“Alicia,” Dr. Mallory said. “Let Beth speak. You’ll get your turn soon enough.”
“I don’t need a turn,” she mouthed off. “I’m just saying…the idiot always thinks something’s wrong with her.”
“No name calling, Alicia.” Dr. Mallory rubbed his temple. “You know the rules.”
“But there is something wrong this time,” Beth whined.
“And what do you think is wrong with you?” Dr. Mallory was all patience and mock concern.
For some reason, Beth’s gaze darted to Clara before landing back on the doctor. “Well, I’ve been feeling dizzy and nauseous lately. I’m pretty sure I’m getting the flu…just like the others.”
“Alright, Beth, why don’t you go see Nurse Hadly after our session today…how does that sound? I’m sure she can give you something that’ll make you feel better.”
Everyone but Beth knew it wasn’t flu meds Dr. Hadly would administer to her.
As they continued around the room, checking in about their day and how they were doing since their last session a week before, Samantha chimed in. She was a short, gangly young woman with a bright smile but often down-trodden eyes. She told them about her sleepless nights, that her nightmares had been growing increasingly worse instead of getting better. It was nothing new.
And of course, when it was actually Alicia’s turn, she complained about everything that had irritated her during the last twenty-four hours. The list was very long and, though it included all the whining and commotion from some of the other patients getting sick, she complained most about the sound of the squeaking wheel on the laundry cart echoing through the hall at night when Devon was making his rounds.
“I don’t get any sleep because of it. Do you know what that does to my nerves? It’s like you people are trying to make me crazy. I can’t even eat without someone coughing on my food. Between all the crying and sniffling, it’s like I’m living with a bunch of goddamn kindergarteners.” Her eyes were wide and bloodshot, and Clara had half a mind to throw the water bottle sitting on the floor beside her chair at the woman’s gaunt face. Alicia was just as ridiculous as Beth, she was just too pissed off all the time to realize it. As the woman griped on, Clara thought of Joanna once more.
“Steven Quick,” Principal Sheppard called out. A scrawny, freckle-faced boy walked up to the gray-haired woman and accepted his middle school graduation certificate, smiling as he turned toward the photographer.
Clara stood in line, ecstatic that she was about to receive her own graduation certificate. After today, she would never have to set foot on her middle school campus again. And with any luck, Joanna would be going to a different high school, and Clara would never have to see the girl’s smug face again. Clara was actually proud of herself for making it through the school year relatively unscathed. She’d survived the most torturous years of her life—maybe not with as much dignity as she would’ve liked, but at least she’d survived.
“Anita Quincy,” the principal’s voice droned over the loudspeaker.
Clara allowed herself a satisfied grin. Anita’s dress wasn’t nearly as pretty as hers was. Clara’s mom had splurged and bought her a new summer dress to wear for the ceremony. Clara assumed it was because her mostly absent mom felt bad for not attending, but Clara hadn’t wanted her there anyway; she would only have been an added embarrassment. It was intimidating enough looking out at a sea of over a hundred faces—proud parents, older siblings, and beaming teachers. She didn’t want to see her mom’s face out there as well, pretending to be someone she wasn’t—a loving mother—when really she was the town whore.
“Oops,” Joanna said, bumping into Clara.
Clara turned around, the color draining from her face as she considered what scheme Joanna might try to play on their final day of school.
But to Clara’s surprise, Joanna offered her an apologetic smile and shrugged. “Sorry, I tripped.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed on her before she turned around. She hated the fact that the person she loathed most in the world had to stand beside her in the graduation line.
“Kevin Raymond,” the principal called.
Joanna tapped Clara’s shoulder. “Psst…”
Clara glanced behind her. “Leave me alone, Joanna.”
“Look…I just want to apologize for being so horrible to you this year,” she whispered. “I’ve been going through some crap at home and…well, the point is, I’m sorry.”
Clara searched Joanna’s eyes, waiting for the evil gleam to overshadow the unexpected softness.
“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Clara asked, skeptical and more hopeful than she knew was probably wise.
Joanna shrugged again. “I just don’t want to go into high school being enemies.” She smiled. “I guess I was sort of hoping we could be, you know, friends.” Joanna looked down at her feet then out at the crowd…anywhere but at Clara.
“Are you being serious?” Clara asked, turning around completely.
Joanna’s head cocked to the side. “Of course I am, silly.” She nudged Clara’s shoulder with her own. “Why would I go to all this trouble if I wasn’t?”
A tiny smile tugged at Clara’s lips, and she was just about to agree to be Joanna’s friend when she heard her name over the loudspeaker.
“Clara Reynolds.”
Beaming and filled with a new sense of hope, Clara stepped up to the hunched-over woman on the small, creaky stage. She barely registered the snickers behind her as she accepted her certificate. In twenty minutes, the years of hell Joanna had put her through would be a distant memory.
“Congratulations,” Principal Sheppard said. Clara gazed out at the sea of faces, realizing that some of the people in the crowd were wearing strange expressions.
“Oh dear,” Clara heard Principal Sheppard mutter as Clara registered the muffled laughter in the line of students waiting to walk across the stage. “Clara, dear,” Principal Sheppard took a step toward her and touched her shoulder. “You have”—she spun Clara around—“you have a sign on your back, dear…”
Horrified, Clara flailed, reaching for the sign Principal Sheppard was struggling to remove. Feeling the paper between her fingers, Clara ripped it off her back. With shaking hands she read the bold, black print.
MY MOM IS A POOR WHORE.
“Why the hell do you shake your head every time I open my mouth?” Alicia seethed as she stared, wide-eyed, at Clara.
Clara had toned out Alicia’s droning, so she had no clue what she’d missed, but the anger revived by her daydreamed recollection made it easy to answer. “Why are you always such a bitch?” The word slipped out of Clara’s mouth before she could stop it. Her shoulders sagged with regret. She knew a one-way yelling match would erupt as a result of her provocation, and her head hurt too much to listen to Alicia’s tirade about how everyone was against her, especially Clara.
“A bitch? At least I’m not delusional. You think you’re better than us, don’t you? You think I don’t see through those big blue eyes of yours? You think you’re entitled, and you have since you got here.” She paused, waiting for Clara to argue.
Clara raised her eyebrows, feigning boredom.
“You’re the most tragic out of all of us,” Alicia continued. “You think there’s nothing wrong with you, that you’re unjustly in here. Well, guess what? The judge ordered your admittance; at least we’re here willingly. We can admit we’re fucked up. And don’t think none of us haven’t noticed that you never have visitors, that no one cares that you’re in here.”
Clara tried to ignore Alicia’s derisive words, but the woman’s voice filled Clara’s head like acid, eroding her defenses. Her anger started taking over, creeping past her carefully constructed barricades and settling among the torrent of thoughts.
“…and all you do is sulk around and act superior to everyone else. You’re just as crazy as the rest of us. You’re even worse, because you think you’
re not crazy. I know I have problems; I know I need help. Why the fuck do you think I’m here? But you…you’re a psycho, a murd—”
Clara jolted up from her chair. “You want me to kill you, too?” She couldn’t help but lash back. The room fell silent and four sets of eyes settled on her. Clara might have at least been somewhat repentant had she not been too busy relishing the way the flush of anger was draining from Alicia’s face.
“Clara,” Dr. Mallory warned. “We don’t threaten each other. This is a safe space.”
Clara balked and turned to him. “Are you kidding me?” She pointed to Alicia, who was sitting back, quiet in her chair. “All she does is bully everyone, and you let her.”
His eyes narrowed. “Making generalized accusations isn’t fair either.”
“This is such a joke,” Clara muttered and plopped back down.
“Clara,” he said, exhaling heavily, “please…”
She rolled her eyes.
He ignored her. “It’s your turn to share today.” When he paused, she knew he was waiting for her to meet his eyes, but she refused. “Why don’t you tell us what you’ve learned since your admittance”—he scanned her file on his lap—“um…three months ago.”
Clara stared around at the three other women. Beth was watching her eagerly, interested to finally hear Clara’s story, just like they all had been since the moment she arrived at Pine Springs Hospital. Alicia had wanted to know Clara’s story so badly she’d started spreading stories throughout the ward, hoping Clara would refute them and tell everyone the truth.
Little did Alicia know that Clara preferred the whispered rumors over the truth. She liked that people thought she was crazy; she liked that they were scared of her. If the entire hospital thought she’d set her mom’s house on fire and that she’d enjoyed watching everyone inside burn to death, that was just fine with her. She wasn’t there to make friends, she was only there to serve her court-mandated time. When she had, she would walk away from all of them and never look back.
The doctor cleared his throat again, this time coughing before he said, “Clara…?”
“What?” She finally met his eyes.
“Start with what you’ve learned since coming to stay with us. What is it that you want for yourself? Share something with us, anyth—”
Suddenly, the door flew open, and Dr. Preston sauntered into the room. And like the flip of a switch, Dr. Mallory’s attention was no longer on Clara, but fixated on the six-foot tall brunette woman.
“We have a situation, Dr. Mallory. Can I interrupt your session for a moment?”
Dr. Mallory groaned as he rose from his chair, both hands clamped on the armrests for support. Unsteady, he followed her out of the room, grumbling something as he cleared his throat.
Beth leaned closer to Clara. “A ‘situation’?”
Clara ignored Beth and rubbed her hands over her face.
Beth continued to watch her, and Clara could tell questions were bouncing on the tip of her tongue, begging to be asked.
Clara sighed. “What?”
“Did you really set your parent’s house on fire?”
Clara’s eyes wandered to Beth’s. “No, I didn’t. In fact, there wasn’t even a fire.”
Beth looked relieved.
Clara narrowed her eyes. “You should know by now that everything out of Alicia’s mouth is a lie. Stop listening to her; she’s mean to you, and she’s not your friend.”
“Fuck you,” Alicia said. “It’s none of your business—”
“That’s enough, ladies,” Roberta, the over-weight nurse, said as she stalked into the room. “You’re a bunch of rabid panthers today. I could hear you all the way out in the rec room.”
“What are you doing in here?” Alicia growled from her chair.
“I work here, miss snippy. Come on, group’s over.” Roberta made a shooing motion to get them up out of their chairs. “You’ll continue next week when everything around here has calmed down a bit.” When the four women stared at her, showing no signs of moving, Roberta pointed to the open door. “Let’s go. NOW.”
Alicia’s eyes were wild with fear. “But we’re not finished yet. We still have over an hour of group left, plus he was late, and—”
“Worried you’ll have to much time to consider killing yourself today?” Clara taunted, taking pleasure in the fact that Alicia wouldn’t have every part of her day accounted for and would most likely go mad from not keeping busy.
“I hate you,” Alicia spat as she pushed her chair back and rushed out of the room.
Roberta glanced between Clara and the empty doorway. “Was that really necessary?”
Clara shrugged and yawned, tired of being cooped up with a bunch of crazy assholes anyway. Pulling herself out of her chair, she headed out the door, leaving Samantha, Roberta, and Beth still inside. The hallway was mostly empty, with the exception of Alicia disappearing around the corner toward the rec room and Devon pushing the laundry cart toward the laundry room. Clara kind of liked the sound of the laundry cart’s wheels squeaking on the polished floor. Or, maybe she just liked knowing where Devon was all the time.
He gave her a curt nod before looking away as he passed. He’d kept his distance since the day she arrived, and he seemed to dislike her even though he was clearly attracted to her. For some reason, she didn’t mind him rejecting her advances. Maybe it was because playing with him was so much fun or because she knew he was trying to be professional. But either way, his mysterious aversion to her only piqued her interest more.
A shooting pain in the crown of her head made her wince, and her thoughts turned only to sleeping. Her sock-covered feet carried her silently past the rec room and down the next hallway toward her room. Since her roommate had been released a few days ago, Clara had the place all to herself. Her bed was still unmade, her blinds still drawn, and with an “oomph” she crawled under the covers and passed out.
3
The next day was no better. Clara still felt achy and tired. “I hate you,” she grumbled as Roberta threw her covers back.
“I don’t care. You’re here to get better, so you might as well try.”
With another grumble, Clara pulled her covers back over her body.
“You think you hate me, now? Miss Clara, if you don’t get up, I’ll lock Alicia in here with you, and then you’ll really hate me.”
“Fine!” Clara flung her blankets off, sat up, and turned to let her feet hang over the side of the bed.
“Come on,” Roberta said, picking up a wad of Clara’s clothes and stuffing them in the laundry basket. “Brush your teeth and get dressed. It’s time for breakfast.”
Clara cringed as her stomach did a summersault that nearly sent her into convulsions. With the way her insides were feeling, she would rather run a blade across her wrist than eat anything.
“I don’t want you falling into that black hole you were in when you first got here. You need to keep eating…for me.” Roberta batted her eyelashes.
Only because Roberta was the one faculty member who would make Clara’s life hell, Clara obeyed.
Fifteen minutes later, Clara was sitting in the white-walled cafeteria, washed in the morning sunlight pouring through the windows and pushing her food around on her plate. She could feel Roberta’s eyes boring into the back of her head as the nurse made her rounds through the dining hall. The squeak of the woman’s rubber soles on the polished floor practically echoed among the quiet chatter of the other women sitting in clusters at their own tables.
Holding her breath, Clara took a bite of eggs. She immediately regretted it. Food was not settling well with her today. She raised her napkin to her mouth, and as she pretended to cough, she spit the eggs out and wadded up the napkin.
Beatrice, the woman sitting beside her, coughed, but it was Beth who grabbed Clara’s attention. Sitting one table over, Beth was watching Clara too closely. With a knowing smile, Beth glanced down at her own plate and pushed her food around the way Clara had done.
Grateful for the woman’s silence, Clara winked at her, making Beth’s grin grow. As annoying as Beth could be, there was also something about her that was endearing. Clara hadn’t found that quality in anyone in a long time. Not since Taylor.
Longing for her best friend brought the sting of tears to Clara’s eyes, and she thought of the day Taylor ended their friendship for good.
It was summer break, junior year of high school, and Clara and Taylor had just walked into a deli in downtown Bristow. The moment Clara had stepped inside, she’d felt a combination of white-hot rage and exhilaration. Joanna Rossi, with her long, silky black hair—the hair Clara often dreamt about chopping off—was sitting with a boy in the far corner of the deli. It only took an instant before Joanna’s eyes met hers.
Clara enjoyed the look of dread that blanketed the other girl’s face. She knew she could turn around and avoid making a scene by leaving, or by simply ignoring Joanna’s presence, but Clara wouldn’t do that. It would be too easy and not nearly enough fun. Instead, she smiled. She would never give Joanna the satisfaction of a close call, not now after all of Clara’s hard work, after all she’d achieved.
Taylor pulled on Clara’s arm and cast furtive glances at Joanna’s table. “We should go.”
“We’re staying,” Clara nearly snarled and nodded for the closest booth.
Taylor lingered by the entrance. “I really don’t want to—”
“Stop being such a baby.” Clara grabbed Taylor’s wrist, tugging her friend toward the booth.
Clara made sure to sit facing Joanna. Weakness wasn’t an option when it came to her, not since the final straw at eight grade graduation. The power Clara wielded over Joanna now that the tables had been turned was emboldening, and Clara feared that if she let her defenses down for even a moment, that power would be snatched away. All of her hard work—her makeover, her rise in popularity, the boys she’d stolen out from under Joanna’s nose—would all have been for nothing, and Clara would be right back where she’d been three years ago.
The Ending Beginnings: Clara (An Ending Series Novella) (The Ending Series) Page 2