The Ending Beginnings: Clara (An Ending Series Novella) (The Ending Series) (2 page)

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“Earth
to Clara…” Beth waved her scarred hand in front of Clara’s face.

Clara
blinked herself back to the present, her mind a bit foggy and her head aching.

“What
were you thinking about?” Beth blew her wild, black bangs out of her face.
Her short hair
swayed as she tilted her head to the side, and her wide, curious eyes and shy
smile made her seem pitiably innocent. “Are you okay?”

Clara
brushed the meek woman’s concerns away. “I’m fine. I just have a headache.” It
didn’t matter that she’d woken a few hours earlier from a solid night’s sleep or
that she’d eaten a hearty breakfast. It didn’t matter that Clara was sitting in
a drab room with the blinds drawn over the barred windows or that no one was
yelling or making obscene amounts of noise. In fact, all she could hear was the
quiet humming of the incandescent lights shining overhead, mingled with the
whispers of the three other women sitting around her. Regardless of all of that,
her head still ached, and she still felt bleary-eyed and muddled.

Clara
pulled her long, blonde hair out of its ponytail, letting it fall around her
shoulders. As she took the ends of her hair between her fingers, she brushed
them against her palm and stared down at the embroidered buffalo on the front
of her University of Colorado sweatshirt. She didn’t like thinking about her
past and wasn’t sure why she’d started to now. Most likely, her reminiscing
stemmed from therapy sessions like the one she was about to start, which
encouraged her to “dig deep” and “try to understand where the anger came from.”
She sneered.

So
much had changed for Clara during the summer between middle and high school;
she
had changed. After a complete makeover, she’d started freshman year at Bristow
High with a completely new persona—no more glasses or hiding behind old, holey
clothes, no more cowering, and no more innocence. Clara had decided to use her
mom’s absence and frivolousness to her advantage by raiding her closet for
posh, new clothes and by using her makeup and hair products just enough for
Clara to accentuate what she already had.

The
hands of the clock on the wall ticked, and Clara peered up at its white face.
Their session was supposed to have started ten minutes ago; Dr. Mallory was
never
late. All Clara wanted was for group to be over already so she could crawl back
into bed and sleep until the dull thumping in her head went away and the lead
in her limbs dissipated. But the two hour session had yet to begin.

With
a sigh, she shifted in the padded chair, positioned a little bit outside of a circle
of mostly empty chairs. She pulled her sock-covered feet underneath her and rested
her elbow on the arm of the chair, her forehead cradled perfectly in her palm…so
perfect that she thought she just might fall asleep.

The
sound of the hydraulic metal door swinging open, followed by the muffled sound
of hurried footsteps, told her Dr. Mallory had finally arrived. She would have
to wait for her nap.

“Sorry
to keep you waiting, ladies. It seems that a few of our group members will not
be joining us for today’s session. Many of them are in bed with the flu, so it’ll
just be the five of us today.”

Glancing
around at the circle of chairs, Clara was happy to see that four of them were
empty and even happier that they would remain that way. It was her day to speak,
and the less people to ask her questions, the better.

“Okay,”
Dr. Mallory said, opening his briefcase and settling into his chair. “Shall we
get started?”

He
was actually pretty cute for a doctor. His hair was blond and always combed
back away from his face. He was professional and young, too, and much better
than Dr. White, who stomped through the halls, always smelling of smoke and his
eyes yellowed with age. Dr. Presley was the only female doctor, but anyone
under her supervision was screwed. From what Clara had heard, she was a
heartless bitch. It made sense; she was beautiful and had a judgment about
every movement her patients made, about every thought they had. Clara was glad
she’d dodged
that
bullet.

“Let’s
check in, ladies.” Dr. Mallory sat back, his warm brown eyes sweeping over his
four patients. “I’ll start.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve had a very busy
morning. With so many of the staff out sick with this flu that’s going around,
I’ve been putting in some late hours, and quite frankly, it was difficult for
me to get out of bed this morning. But…” he let out a deep sigh. “Here I am.
I’m sorry to see that so many members of our group are also ill. But, I guess there’s
nothing we can do except to focus on staying healthy in other ways.”

Clara
felt Dr. Mallory’s eyes on her, and she met them with a bored glare. He
definitely hadn’t forgotten that it was her turn to share today.

“Dr.
Mallory,” Beth squeaked. Although Clara often chastised her for being so
pitifully innocent, Beth was the sweetest, gentlest person Clara had ever met, and
regardless of how annoying that was at times, Clara kind of liked her. At least,
more than she liked the other women.

“Yes?”
Dr. Mallory crossed his legs. “What is it, Beth?”

“I—I
um…I think that I might be getting sick, too. But, I don’t know for sure.” She
looked down at her fingers as she picked at them. Her nails were short and
scabbed from being bitten too close to the quick. “I mean, I’m trying to get
better, but I feel sick.”

“What
makes you think you’re sick, Beth? Do you have a fever? Have you been to see
Nurse Hadly?”

“Well…well,
no I haven’t. But I know what’s wrong with me.”

With
a unanimous groan, everyone settled in to listen to all the reasons why she was
sick…again.

“You
always think something’s wrong with you,” Alicia blurted and rolled her eyes as
she smacked her gum. Clara wanted to slap her mouth shut to spare everyone the
maddening sound of her disgusting molestation of the wad of gum for the next
couple of hours.

Alicia
was a tall, pale woman with a buzzed head and green eyes that Clara had once
thought were pretty…before she’d actually met the bitch. One of Alicia’s many
infuriating qualities was a compulsive need to always have something in her
mouth—anything counted—and since gum was the only thing the staff would allow at
all times, she had to make each piece last as long as possible.

“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.