Clara's P.O.V

"Sh, Clara, it's okay. Get it all out." Harry tells me as I let another sob rip through me. The hopelessness is drowning me. I don't know what to do. "Let it all out." We've been going literally door-to-door for the past month, looking for anything that might give me another memory flash. But I'm let down every time. I haven't had even one more clue dream. It's ripping me apart. It's like that song, "All the Little Lights" by Passenger. You look so hard for something, anything, to give you the slightest fragment of hope. But one by one, the lights of hope die out until you're left with nothing. I let out another animal-like sob. 

"What's going on?" Eleanor's voice asks, filled with worry, as Harry rubs comforting circles on my back, letting me get it all out.

"Clara thinks that she'll never get her memory back," Harry explains.

"Nonsense. You've already had one sign, Clara. You just need to give it time. That's all," Eleanor tells me. I keep crying, unable to stop.

"What happens if I don't?" I sob.

"Clara, I already told you," Harry sighs. "I love you either way." I don't believe him. Well, I believe that he will still love me, but I don't believe that he would just be okay with me not remembering anything. 

"But you wouldn't be okay with it," I say.

"Clara..." Harry doesn't deny it.

"That's what I thought," I hiccup, my sobs slowly dying down.

"Clara, you know that's not what I meant," Harry says, running his hands through his hair. 

"You need to be prepared for the worst," Eleanor admits finally. "But you also need to have hope. Don't give up just yet."

"I need to take a shower," I croak. Maybe after I take a shower and shave, I'll "cleanse" myself, in a manner of speaking.

"Okay, that's a good idea," Eleanor agrees. "Go take a shower. Maybe you'll feel better afterwards. I stand up and walk into the bathroom, leaving Harry and Eleanor outside.

Eleanor's P.O.V

"She's been in there for an awfully long time," Harry comments.

"Okay, and...?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Are you sure she's only showering?" Harry asks me.

"I would think so...the shower's running," I tell him.

"Can you go check? Please?" 

"Yeah, sure," I sigh, getting off the bed. As I near the door, I notice another noise mixing with the shower. Clara's crying again. That would explain the long shower... I open the door a crack. "Clara?"

"Eleanor, please, leave," Clara sobs. "Go away. I don't want you to see me like this."

"Like what?" No answer. "Clara, like what?"

"Please, just go away," Clara sobs. That's it. I swing open the door and stare down at the terrified girl in the shower with blood running down the drain. The world sways around me. I hate blood. And I especially hate blood when it's oozing out of one of my best friend's wrist. I fall to my knees and scramble over to her, on the verge of throwing up my lunch.

"Eleanor, what's going on?" Harry calls. I can't respond. I grab Clara's arm and hold it out so I can assess the damage. She has three new cuts on her right wrist. My breathing is shallow and quick. Harry barges into the bathroom and gasps at the sight before him. "Clara, you promised," he whispers. "You promised me."

"No I didn't," Clara sobs. "Not in my memory."

"Damn it, Clara," Harry struggles to keep his voice level. "You should have known. I don't care if you remember it or not, but you promised. And even now, without those memories, you should have guessed that cutting yourself is wrong."

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