of squandering money on a physiotherapist who'd only teach her how to do what she already knew. Besides: less time cooped up in a bland hospital room would always be a plus. She has already grown tired of lying around all day, and having the same people ask her the same questions. Yes, she slept well the previous night. No, she's not hungry. Yes, her body still felt lethargic and dull. It's been ages since she's had fresh air, or even changed herself. And after insisting that she was perfectly capable of dressing herself now that her wounds had half-healed, the red-headed nurse had given her at least ten minutes of privacy- just enough time to sneak out for a few gulpfuls of clean air. The smell of medicated soap is practically suffocating her.
Peeling her gown off is the easy part. All she had to do is let the fabric drop from her body. Picking up the clean one and slipping it on is another story. It isn't long before Clare finds herself panting from exertion, as she endeavours to stand on her own two feet. Her legs feel wobbly and weak. Despite the long night of rest, her arms feel as if they've exhausted themselves. Nothing seems to be working the way she wants them to, and it's frustrating.
Sometime, maybe five minutes later, she finally manages to pull her head through the head hole. With her luck, something just had to get tangled up in her uncombed hair, and so she just stands there with a flimsy blue hospital dress in her face. Stark naked, standing in the middle of the room. Of course something like this would happen to Clare.
Beet red and struggling indefinitely, it seems as if things couldn't get worse.
Until…
"Damn you, Adam," someone hisses, bursting through the door. Shell-shocked and frozen with shock, Clare peers through the semi-transparent fabric.
A figure. On the ground. In her room.
In a panic, she yanks down the gown with as much strength she could muster- which admittedly, isn't very much. Desperate the cover, desperate to save what dignity she has left, she forgets to scream.
"Clare, I….ooh."
Her face burns with enough heat to melt the Arctic, and her frantic movements just causes her more discomfort. She wants to yell at the guy for barging in, for remaining in the room for so long, but she can't. She's too focused on covering herself, too humiliated to want to make a big deal out of it.
Oh God, she moans inside her head. Inside her head, she's thrashing helplessly. Why me?
She expects him to leave; it's the least he can do, after all. But he doesn't, and this alarms her. Why is he approaching her? What is he planning to do with her?
Her mind on red-alert, every inch of her is still and vigilant. His hands are raised and-
Suddenly, her gown is gingerly pulled down to drape her body. A pair of deep, unfathomable eyes is on her. They're gazing at her eyes, searching, not ogling her body. Every now and then they'll travel down to her hands, but only shortly. She can see his Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat, but that's all that he gives away. He's passive otherwise.
Clare recognizes him at once. It's the guys from before, that's who.
"I know you," she whispers impulsively, staring intently into him.
The context is all wrong. Her words aren't directly correlated to her initial thoughts, because up close, she really sees him. When she says 'I know you', she means from before, prior to the accident. Prior to her memory lost. His chiselled features, the color of his eyes and hair, his lips- they're all too familiar. Forget the fact that he had seen her birthday suit, forget that. How familiar he looks…it's unsettling.
His expression melts from one of discomfort, awkwardness, and surprise into something quieter, softer. "What do you know of me?" he asks quietly. There's an air of beseeching in his tone, and Clare can see him trying hard to keep it neutral. His eyes continue to search her, remaining as calm as- wait, she sees it! There was a flicker of agony, of pain and loss. Just for a brief moment, he let his walls down, and Clare didn't miss a single heartbeat of it. Her palms begin to sweat, realizing that she had really seen all of his in his eyes. How peculiar…and frightening.
Clare swallows deeply. The Goldsworthy boy is staring at her with so much intensity, it's as if he knows something.
"Never mind that, you're n-not supposed to be here," she says uncertainly, taking several cautious steps backwards. Should she be afraid? Flattered? "You should leave."
His gaze doesn't waver, only flickering briefly. Again there was the deep-seated emotion that makes Clare feel a tingle somewhere in her stomach.
"Please…please tell me," he whispers through a constricted throat. It's like he's begging but he's not, because he's struggling to keep it together. He doesn't want to risk frightening her more, but he's desperate and anguished and he has to try. "You say you know me. Do you…?"
"Umm." She hesitates, torn. Embarrassment and anger is flushed away by the longing in his voice. He looks like he's in so much pain and she doesn't have the heart anymore to throw him out. Even if he had rudely barged in.
She's looking down to his skull cane, to the leg that seems to be jutting out in an awkward angle, to the wide black cuff around his wrist, and to his neck. Her gaze halts at his neck, because there's something small and shiny and delicate hanging on a thin silver chain.
Eli notices her looking at the ring, and slips his necklace off wordlessly. The small stone shimmers, even under the harsh hospital lights.
"Try it in," he says breathlessly, holding the thin band out. He doesn't touch her again without her consent.
"Why?" she asks, taking a few more steps back. She looks at the ring like it might jump out and attack.
"On your left ring finger. It'll fit perfectly," he says pragmatically.
"You're insane," she says at once, slowly shaking her head. "You can't-"
"If it fits, you'll know that I'm not lying. If it doesn't, I'll leave you alone."
Clare's eyes widen slightly, instilled with fear. What is playing at, getting her to try on a ring she's never seen before?
The odds are in her favour, though; Clare's fingers are smaller, thinner than most. Her mother told her that store-bought rings would never fit her.
"Fine," she says determinedly, clenching her hands to stop the trembling. "Then you'll leave me alone?"
He shrugs. "If it doesn't fit."
Swallowing again, she nods, lifting up her hand. They quiver just the same. Relax, Clare. All she has to do is one simple task, and then the scary boy will leave her alone for good. So maybe he had ignited a flame of curiosity within her from the very first time she saw him. Maybe he did make her feel uneasy about everything and anything. And maybe somewhere in the corner of her mind, she kind of, sort of, wanted to know him a little more. It's hard not to when someone demands their presence upon you like that, she rationalizes. She had to admit- there was a part of her that feared the ring would fit. And at the same time, she was kind of excited at the possibility. Maybe he would have more to tell her, if he really was her boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
Could she really have been in love with someone she doesn't know? The whole thing is so confusing.
Gnawing down on her lower lip, she slides her cold little finger through the silver ring. Her hand brushes the Goldsworthy boy's hands in the process, and he feels cool. They don't feel clammy with sweat like hers. How embarrassing.
The ring refuses to budge past her knuckle.
"It doesn't fit!" Her voice sounds so awfully odd, a strange blend of relief and disappointment.
"Wrong finger," he says patiently.
Oh.
She slides her ring finger in this time.
"It…"
"It's perfect," he says, the tiniest hint of a smile lighting up on his otherwise bleak face. And God, how genuinely happy he looks in saying these words. It's as if a piece of heavy weight chipped off of his shoulder, revealing a sliver of soft golden hope.
Clare stares at the ring wordlessly.
"Now do you believe me?" he asks, peering at her hopefully. All he wants is a chance, a tiny chance.
"This…this doesn't prove anything," she says uncertainly. Though by the look on her face, Eli knows she's nearly sold.
"I know you, Clare," he says softly, trying not to make it sound creepy. "Test me. Go on, ask me anything about you."
This is bizarre, she thinks, but obliges. What has she got to lose? Surely she had always been with Jake…her mother had told her herself. But how this boy- Elliot? Elisha?- claimed to have been in the picture too didn't really add up. Helen had never mentioned any past boyfriends, and especially not one who had conveniently resided in the same hospital at the same time as her. Someone is lying.
"Can I get your name first?" she asks shyly, fiddling with the ring on her finger.
Eli smiles ruefully. "It's Eli."
When Eli smiles crookedly like that, it's kind of handsome. He had a dark, brooding thing going on with his eyes and hair, and it attracts Clare in more ways than one.
"And I'm sure you know what my name is."
"Clare Diane Edwards," he says beautifully, smiling at his feet.
"That's right." She wracks her brain for a difficult question that only a boyfriend would know, but comes up short. She barely remembers anything of herself, and frowns.
"I know that you're ticklish," he offers gently. "You're afraid of the dark, and you can't stomach food you don't like."
"I…I don't know if any of that is true," she says quietly.
"The first one is easy to fix." He reaches out, and softly traces his finger down from her chin to her collarbone. His feather-light touch makes Clare scrunch her shoulders and shrink away, but at the same time, they feel kind of magical. Kind of golden and electrifying. "Your knee too."
As soon as he begins to caress her knee, she jerks away. The usual giggle is absent, and it doesn't slip past him. He attempts another soft smile, this time one of triumph. Instead, a sad look casts over his face like a shadow, and he feels rather discouraged. The reaction is not exactly the way it used to be, and he misses it. He misses her giggle.
"Okay," she says hesitantly, gripping the hem of her gown, she wraps the fabric around her wrist, over and over again. "That bit about the dark…how do we test that part out?"
One look at the face, and she can see the wheels turning in his head. She isn't surprised; Eli did seem like the scheming type. It's not a great shock to her that ingenuity is probably one of his strong suits.
"I have an idea," he says thinly, bringing a finger to his lip. "But it's going to require a bit of risk-taking on your part."
"I'm listening."
Biting down on his nail, he strides over to the window with as much agility as crippled boy could deliver. With a quick snapping sound, the blind are raised, revealing a grey display of cluttered cars along a busy intersection. Clare squints at the sudden downpour of sunlight shining down on her, as well as the bright white snow glaring back at her.
"See that tiny bit of forest over there?" He points at the green, not far from sight. "We'll go there."
Clare quirks an eyebrow.
"At midnight," he adds, looking expectantly at her.
Oh God, she knows where this is going, and the mere thought petrifies her. This little plan Eli devised goes against practically every rule her parents set out on day one: Don't talk to strangers. Don't get involved with boys. Don't be out at night by yourself. Stay in the hospital room at all times. She's now certain that there isn't half-assing going around here, because this can go either way. Either Eli was lying straight-up to her face, or her parents had. It had to be one of the two, and it couldn't be both. Seeing how these are the only two sides she knows of, she's suddenly faced with a choice.
Of course, it'd be the most rational to go with what your parents say. As a general rule, parents are usually more trustworthy than a teenage boy- especially one of which painted his nails black. Then why, she has to ask herself, is she so very curious about this boy? Why does she have a feeling that he had been somehow heavily involved in her life, prior to the accident? Why did all of this have to happen in the first place? Damn it, her head hurt and all she wants is to remember again. She hates that it has to be so complicated.
"No," she says worriedly."Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be out in the woods? It would worry my parents to no end."
"Since when did you….never mind," he says hastily, looking away. A bitter, thoughtful kind of expression passes his brittle face. "God, this is worse than I thought," he adds in a mutter, leaning against with the wall wearily.
"What are you talking about?" she asks, a little more desperately than she intended.
"Nothing," he says quickly, striding past her and back to his original spot. He bits his thumbnail again, in his mind scraping up another solution. "The hallway lights are going to be on all night, and so are the ones in the rooms-but not the basement. They'll be turned off at midnight, so that could work. Only, I don't have a reason to stay anymore so I'll have to find a way to sneak in…"
She listens to his rambling with keen interest, still guilty, still so curious, and still so troubled. She's so tempted to go along with the experiment, and it's beginning to really stress her out. It could be easy if she wanted it to be. She could just say no and kick him out. Then she could be on her merry way to recovery, with the wonderful physiotherapist her mother would hire for the next few months…
"I'll do it," she says decidedly.
"You'll-really?" The sheer hopefulness in his voice…priceless.
"I know where the basement is, so I guess I'll see you there about five minutes after twelve," she continues, trying to carry on with her confident tone. She's doing it. She's all in. She has to. She needs to know the truth.
"That's great," Eli says, his cheeks lifting up into a sweet, sweet smile. In his face holds all the hope in the world, and that's just it. There's nothing but hope emanating from him, not a trick of the light, not a hint of deceit. He looks like a kid whose been promised Christmas everyday of the year, and it's precious.
All he wants is a chance, and she's going to give it to him.
"I'll be going then, I guess. Bye Clare," he says softly, giving her a half-wave. She just nods as he limps over to the door, pressing her lips together in a thin line.
Just as he's about to turn the corner and leave, he twists his neck around to look at her one last time. Another sweet smile appears on his face, and she thinks that he's about to say something sappy and loving and promising. She braces herself in preparation for that, knowing that the same kind of promise can't be reciprocated from her. It's not fair to her, and it's certainly not fair to him.
"Clare?"
"Yeah?"
His lips twist into an impish grin.
"I saw you naked."