Claudia Lockwood-Mikaelson

Chapter 4 - Back home to Florida

I'm on the phone to my dad explaining that something came up and I have to come home. He doesn't push for any more answers even when I'm sure he can tell I'm upset. I hang up and feel so glad knowing I'm making the right decision. I don't want to stay in New Orleans any longer. I just need to be home. I board the plane and the time flies by as I catch up on some sleep.

Walking up to my dad's car I throw my arms around him in a hug as he gets out. Swallowing the huge lump in my throat, I try to hide my emotions and he doesn't say anything, for now. Since mum died we haven't been very good at discussing emotions, both of us preferring to deal with everything alone but we have a mutual understanding that keeps us close. He hasn't seen me cry since I was a child and I don't think I've ever seen him cry either. He's always emphasised the importance of keeping emotions especially anger under control so I don't want him to see me upset. Not to mention he will want to know why.

"Daddy," I say to him as I'm engulfed in a hug. "I've missed you," I haven't seen him for ages, the last time I was home it was around Christmas over six months ago.

"Claudia, I've missed you too, how are you? How's university?" He pulls away and examines me head to toe. We talk often even when I am away so he knows how my studies are already.

"I'm well, it's all going well actually. But what about you? You never tell me what you're up to," I respond to him as I put my luggage in the car. He's constantly travelling all over the place for his job and yet I never really seem to know exactly what he does. When I ask I get the same unhelpful, boring answer, "just business meetings, I'm lucky I get to travel."

Pulling into our home in the Emerald Coast in Florida brings back a flood of memories of Mum. Nostalgia is a powerful feeling and Dad notices my delay in getting out of the car. I haven't been back to stay since she died, only to visit for a day or two every so often. Dad smiles at me and takes my luggage out placing it at the bottom of the stairs for me.

"She would have been proud of you," he says wistfully, not realising his words make me feel even worse. Normally I would welcome a chat about Mum but for the first time I don't stop and listen to him, how could she be proud of a murderer? I just nod and turn to climb the stairs to my childhood bedroom. Nothing feels right, I was a guilt-free and joyful child and now I am a dirty murderer. I don't feel like I deserve to be in this room. Little Claudia wouldn't recognise me now, she would be so ashamed of what I have done.

I let the tears fall as I perch at the foot of my bed. The dust causes me to sneeze but I don't bother to clean any surfaces or open a window. I'm contaminating this room by being dirty and a murderer. The dust is nothing in comparison. I get changed into an old pair of pyjamas and curl up under my duvet. My face is wet with tears and I finally fall asleep after hours just laying here.

Five days later, I haven't left my room except to eat. I avoid Dad as much as possible. I can't look him in the eye knowing what I've done. I am overcome with guilt. Every time Dad knocks on my door I pretend I'm asleep and I know I can't keep this up for much longer. I want to ring Maeve but I don't have anything to say to her. She's so happy right now and I can't talk to her about how I'm feeling because it's my own fault. How can I expect anyone to understand? I don't want to burden her. No, these are secrets I will take to my grave.

"Claudia, I know you can hear me." I hear Dad calling up the stairs and I turn over under my duvet. He sighs and I can make out his feet plodding up the stairs before stopping outside my door. He knocks gently. "I know you're upset about something. You can talk to me, I'm your dad. Can I come in?" His pleading makes me feel even guiltier.

"I know things have been tough for us since Mum died but you're my daughter and I love you. Please talk to me, I might be able to help," he attempts.

I throw the covers off and stomp over to the door angrily, unlocking it and yanking it open suddenly. "How? How can you say you can help? How can you love me?" I immediately regret opening the door as he stares at me in shock, probably at the state I am in. Hair that I haven't brushed in days, tears streaming down my cheeks, dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep.