Erm this took me over a month to make, sorry. In all fairness it's a big chapter, plot-wise and world-wide at 9.5k LMAO
Reviews!
Sleepysparrowhawk: YAYY I'm so glad you liked it!!
HBMTT: thanks! And wow that's impressive
Warning: domestic abuse, implied child abuse, lots of drinking, generally creepy stuff along those lines.
Song: Déjà Vu by Glass Animals, aka my favourite song??!!! Debated putting in that Final Girl song, but decided it was too inappropriate LOL. Still a fire song if you wanna listen to it on your own.
Enjoy? I guess???????????????
Chapter 110
Déjà Vu
It happened again.
Everything started a month after they got back from California. The kids were just out of school for their spring break, the Utah weather was hot and humid, and everyone had been a little on edge since the temperature slid up. Clara had to wrangle Michael off Evan when she caught them hitting each other over who's turn it was on the XBox.
It had taken a full hour to console the younger, which involved a lot of chocolate and finally letting him walk to the park with his friend Cassidy. All the attention on his brother made Michael storm out the door, yelling about favouritism. He'd taken money, so she figured he was probably at the gas station with his friends. He did that whenever he was mad at them.
To add to that, Elizabeth had been wailing nonstop about being too sweaty, to the point where Clara had to drive her over to Henry's so her and his daughter Charlie could play in their beat-up kiddie pool.
So the house was empty of kids that Friday. William had closed the restaurant that day, since because of the heat, everyone was either at their air-conditioned (something the pizzeria was not, which he'd have to fix) homes, or out of town to splash in a pool or the beach. She'd slept downstairs last night since it was much cooler, so she hadn't seen him all day—and it was the afternoon. Which struck her as odd. He liked to stay up late and wake up early, and the whole time she'd known him, he'd never skipped tea or coffee in the mornings.
Then she'd started to cook scrambled eggs and cherry tomatoes and had been slicing them when William came downstairs, finally, and started brewing his usual tea. She'd scolded him for sleeping in and they'd exchanged banter for a while before Clara made an offhand comment about maybe bringing the kids to church sometime, since she hadn't gone since she moved out of her parents' house. William didn't like the idea and ranted about how he didn't want them to be "brainwashed into that ghoulish cult" and all sorts of stuff. She snapped back at him for being insensitive to her beliefs. It escalated quickly.
Frighteningly quickly.
He'd slammed her to the wall like last time, boxing her in with broad shoulders. Only this time he'd wrapped a hand around her throat and squeezed until she was purple neck-up, holding eye contact and muttering things under his breath she couldn't understand through the pounding of blood in her ears.
Ding-dong!
Clara sat up, closing the book she hadn't even been reading. She opened the door and was met with the face of Henry holding little Charlie, with her kids standing beside them.
Henry grinned. "Hey, Clar! I was driving back and saw these boys climbing the trees and making a ruckus, so I drove them here. Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all." She put her hands on her hips, gazing at Michael and Evan, who were shockingly not trying to tear each other limb from limb. "So, you two made up?"
"I guess," Michael mumbled, crossing his arms.
"Yes, we did!" Evan beamed. "It was really fun. He showed me how to get to the top of all the big ones, the really fun ones. I was scared at first, but once I started it was—"
"Really fun?" Clara finished.
He flushed. "Yes."
"The guys were all busy, so, yeah. That's why I hung out with this dweeb instead of them," Michael explained bashfully, scrubbing his brother over the head.
"Well, I'm glad. And what about you, Bethy? Did you and Charlie have fun?"
"Whatever," Elizabeth sighed.
Clara quirked a brow at Henry, who looked like he was fighting a smile. "Her and Charlie had a competition to see who could reach the end of the pool fastest, and she l—"
"DON'T SAY IT!" Elizabeth roared, stamping her foot. "It was only cos I sawed a plane in the sky and stopped to look at it!"
"Wait, you lost a swimming contest? To a two-year-old?" Michael laughed in disbelief.
Elizabeth shoved him, which didn't do much. "Shut up, dummy!"
"Don't be a sore loser, baby, I'm sure you did great," Clara reassured.
"I did do great," she sulked. "I just sawed a plane, that's all."
Henry started to chuckle, until he noticed something and his auburn brows knitted in confusion. "Clara, why are you wearing that?"
"Wearing what?"
"That sweater. It's hot enough just wearing a T-shirt and shorts."
"It's a hundred and two. I checked." Evan added.
Clara's heart quickened. Her hand went up to her throat, which was covered by the thick blue wool of her turtleneck sweater. "I, uh—"
"Henry?" William appeared from behind, shadowing her. "When did you get here?"
"Daddy!" Elizabeth cried, flinging herself at him. "Hi, Daddy!"
From the way he reacted, his daughter might as well have not been stitching herself to his front. "So, you're the one who took the kids, eh? Am I going to have to call the coppers on you?"
"Don't worry, he didn't kidnap us. Mummy asked him to take Elizabeth and he picked Michael and I up on the way." Evan explained brightly.
William raised his eyebrows, turned to Clara. "Why didn't Mummy think to mention this first?"
"Maybe because Daddy didn't give her a chance to," she retorted, adjusting her collar meaningfully.
"Mm, I think Mummy might've had plenty of opportunities to tell him."
"Right, so I'm gonna go…" Henry said, slowly turning back to his car.
"Why are they talking like that?* Elizabeth asked.
"It's called third person," Evan informed her.
Michael ushered them inside. "C'mon, let's go upstairs. We can play Mario Kart together, if you guys want."
The kids cheered and followed him in.
William stared at her with a vacant expression. His baggy purple shirt fluttered in the wind. She could hear the slam of a car door and the purr of Henry's engine as he drove away.
Clara put her hands on her hips. "Well?" He didn't say anything. "C'mon, don't be like this. I need an apology."
"I'm going inside," he said finally, voice gruff. "Too damn hot out here."
This was not a view of him she liked, his back, walking away from her. "Will!"
Slam, went the door.
She groaned, collapsing against it and sliding down until she was sitting on the door mat. Burying her face in her hands, she felt like crying out of frustration, but no tears would come.
When Clara was younger, she thought if she could just swing a little further, a little higher, she could reach up and grasp the skies and claim all the stars and planets for herself. But now that she was older and a big girl, she could barely grasp the heart of the man right behind the door she was leaning against.
She opened the door and made her way to the kitchen. Rummaging around in the cupboards, she found the sweet bottles saved only for special occasions and began to drink.
Happy second beating-versary, she thought to herself, bent over the counter, a purple dribble staining her ridiculous sweater.
Cheers.
~lll~
It happened three more times in the following months.
Not much had changed. The children fought and made up. William would disappear for days without contact and then suddenly be stuck to her like a barnacle. Sour March limes gave way to sticky June strawberries. Warm wine to drinks so cold the condensation slid down the glass. She enjoyed the variety. It made routine fun and exciting, like listening to music while doing the dishes. Only now it was drenching herself in flammable liquid while the man who was supposed to protect her slowly became the man she needed protection from.
Pulling her phone out of her pocket and flipping it open, she messaged the first person she could think of.
crschmidt: Hi, you there?
kittykatmeowww: wuzzupppppppp
crschmidt: Bad day. William's been working since yesterday. Kids are being bratty. The usual.
kittykatmeowww: danggg!!!! that sux :-(
crschmidt: Do you think you could come over?
crschmidt: We could go into town and shop around.
crschmidt: Get something to eat.
crschmidt: Or whatever.
crschmidt: Hello?
kittykatmeowww: soz put charlie down 4 her nap :-P
crschmidt: Oh, I didn't know you were at Henry's place.
kittykatmeowww: ya hes gettin groceries
kittykatmeowww: i wuz posed to bbysit but aint nobdy got time 4 dat!!!!!!!!
kittykatmeowww: mk ill b over in a sec u just hang tite bbg
crschmidt: What about Charlie?
crschmidt: HELLO?!?
crschmidt: ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
(Read 4:15 P.M)
~lll~
Clara had imagined the two of them heading downtown, going to quirky thrift stores and trying on silly clothes, buying nothing, and ordering from a trendy cafe—a mocha, some scones, a charcuterie to share.
Okay, so maybe Katy had a different idea in mind. Maybe she'd shown up with a change of clothes meant for Clara that would even be skimpy on her daughter. And maybe she'd worn them anyways! And maybe she'd stepped into a club with dizzying lights and ear-blasting music and a tsunami of alcohol and faceless people all around her! Maybe one or two all over her! She couldn't tell! It was a party!
And maybe she was still a little buzzed as she was changing out of her scandalous party clothes into a celery-green T-shirt and drab yoga pants in a crouched, awkward position in the backseat of Katy's car like back in her school years.
"Hey, Clar-bear?" Katy's voice was unusually soft as she glanced at her friend through the rearview mirror. Her seat was made special so she could even reach the pedals, let alone see over the dashboard.
"Mm?" She pulled off a lace choker. A little golden bell jingled. When did I even put this on?
"I saw your neck."
Clara should be panicked, but she'd drained up all her emotions at the club. All she thought was I'm glad she didn't see my side. "Oh, yeah."
"Is that all? 'Oh, yeah'?"
"I burned myself straightening my hair, Kat, so yeah, that's all." She hoped her friend could hear the eye roll in her voice, a tone used most often on her mother.
"Girl, don't give me that. You never straighten your hair," Katy snapped, not buying a word. "Not since you fried it and had to cut half of it off in ninth grade."
"Well, maybe I'm a little smarter than I was back then!" Clara retorted. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling out when she quickly reached knots, and tying it into a quick ponytail. "Look, I'm grateful you distracted me or whatever, but I'm way too old for this party crap now. I've got a house and a husband and kids who need me more than getting wasted in the back of some stupid downtown building."
"Come on, babe. Talk to me." Katy's voice was different now, pleading. "If something's goin' on with William…if he's hurting you…"
"He's not, okay? Just drop it."
"There's people that can help, you know. This woman came to my door the other day, handin' out flyers for a women's shelter with a hotline to call for help. The police have resources, too. They've got tools for you, Clar-bear."
"You mean tools to fix me?" She laughed bitterly. "Just 'cause you don't know what a relationship looks like doesn't mean you have to take it out on me. I mean, it's embarrassing at this point. You have a daughter, for God's sake, and you skip out on her every chance you get! And for what? To make out with some sleazeball who wouldn't give you the time of day had you been wearing more than an inch of clothing?" Clara gave her a disdainful once-over. "William was right. You are a slut."
Katy's features morphed and hardened into clay. Her knuckles went white on the steering wheel. "Get out."
"What? It's all true, and you know it." Clara scoffed, stabbing the door lock with her thumb.
"I told you to get out."
"Like I care." She hauled herself out of the vehicle, swaying. "Call me when you stop being such a loser."
"Call me when you quit defending a man who's trying to kill you," Katy hissed.
"Better than whatever the hell train wreck you've got going on. Stop trying to screw over my life and get one of your own." With that, Clara tossed her hair over her shoulder and stomped up the hill, fuming. She didn't turn back when she heard the engine roar out of her street.
She stormed through the door and headed for the bathroom. Upstairs, she could hear the muffled noises of some TV show coming from Michael's room.
Throwing her clothes into the hamper, she cranked the shower to the third hottest setting and grabbed her anti-frizz shampoo and silk-infused hair mask and curl-safe conditioner. She got it wet first, which took ages because of her 3-B-type hair. Then she lathered shampoo into white froth in her palms and began to rub it all over her scalp. She went to get her mask when she froze.
There was a massive clump of light hair stuck to her hand.
Experimentally, she tugged at the nape of her neck and the hair came off as easily as if she'd cut it.
Her heart pounded. She felt dizzy. It wasn't the vanity of it that concerned her, really, it was more what she associated hair loss with. Cancer patients and hundred-year-olds, for one. Corpses, for another.
As gently as she could, she added conditioner and rinsed, but when she was finished she had long ginger hairs all over her like a fox had slept there. Clara grabbed two towels and wrapped her hair up in one and tied the other around her dripping self, then swished open the shower curtain.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she crashed right into William. "Oh my gosh—you creep! What is wrong with you?!"
He ignored her. "Your fucking hair is falling out."
"Uh, yeah." She tightened the towel around herself, her heart still on hyperspeed. "Maybe it's from all the stress."
He still ignored her. "Where in the bloody hell have you been? It's well past dinner. The kids are starving."
"The kids know how to make their own freaking dinner." Stepping forward, she tugged on his forearm, hard from years of metalwork.
"You aren't going anywhere until you tell me what you've been doing."
"None'uv your business," Clara said coyly. She crossed her arms, jutting out her hip, and stared right at him, daring him to do something. Anything.
"It is, actually. I'm your husband."
"Ooh, angry. What're you gonna do? Hit me?" She narrowed her eyes. "Too damn late. Now get out of my way."
Suddenly, her stomach lurched. No, not now!
William stared at her icily. "If you're going to vomit, vomit in the toilet, please."
Clara wanted to object, but then she felt another roll and was flinging herself on her knees, throwing up into the porcelain bowl. She'd been in this position—hurling into a toilet with William standing above her—three times before. Those times she was pregnant or feeling ill, and he'd bring her medicine and a hot water bottle and hold her curls out of her face and clean her up when she was done. This time he just watched with an unreadable expression, and when she was done he slammed her forehead onto the seat and left so quickly the only reminder she had of him was an apricot-sized lump above her eyebrows. He didn't even shut the door.
Clara changed into black short shorts and a faded gray T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. It read Dance Dance Dance! in bubblegum-pink. She wanted to curl up into a hole and die. Why was it so humiliating to crawl back into their bed after a fight? It was like admitting that he could do whatever he pleased and she'd always come back with her tail between her legs like the spineless coward she was.
And that's what she did, climbing into her bed, curls somehow dry and greasy at the same time, eyes shadowed with bags and falling asleep in mere seconds.
~lll~
She woke up to the pleasant sound of footsteps in the hallway and shouts from the kids. Grumbling, she rolled over to check the time. Almost noon, meaning that despite her mental turmoil, she'd gotten a good thirteen hours of sleep. At least that's something.
Clara shifted, trying to get up, before an arm circled her waist and tugged her back. She yelped and dug her elbow sharply into the ribs of whoever was grabbing her.
"Owww," William mumbled into her shoulder. "Don' hurt me."
Knowing that it was him did nothing to ease her discomfort. "Don't scare me."
"Sorry. Went here after you were asleep. S' comfier in here than on the couch."
"You should've stayed there."
"Can it, woman. I thought you liked mornings, what are you so knackered up for?" When she didn't respond, he held her tighter, moving his lips to her neck so he could hear how quick her pulse was. Then he pressed a kiss to her throat, and finally she squirmed away to the edge of the bed.
"No, no, no. I'm—I'm not in the mood." She hugged herself, looking anywhere but right at him.
All of a sudden, a pillow hit her in the face, though she flinched like it was a sack of rocks. "You're no fun," William muttered. "What's the matter with you, anyway?"
"You bashed my head into a toilet seat last night," Clara snapped. "It's kind of a turnoff."
"Oh, I forgot about that. Your bruises are always so small," William replied lightly, and she could hear the rustling of clothes. "It's your turn to pick up groceries since I had to miss the last two weeks."
"Is that all?"
"Think so. Unless the kids need something." The rustling stopped. "I'd fancy one of those bacon-and-cheese wraps that come in a container if they have—"
Dumbfounded at his ignorance, she interrupted. "I don't want this to be routine, Will. I don't want you to disappear for days, ignore me and the kids, hurt me when I get upset, and then get all clingy and say sorry the day after. You haven't even said sorry yet!"
"Sorry," he said, sounding bored.
Clara rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She pulled the pillow to her chest, hugging it like a teddy to a child.
"Don't just lie there. Get shopping. Michael was whinging my ear off about how Evan keeps passing out because they haven't eaten in eight days and it's starting to irritate me."
"That's your problem, not mine. You're never here to get them food. It's wasted money."
He leaned over and shoved her off the bed.
Clara stood up with a start, open-mouthed. "Hey!"
"Since you're off the bed already, mind getting groceries?"
"Fine." She tugged off her shorts and replaced them with crumpled yoga pants. "I'll buy the stupid groceries and your stupid bacon wrap."
"Have a stupid time," William enthused.
As Clara walked out of the bedroom, feeling the ache of bumps and bruises, she had a sudden burst of clarity.
I have to kill William.
~lll~
No, it wasn't a drunk-thought or a hungover-thought or a sudden snap of her mind. It was a thought born of complete sobriety and carefully nurtured every time she looked in a mirror and saw the light green or red marks all over her body. She'd killed someone before, what would one more do?
It was a thought she turned over while purchasing cans of soup and cartons of milk and bags of bread and…liquor.
Clara mulled over corrosives and explosives. She chugged down poison and arson and imagined carving his heart out, dripping with golden whiskey.
Footsteps sounded on the carpet outside. It couldn't be William since they were too light, so it must be one of the kids. She had the curtains drawn in her room while collapsed on the floor against the lounge chair, staring dully at the ceiling with her head swimming. Bottles and cans, some empty, some not, were spilled all around her. The ivory carpet would be stained for a while, she faintly recognized, but it wasn't important. Nothing was important right now.
More footsteps, then a slamming noise and a muffled screaming, until all three kids burst through the door. She groaned, shielding her eyes from the light.
"MUM! Michael HIT me!" Evan wailed, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
She heard Michael smack him on the arm. "No I didn't, you mental patient!"
"You just did it aga-a-ain!"
The door slammed, and Elizabeth's voice sounded. "We hafta shut the door! Daddy's working, 'member?"
Clara hesitantly opened her eyes, letting them adjust back to the darkness. Michael and Evan were glaring daggers at each other, and Elizabeth was crawling around them on her hands and knees like a puppy.
Evan glanced over at her, then began to sob again. "Oh no! We woke Mum up!"
"You mean you did, airhead. Barging in here crying like a baby about me hitting you," Michael scoffed.
"Why did Mummy drink all our apple juice?" Elizabeth asked, sniffing a yellow patch on the carpet.
"Huh?" Michael frowned. "We don't buy apple juice. Father's allergic."
Elizabeth poked at the stain. "Then I guess someone peed. And it's not me, cos I got potty trained years ago, so it's prolly Evan."
"NO!" Evan screeched. "It wasn't me! There's a whole big mess of cans everywhere. It is apple juice, see? See?"
Michael clenched his jaw as he scanned the floor, nodding. Clara figured it should probably disturb her how quickly he could recognize alcohol, but she really didn't care in that moment. "Yeah, dork, I see. Look, I think you guys should leave. Go play outside or whatever."
"It's hot out," Elizabeth complained. "I want Mummy to do my hair. I brought elastics n' everything."
He shook his head. "Lizzy, I don't think she's in the mood."
"Daddy never wants to do my hair," she continued, flopping down onto a wet spot. "He never wants to do anything with me."
"Well, go see if Father wants to right now."
"Gonna kill him," Clara found herself mumbling, her brain-to-mouth filter gone.
Michael's brow creased. "What did she say?"
"She said she's gonna kill Daddy!" Elizabeth crowed, rolling around on the floor.
"She can't do that, can she?" Evan worried. "It's illegal!"
"Of course, she's not going to, moron."
"Don't call me that! I was just asking!" His voice cracked, and more tears slid down his chubby cheeks.
"Shut up! You're such a faker!" Michael snapped. He shoved him, hard, and Evan fell into the dresser with a shout.
"Just like him," Clara slurred. "You're just like your daddy."
"What's Mum talking about?" Evan whined, rubbing his arm. "And don't shove me!"
"Oh, he doesn't care. Do you, Mikey? You don't care at all." She stood up on shaky legs and clutched the side of the chair for support, pointing a trembling finger at her oldest. "You like it when they cry, so you're not gonna stop. You get that from him."
"Why's she talking funny, Mikey?" Elizabeth's gaze flickered between her brother and her mother. "Is she sick?"
"Something like that. Look, Ev, I'm sorry. I shouldn't've pushed you."
" I'm sorry," Clara mimicked, taking a step forward. "Don't listen to him, Evan. He's jus' saying that 'cause he knows you'll give in. And then you'll cry." Did she already say that? She couldn't remember.
"I'm not going to cry," Evan murmured, voice wobbling.
"Yes you will. I know you will. You're a little crybaby, aren't you?" A slow smile turned up the corners of her lips. "Go ahead and cry. See where you end up. See the kinda people you'll attract. See the kinda hell God will punish you with. You're welcome, baby. You get that from me."
Michael's eyes brimmed with rage. "Ev, Liz, go outside. Now."
Elizabeth pouted and crawled over to him, sitting on her knees. "Why me? I'm not a crybaby."
"Because you'll catch her sickness," Michael ordered impatiently, glancing back and forth from her to his siblings. There was fear in his eyes when he looked at Clara. She'd never had that effect on someone before.
"No! I wanna stay with Mummy! I want her to do my hair in five big braids!" She speed-crawled over to Clara surprisingly quickly and dumped a handful of rainbow elastics into her lap before suctioning herself to her calf. "Do my hair, Mummy. Do it now!"
"Your voice is so annoying." Clara's voice was barely an echo. "I can see why your daddy doesn't love you."
Elizabeth recoiled as if she'd been struck. "He does so! Daddy loves me!"
"He wishes you weren't born," Clara hissed. "He wanted a daughter, not a mayfly. Whining all day, all night. No wonder he's never been proud of you. You don't' deserve it."
"Daddy loves me," Elizabeth said again, breathing fast. "He loves me, right? He's proud of me."
Clara grinned hazily. "Course he doesn't. You look too much like me." The world was starting to get sharper now, clearer. "You want him to love you, huh? You want me to show you how he loves me?" She was as sure-footed as a mountain goat as she advanced, one hand raised.
"Elizabeth, get the hell out," Michael snarled. "Both of you. Don't get Father, just go. I'll find you later." He stood in front of the youngest two as they hid, trembling.
"Don't go," Clara cooed, voice sweet as wild clover. "I'm just tryna show you something. Come closer, Bethy, lemme give you a secret."
"Daddy loves me," Elizabeth whimpered to herself, almost hysterically.
Michael stepped forward, one arm cast over his sister, using his extra inch as an advantage. His voice was soft when he spoke. "If you touch them, I swear to God I will make you regret it."
She grinned huskily, breathing hard, knowing that it reeked of cheap beer. "You go right ahead, baby, go right ahead." Laughter bubbled up in her chest like carbon fizz, high and hysterical, and she couldn't even stop it if she tried. Gasping, she managed to speak. "Had—it—all—before."
Michael stared down at her as her shoulders shook, jaw clenched, and for a moment she thought he really was going to do something awful. But then he just shook his head with disgust, tugging at his hair so hard she thought it would come out, and left the room, motioning for his siblings to follow.
Clara stood there laughing for a long time after that.
~lll~
"But WHY can't I come with youuu?!"
Clara's head throbbed like a drumstick was bashing it in. She couldn't tell if it was from the drinks or Elizabeth's howling in the backseat. Maybe a combination of both.
"Sweetheart, I have to get to the pizzeria for work and your mother has to go grocery shopping since she did a shoddy job last time. You must go with her. It's not an option. You already knew this." William stated calmly, trying to quiet her down.
"I hate Mummy! I wanna stay with you!"
"That's not a very nice thing to say to your mother, is it? She works very hard keeping the house tidy and meals on the plate."
"She's mean mean mean! I wanna go to the pizzeria!" Elizabeth sobbed, kicking the back of her seat. Every jolt was like a knife through her skull.
"Mum, can I please go with Dad today?" Evan mumbled into his Fredbear plush. "Please?"
"Clara, your kids are talking to you," William said, nudging her.
Their voices sounded a million miles away. The streets blurred as they drove. Clara buried her head in her arms, wanting the world to go away.
"She can't hear you, Father, she's drunk." Michael snapped. "She's fucking always drunk."
"Please, Mum. If you let me go, I promise I'll be really quiet tonight." Evan begged. "I won't cry, promise. I'll make dinners and clean the house so you don't have to."
"Don't clean my room," Elizabeth retorted. "My room is perfect."
"Your room is messy."
"No it's NOT!" She hit him in the face.
Evan let out a scream, clutching his cheek. "You hit me!"
"Michael did it!"
"No, he didn't!"
"Shut up!" She lowered her voice. "I could tear out your throat with my teeth if I wanted to."
Clara lifted her head up from her arms. Her and William gave each other a look.
"I'm just like my daddy," she continued, glancing quickly at her father. "Whatever that meant."
"Mu-u-um, my face hurts," Evan hiccuped. "Please can I go with Dad."
William shook his head. "You have to do things with your mother. Bonding time, yeah?" He was so good at hiding his true feelings, Clara couldn't tell if he was really trying to get them to spend time with her or not.
The younger two wailed harder.
"Oh, for God's sake, William! Just let the kids go with you if it's that big of a deal." Clara snapped. "At least it'll help my headache."
"Why does your head hurt?" Elizabeth whined as she kicked the seat and pounded on her chair. It was like she was trying to make the biggest racket possible just to spite her. In hindsight, she probably was.
"Take a wild guess, you mayfly."
Elizabeth stopped fidgeting immediately, her eyes suddenly glazed over. "Daddy loves me."
"Well, Clary, only if you're sure," William purred, as if he was so terribly freaking sad she wasn't taking the kids. "It seems they'll have to come with me."
"Yay!" The kids cheered.
She ended up falling asleep in the car, dreaming of blowing her husband's brains out.
Most girls would have settled for sugarplums.
~lll~
Tonight's the night.
Clara fluffed up her ginger curls, smoothing out the wrinkles in her yellow-green dress. The same one she'd worn to that ill-fated ball from hell. Shimmering on her collarbones were string of pearls William had bought as a present, her hair tied up in a princess bun. And really, she felt like one too. Or both, a princess and a present. But her favourite accessory of all was the thick leather leg garter, tight on her thigh, which held a wicked silver knife. She traced it with her fingertips, feeling giddy.
Tonight's the night I kill William.
She knew the kids were all upstairs and busy in Michael's room from the muffled sounds of Just Dance and the giggles blasting through the door. That left her the whole first floor to herself. She had the tools to clean up and package him ready to go, and the keys were in the car. Everything, every little detail had been meticulously plotted out and storyboarded by her. Clara just hoped she was sexy enough to lure him in.
She allowed herself to giggle a little at the ridiculousness of it all, before inhaling deeply and leaving her room.
"William?" Clara called, stalking down the stairs.
A moment, then: "Mm?"
"William, I have something to show you." She kept her voice low, mysterious. "Come to the stairs."
"Alright. Let me finish this sandwich Elizabeth made me. Tastes like nuclear waste."
Clara figured she could make a joke there, but kept quiet. She heard the chair screech, the sound of shoes on the floorboards. Steadying her breath, she leaned against the bannister for support.
William appeared, dressed in his work clothes—a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, a black vest, satin purple tie and black dress pants. His black hair was styled neatly, and she noticed for the first time that he'd been growing it out, tufts of hair growing just past his ears. He blinked at her questioningly, eyes raking over her outfit. "What's all this, then?"
Instead of answering, she snatched his tie and pressed him against the wall, hand on his chest. She stood up on her toes. "Took you long enough."
"I'm regretting it now, believe me," he uttered, sliding a hand down her arm. They were so close that their breaths mingled. Now or never. Clara kept her eyes trained on him, reaching down subtlety to grip the handle.
In an instant, William spun her around so she was pinned to the wall instead. He reached into the slit of her dress, unsheathed the dagger, and stabbed it into the wall inches from her head. Leaning down, he whispered teasingly into her ear. "Why do you always have to kill the mood?"
Her stomach flipped, and she squeezed her eyes shut, letting her head hang. Oh, God, please help me.
William's other hand locked under her chin, pulling her up roughly to study her. "Feisty little thing," he murmured, almost gently. "I'll admit, I should've seen this coming. You're more like me than I'd imagined."
Clara opened her eyes and wished she didn't when she saw the hungry look in his eyes. It was the sort of look someone would have when looking at their favourite food. Like he was the hunter, she was the prey. Like she was a bunny looking up at a ravenous mountain lion, like he was staring at his next meal. "Please," she managed. "Please don't hurt me."
"Poor thing," he crooned, tracing her jaw with something cold. She realized, with a stroke of terror, that it was the knife. "The thing is, I'm going to, whether you like it or not."
Her voice cracked. "You're supposed to love me."
"You're supposed to love me too, but then you come in with this?" He held up the knife with a confused look, like he'd just realized it was there. "Makes me feel unwanted."
Clara knew what the easy way would be. She knew all the steps to the dance they did. He'd cut her, she'd cry, he'd apologize and dress her wounds, they'd have a little honeymoon stage, he'd leave for days and the cycle would repeat. At least she'd still have him. But he'd hurt her body more times than he'd kissed it. And she knew then, with sudden clarity, that she didn't want to dance any more.
She wrenched away from his grip on her chin. "I want a divorce."
William's mouth was open, and she realized she'd cut him off. Something shadowy entered his eyes. "What did you say?"
"I said, I want a divorce. I'm not some toy you can throw around and expect to be fixed. I'm done, William."
It was like the sky had been lifted off her shoulders. Her words seemed to have taken him by surprise as he stood there, knife raised and expression unmoving.
"Well then," he finally said, and dread filled every pore when he pulled a pair of blue surgical gloves out of his pocket. "I suppose this is goodbye."
"William," she whispered, heart pounding. Her face went whiter when she remembered that she'd set out the tools to clean up and package a body just minutes ago. "What are you doing?"
"Till death do us part, right?" A slow, manic grin stretched across his face as he pulled on the first glove. "That's what our vows said."
"They did, didn't they," she muttered. She turned up her head to look at him. "I suppose we'll be parting."
He seemed amused. "I suppose so."
Clara nodded, and then brought her knee up between his legs.
He let out a roar of pain, falling to the hard floor and sending the knife sliding. She hiked her dress up and dove for it on her hands and knees, but William was too quick, pushing her to the ground and climbing on top of her, holding her there by his thighs with a grunt. "Don't even think about it, you witch."
Clara scrabbled with her nails like a cat held by its scruff, stretching her tendons as far as they could go. She'd grab the knife and just stab behind her until she hit something, but she couldn't let him get it.
Suddenly, she heard a sound that made the both of them stop. "Mummy?"
They both whirled around to see Michael and Elizabeth standing, frozen and wide-eyed, on the bottom step. Michael's gaze went from them, to the knife, and back again. Her heart sank when she realized her fingertips were just barely touching the handle. "Michael, I—"
In an instant, her oldest was in front of her, yanking the knife from her grasp and holding it up, face twisted in disbelief. "What the hell."
"Your mum had a bit too much to drink," William said, sugary and saccharin. He was still sitting on her back. "I think she's trying to kill me."
"You said she wouldn't try, Mikey." Elizabeth's voice wobbled, flickering between her brother and mother. "Mummy, please don't kill Daddy."
"I'm not trying to," she groaned. He was as heavy as he looked. "He started it. He's a psychopath, baby, don't listen to him."
William shook his head, tsking as if he was disappointed, then lowered his tone as he looked up at his son. "Take Elizabeth, Evan too if he's still in, and get out of here. Don't call the police. I can handle her."
Michael obeyed, hoisting his silent sister into his arms and carrying her outside, slamming the door. He didn't say a word. Maybe he was in shock. Clara wouldn't blame him.
"Now then. Where were we?" The words were dark, biting and sultry around the edges as he whispered them hot into her ear.
"I was kicking your butt," she retorted, trying and failing to slither away.
"It's adorable that you think you can kill me," he continued. She could hear the cocky smirk in his voice. "What're you going to do, huh? Give me an allergic reaction? Force-feed me apples like I'm a stuffed pig?"
"Wouldn't be too far off," Clara huffed. "You're freaking heavy."
He ran a finger down her spine, light as a feather. "Maybe. You're so fragile. I could break you like that."
She took that opportunity of weakness to squirm out, bouncing to the balls of her feet, scanning the room for something she could use to defend herself. Clara settled on a pretty Victorian vase he'd given her for their fifth anniversary, sweeping it off the coffee table and letting it shatter.
She grabbed a shard. Hesitated.
William snatched one too. Didn't.
He sliced a long strip lengthwise down her leg. It felt like liquid fire was running down it. Crying out, she brought her porcelain down wherever she could, which ended up on his shoulder, piercing through clothes and flesh. She did it again, and again. William's body twitched, groaning under his breath, but managed to dodge out of her reach. She'd missed.
Eyes welling up with tears, she saw the blood coming out of her leg in little beads first, then lots and lots more. Crimson stained William's white shirt. She supposed it was poetic that something like the vase, used to display love, was now being used for such hate. But in the moment, blood was never poetic. It was just red.
"It's okay, my darling," William breathed, hoisting himself up from the floor. "My love. Let me take care of you. I'll be real gentle, just relax and let me cut you a slice."
Clara watched him with liquid green pools, panting hard. They were both dishevelled and bloody, feral expressions on their faces and holding their shards in front of them.
It was a stalemate.
Her gaze darted to the door to try and get out, but he caught it and moved his large frame over to block it. Malice swirled across his face as he stared at her, unmoving, rambling nonsense under his breath. Maybe even he couldn't understand it. Silver-tongued and silver-eyed.
"I still want a divorce," she tried.
He snapped out of his trance and barked a laugh. "Funny girl. That's why I married you, Clary-bell. Beautifully macabre."
Clara didn't know what that last word meant. "William?"
"Mm?"
"Do you regret marrying me?"
"Hmm." He paused, tapping the shard twice to his chin as if stroking an imaginary beard. "In hindsight, I might've picked someone a little less murderous."
Psycho-tongued and psycho-eyed.
"Yeah?" Clara smirked. "Ditto."
With that, she pulled the paperweight she'd been concealing behind her back out and thrusted it towards the large bay window with every last bit of strength. It smashed open, scattering glass across the carpet.
She didn't hesitate, dashing over to the window, climbing on top of the couch and scrambling through. The edges cut her arms into ribbons but she stuffed the pain down. Clara kicked off her shoes and threw them into a bush somewhere, bare feet slapping against the cobblestone path. She ran and ran until she slammed up against the car. Yanking open the door, she twisted the keys into the ignition and roared the car to life, not wasting a second and speeding down the road. She checked her rearview mirror in case William was following, on foot or using the other car, but nothing was there but trees and the cold night sky.
I still want a divorce.
~lll~
Clara thought after escaping the house that William was the person she hated most in the world.
That was before she met their divorce counselor.
"So you were drunk that night," she concluded, nasally voice grating in her last nerve.
"For the last time, no, I was not." Her cheeks ached with how hard she was fake smiling. "I was drinking the night before, however I did not drink that night."
"Mummy drank the juice in the morning," Elizabeth piped up from the floor where she was making two dolls kiss each other rather furiously. The other two kids were seated beside the counselor, William and Clara facing them opposite the room.
"Bethy, baby, that was just orange juice to help with my headache."
"Was it?" Michael asked snarkily, crossing both his arms and legs.
It was getting hard to resist screaming at everyone in the room. "Yes, love, of course it was."
"Whitney, was it?" William asked the counselor, his voice deep and gravelly and very very seductive. He was damn good at charming people, that was for sure. His tone was almost affecting her. "May I just say you have the most dazzling eyes I have ever seen."
"They're brown," Clara snapped, agitated. "They're just regular boring brown. And her name is Pauline. It's not even close."
The counselor looked hurt. "Let's not be jealous, Clara."
"Yes, Clara, let's not be jealous of this utterly…gorgeous woman here." His grin to her was wolfish. Even after knowing him for so long, his sharpened teeth always unsettled her.
The counselor folded her hands in her lap. "Now that we've settled on this drinking problem of yours—"
"Hang on." Clara held up her hand. "Drinking problem? I think you're mistaken."
The woman shook her head with a grin so smug Clara wanted to tear it off her face. "I'm afraid not. Based off what your husband—sorry, ex-husband and children have told me, you've got quite the addiction to alcoholic beverages."
She snorted. "I do not."
"You were drinking a lotta jui—"
Clara cut her daughter off. "Quiet, Beth."
"Let the child talk," the counselor retorted sharply.
She whirled around. "What do you know, huh?"
"With all due respect, your choices while under the influence have seriously traumatized these poor children."
"Oh, please, they're overreacting."
"Mayfly," Michael stated.
Elizabeth's posture straightened, the doll falling from her hands. "Daddy loves me."
Her eldest glared daggers at her. "See? You've given her some sort of nervous tic."
The counselor clicked her tongue. "Not to mention you tried to," she lowered her voice as if her children were eggshells that would shatter if they got even a little frightened, " kill William."
William shook his head. "I'm still not over that. I'm having nightmares, Whitney. I've been waking up, sweating, every night since. You know, I've started to sleep without a shirt on."
Clara face-palmed when the counselor flushed red, imagination surely running rampant. "Oh, for crying out loud."
"W-well, maybe we should focus on you for now. Clara, we all know about your abusive tendencies. Does William have any?"
She chuckled. "Where do I start?"
"Yes, where do you start?" William inquired, leaning back in his chair. "Really, I'd like to hear this."
"Well, he's been hitting me for months now," Clara began, "and he gave me this cut right here."
She pulled up the skirt of the black bodycon dress she was wearing under a silver cardigan, but the counselor slapped her hand away. "You're going to strip in front of your own children?!"
"You dirty woman, what on earth do you think I'm doing?" She hissed, fuming. "And don't you dare touch me. I'm just trying to show you this cut he—"
"I think we've heard enough out of you," William interrupted.
"Quite right," the counselor huffed, turning up her nose like she was a pile of slimy fish guts.
Clara's mouth fell open. "So it's okay for him to interrupt me, but I can't do it to him?"
"Don't be immature."
"Yes, Clary, don't be immature." William taunted. Mirth danced in his silver eyes. She could smell how much he was enjoying her suffering. Freaking sadist.
"You like making fun of me, huh?" Clara hissed. "You want me to get upset and start crying? You're a psychopath."
"She keeps calling me this," William said to the counselor as if she couldn't understand English, rolling his eyes like she was a joke.
Something sparked in her boring brown eyes. "That's interesting, William."
"It is?" The ex-couple said at the same time.
"Yes, it is. Tell me, William, have you ever felt fear?"
"What?" He laughed a little. "That's nonsense. I just explained how I have these nightmares where this one's stabbing me, and that's why I have to—"
"Sleep with your shirt off," Clara droned. "Oh no, I interrupted. My condolences."
"Clara, is William a good liar?" The counselor asked.
"Uh, yeah. He's lying to you right now."
She scratched something down on her pad of paper. "William, how were you in school? Did you follow the rules? Get along with the teachers?"
"Yes. I was a good student."
"Hardly," Clara countered. "You got good grades, sure, but all the teachers notoriously hated you 'cause you were such a smart-alek. You got one fired after provoking him so much he threatened to stuff you with sleeping pills and toss you in the river."
"I don't seem to recall that."
"We were talking about it a month ago. The teacher is homeless now. You found it hilarious."
He shot her a glare.
The counselor wrote something else down. "Has William ever used violence on someone who couldn't fight back? People, animals, anything like that?"
He started to object, but Clara butted in. "His younger brother over in England told me he used to take birds and bash in their heads with rocks."
Evan, who'd been silent for weeks since she'd escaped, made a muffled crying sound and hid his face in his golden Fredbear plushie, blinking his watery blue eyes.
"Let's not traumatize them any further, Clara." The counselor said. She was trying to sound stern, but Clara could tell she appreciated the information.
"I don't seem to recall this either," William snapped. "She's not telling the truth. She's probably drunk right now."
"We took a highly accurate test before she was questioned, William."
"Whatever. Look, I'm not lying. Can't you make me take another lie detector test? I took one of 'em earlier."
She shook her head. "My apologies, but from what I'm gathering, those won't work on you, anyways."
"I think he knew that before he took it," Clara muttered.
The counselor wrote a few more things down, then ripped off the page. "Now, I've been a registered psychologist for ten years, so I'm qualified to say this. What I'm seeing in front of me is someone with clinical ASPD."
"A-S-P- what?" William snapped. "What language is that?"
"It stands for antisocial personality disorder," the counselor supplied. "You're the right age for it, and all the things Clara has told me seem to match up."
He shook his head. "I'm still not following."
"She means you're a psychopath, William." Clara giggled. The blood-boiling look on his face at not being able to slap her made her understand how lovely he must feel when he saw her in pain.
The counselor went on to explain what it meant to have it, how he lacked empathy and guilt and fear and he could be impulsive and blah, blah, blah, all of that was stuff she'd figured out years ago on her own. What did pique her interest, though, was when she started talking about medication.
"I think it would be healthy for you to start taking this prescription twice every day."
She slid a sheet of paper over to William, who scanned it skeptically. "Antipsychotics? Mood stabilizers? What am I, a lab rat?"
"Sure look like one," Clara mumbled under her breath.
"They'll control any impulsive or violent urges you might be having." She stretched out an arm, placing her hand on top of his. "It's not your fault, William. It's just the chemistry of your brain."
"Hold on," Clara was starting to see what she was getting at. "You're trying to tell me that all the abuse I went through was 'cause of some stupid mental illness?"
"Exactly."
"Exactly, Clary."
"Shut up, William, I wasn't talking to you. And ma'am, that's a ridiculous thing to say, especially for a so-called psychologist. If a person with an anxiety disorder consciously runs over a group of people, is it their fault?"
"Depends on how you define consciousness, so no, it wouldn't be their fault"
Clara shook her head, pulling her tongue over her teeth. "This is crazy."
"Like me, apparently," he whispered, so quiet only she could hear him. "Guess I get the excuse of insanity, eh?"
"This is hardly a new discovery," she hissed back.
"If I may ask, is the quiet one autistic?" The counselor pointed to Evan.
"Great, now she's diagnosing our kids." Clara sighed. "No, no he isn't. He just stops talking sometimes."
"You mean he goes non-verbal."
"Whatever. It's just his thing. Kids have things. Is this your way of saying you have no children?"
"None of your business," the other woman snapped coldly.
"Or a boyfriend," she continued, grinning at her furious expression. Now who's the sadist? She scolded herself.
William's mouth dropped open. "Clara, of course she's got one. She's probably got suitors fawning all over. I mean, just look at her."
Clara did. "Sad."
The counselor seemed to have had enough, and she clapped her hands. "Well, enough beating around the bush. We have to figure out which parents each child wants to stay with.
Clara's blood turned to ice. "Excuse me? I thought children of divorce went with their mothers."
"Don't be sexist, Clary," William trilled. "It's a modern world out there."
"They typically do, yes, but in most cases it's the father that's the problem, not the mother. In this situation, the kids get to decide." She fixed her with a pitying look that made Clara want to claw her throat out. "So sorry."
The parents both turned to their children.
"Where do you want to go, Mikey?" Elizabeth asked, crawling into his lap.
Michael stroked his sister's hair, his typically scornful expression uncharacteristically soft. "Whatever you choose, I'll be with you, Lizzy. I know you need me."
"Mm-kay." She thought for a beat, then said what the whole family knew she would say. "I wanna go with Daddy."
"Thought so. Then I guess I'm going with Father, too."
"No," Clara heard herself say. "You can't go with him. You can't."
Michael rolled his eyes. "It's better than living with an alcoholic control freak. Plus, Father's actually cool."
"Please. You just like him because he's never around and you get to drink his booze and smoke cigarettes with your junkie friends without anyone to tell you what to do."
Michael's face went red. "Th-that's not true, shut up."
"Looks like someone didn't inherit the asparagus person disorder lying skills," William mumbled into her ear.
That just left one kid. Clara felt a stroke of relief. Evan. Evan was like her if she'd been born a boy. Soft, smart, kind of a pushover, with more freckles than the eye could count. At least she'd have one kid, one beautiful son to raise and grow and confide in.
"Do you want to speak, Evan?" The counselor prodded. He shook his head indignantly, and she turned to the others. "Can one of you make him speak?"
"He doesn't feel like talking," Michael snapped. "Leave him alone. Evan can point at whoever he wants to go with, he's not that dumb."
Evan blinked gratefully at his older brother, and Clara felt a spark of pride at how well she'd raised her children.
Unlike the others, Evan didn't even need a moment to think. He pointed straight at William.
William.
William chuckled. He freaking chuckled as he was handed some stupid goddamn papers and signed his name on the custody line and now the kids were all his, none hers.
Clara felt like she was going to throw up. She stood up, pointing an accusatory finger at William. "Is this some kind of game to you? Are you just going to take my house, my car, my kids, my life away from me and laugh like it's some kind of joke? Like I'm some kind of joke?"
"She's having another one of her breakdowns," William sighed. "Maybe she needs antipsychotics."
She whirled around. "Evan, baby, don't do this. You're just like me. Elizabeth looks like me. Michael protects you like me. You're all like me, and you're all going to get hurt." She was begging now, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Please. Children belong with their mothers."
"Don't be sexist, Clary," William repeated.
Clara whirled around, face twisted in rage. " Shut up!" She roared. "For once in your miserable life be a human being and shut up! You're taking them away!" She was on her knees now. Evan and Elizabeth were clinging to Michael, terrified. Of me? Clara reached her up to hold Evan's shivering hand. He jerked away, pupils blown wide.
Something snapped in her mind and she snatched him out of Michael's arms, holding him to her chest, squeezing too tight and ignoring his cries. She'd take him and run away. They couldn't catch her. They'd never catch her.
"Don't touch him!" Both Michael and the counselor cried, the former leaping from his seat.
"Get away!" She kicked out at them like a rabid animal. The counselor was talking fast into a walkie-talkie. Evan was hitting her with his fists but it barely did anything.
The taser, on the other hand, did do something.
At least she'd get visitation rights.
A/N
Ok this was tricky to write for like…obvious reasons. I hope it was good it took me a month to write.
ERM MIGHTVE ALSO STOLEN ONE LINE FROM A CRINGEY TIKTOK POV. up to you to solve it….
AND OK SO WHEN IM WRITING THEIR DIALOGUE I TRY AND MAKE IT REALISTIC RIGHT BUT I DONT WANNA SWEAR ALOT MAN IM TRYING TO CUT DOWN ON IT…………..
Sorry for yelling I actually didn't mean to have caps on LMAO It's so funny because I literally NEVER swear and yet I keep making these guys say naughty words I gotta stop y'all
Question/Challenge: Go watch a nature documentary! I watched one about big cats and it was very funny. Plus you'll probably need something to cheer you up after this, I know I do.
~ghost