Cooking proved to be just what she needed; Clara distracted her mind with being busy in the kitchen preparing everything for Christmas day, so that the growing ache in her chest was a bit easier to ignore. It was still there, of course, and when she would accidentally seep back into thoughts of Harry, it grew. But at least she didn't cry, not during the day at least. She would wake up in the mornings and there would be a damp stain on her pillow, but she could hardly even remember how it got there. Everything blurred together- she was in the kitchen for two days straight, the subdued sun rose and fell, and before she knew it, it was Christmas and she was sitting at the table in her parents' dining room, enveloped in the warm scent of all the food she had made.
"Clara," her brother's voice caused her to blink. She had been staring at the tray of garlic potatoes, her heart throbbing. "Can you pass me the fucking salt already? I've asked you ten times."
"Sorry," she mumbled, reaching for the salt shaker. She could hear her mother quietly scold Jackson for his language. "Here," she handed it to him and he gave her a lingering stare before shaking his head and covering his entire plate of food with way too much salt, making her grimace.
"Clara, is something wrong dear?" Her mother's voice was the next one to flood her ears. She looked up to see her mother's worried eyes looking from her to her plate, which had hardly been touched. "Are you sick? You look a bit pale, maybe you need to throw up?"
"No, I don't." Did she really look that bad?
"Maybe she's pregnant," Jackson chimed, snickering. Clara groaned in exasperation and shoved her foot against his calf under the table.
"I'm not pregnant, or sick. I'm just not hungry right now," she mumbled. She could hear her mother sigh but no one bothered her about her lack of eating or interaction for the rest of the evening. Clara tried her best to smile and enjoy her favorite holiday, but even as she was showered with gifts and money, she could barely find it in her to say as much as thank you. Her mother's present was a box the size of a large dog, filled to the brim with clothes from brands she had never even heard of. Clara picked up each shirt and skirt and let her fingers trail over the silky, soft fabric, and her mother was watching her with hope in her eyes. Clara simply put them all back in the box and gave her a nod of her head, a sign of her appreciation, but it made her mother's frown deepen.
Her father had given her an envelope. Inside was a Hallmark card with reindeer on it, which was stuffed with enough cash to splurge on her favorite makeup, or to pay for a month's rent. Clara wasn't sure what she would do with it yet.
"You're going to love this," Jackson said when it was his turn to give her a gift, a smirk ghosting over his lips. It was a box poorly wrapped in red paper, and he let it plop onto her lap with a quiet thud. Clara didn't have high expectations for what was inside, and she had every reason to since when she tore open the paper, the words Durex Maximum Love were staring back at her.
"Grow up," was the first thing that tumbled from her mouth. She scowled and tossed the box of condoms back at her brother, her chest feeling tight. He lolled his head back in laughter and Clara felt her teeth chew on the inside of her cheek- it was silly, really, that a box of contraceptives had summoned moisture to her eyes, but the thought of not being able to have a use for them anymore made her want to cry.
Clara went back to work the Friday after Christmas. On Thursday, she had sat on her couch staring at the cat in her lap, debating whether or not to go to Harry's house for over an hour. Her pride and sanity urged her to stay home and drown away her thoughts by watching episodes of Friends which she had already watched five times before. Surely if she had showed up there after what she said to him, the door would have been slammed in her face.
"How were your holidays?" her coworker, Karen, asked when she arrived to The Lone Hour and fumbled to tie the apron around her waist.
Wonderful, especially the part when I fucked up the best thing I had going for me.
"Fine," Clara shrugged and offered the blonde a polite smile. Karen was the only person who ever talked to her there, but even her kind greetings weren't enough to make the place feel less like hell. "And yours?"
"It was good," Karen bit her lip to keep from grinning sheepishly. She fumbled her fingers together. "My boyfriend proposed on Christmas Eve."
Of course he did, Clara thought bitterly, but hid it behind a surprised grin. "Wow! That's, um, exciting! Really exciting. I'm so happy for you." Her grin weakened and she looked away. The sink was stacked with dishes, but she didn't even have the energy to scowl at it. She sighed and turned on the faucet, letting the water run hot. She stuck her hand underneath the stream of water and watched as the skin turned red.
The day was slow. Too slow. She wanted to have more dishes to clean so she could lose herself in the repetitive circular motions of her hand scrubbing the sponge against the grease, but instead she stood there and made a game out of one of the wine glasses. Clara had placed it directly under the faucet and would try to stop the water precisely when the cup was filled to the brim. She did it about ten times before she got pretty close, the warm water only half a centimeter away from the top.
"What on earth are you doing?" The scent of rich perfume flooded Clara's nostrils and she sighed; she could only go so long without running into her own boss, unfortunately.
"It's a game," Clara said flatly. She turned around to see Janice's beautiful face contorted into a scowl. Clara leaned back against the countertop and raised her chin high to conceal her discomfort. Even when she felt like crumbling into minuscule pieces, Clara hid behind a confident facade.
"This is a four star restaurant," Janice hissed through her teeth. She leaned closer to Clara's face, causing her to flinch instinctively. "We don't stand around and play games here."
"Maybe I would have shit to do if I wasn't a dishwasher, you know," Clara said before she could stop herself. The words surprised herself when they tumbled from her lips, and Janice was obviously surprised, too, since her eyes widened for a brief moment.
She recovered quickly, however, and narrowed her gaze at Clara. "Maybe you wouldn't be a dishwasher if you actually knew how to cook." A smug look took over her gorgeous features when she saw the effect her insult had on Clara- her facade cracked right down the middle, her hazel eyes glossed over and she had to dig her teeth into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Janice smiled sweetly and turned on her heel. Clara had been subjected to a torrent of humiliation and absolute bullshit during the past month (she was well aware that a lot of it was from her own doing), but she had done a pretty damn good job at swallowing it down and putting on a smile. She just couldn't keep it down this time; her hand reached for the wine glass she had filled nearly to the brim with water, and before she could let her conscience catch up with her actions, Clara walked up behind that bitch who had taken her dream job and poured the water on top of her head. Janice stiffened as the water trickled down her perfect updo and seeped under the collar of her uniform shirt. She gasped loudly and the entire kitchen feel deathly silent, all eyes on Clara.
Janice spun around to face her, eyes full of disbelief. "Did you just-"
"I did," Clara gritted her teeth. Her tears had turned hot and angry, threatening to spill down the curves of her cheeks but she held them back. "You can take away my job, you can make me wash fucking dishes all day long, you can smile that fake, bitchy smile all you want- but don't you ever say I can't cook because that's a goddamn lie and everyone in this kitchen, even you, knows it."
The absolute horror and shock on Janice's face mirrored every other chef who was watching the scene unfold. "You're crazy!"
"Maybe I'm crazy but at least I know how to make the best meat pie in all of England," she spat. "You can't even make damn toast taste good."
Janice gritted her teeth and flew a vicious finger in front of Clara's face. "You bitch, you're-"
"Fired, I know." Clara took a deep breath and reached behind her waist to untie the black apron. She wadded it up and tossed it at her feet. "Good luck finding someone to replace me. They won't have the patience to put up with your shit for as long as I did."
With that, Clara spun on her heel and ignored the churning of her stomach as she pushed through the kitchen doors, for the last time. It wasn't until she escaped into the cold evening that her tears spilled over. She got into her car and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, allowing her pain to take over now that no one could see. Clara wanted to rip the hair from her scalp and scream until someone heard her, preferably someone with long hair and soft, cherry lips. Instead, she cried and cried until she felt like all the moisture and energy had seeped from her pores and all that remained was the smeared mascara running down her temples to remind her of the mess her life had become. She glanced in the mirror and pale skin with red, puffy eyes stared back at her. At least she looked the part of a twenty-year-old girl who had no job, barely a relationship with her family and a strained one with her best friend, and then of course an empty heart that ached for a man who didn't even want her.
When she arrived at her apartment, Clara collapsed onto her couch and buried her face in the pillow that reeked of Maggie. The orange cat leaped onto her lap and curled against her leg, purring as her owner stared at the wall.
"You're my bestest friend, Maggie," she mumbled. "I love you." She snorted a pitiful laugh. "I can say that as many times as I want and I know you won't leave me. I love you, I love you, I love you."
The cat responded with a low purr. Clara let her eyes flutter shut and slowly seeped into a well-needed nap, tainted with dreams of her and Harry in the kitchen of their own restaurant, where no one could fire her or come between them, not even her premature declarations of love.
A loud knocking at the front door woke her up the next morning. She had slept the entire night with her body curled on the couch, face squished against the decorative pillow, and her hair a tangled mess. Clara's eyes shot open when another knock sounded against the door a minute later, louder this time. She groaned and rubbed her temples as she slowly sat up, Maggie waking up at her feet, as well. She knew right away who would be at her door at- she glanced at the clock- 9:35 in the morning. She peered down at her work uniform which was still adorning her body.
"One minute!" She called loud enough for Liam to hear on the other side of the door. She padded quickly to her room and tore her uniform off before shrugging on a fluffy robe over her bra and underwear. She grabbed a hair tie from her wrist and put her wavy hair into a loose bun. He had seen her far less made up before.
Clara came back out to the living room wearing a forced, small smile as she reached for the door. "Sorry Liam, I was still asleep-"
She stopped mid sentence when her eyes assessed the face staring back at her as she propped the door open with her hip. It wasn't a soft face with warm brown eyes; it was the face of someone she didn't think she would ever see again. Harry stood on her door mat with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, cheeks flushed from the peppering of snow that landed on his exposed skin. His lips were pursed, eyes drifting up from his boots to the girl standing there in her robe, her mouth hung open in surprise. Clara parted and closed her lips, like a coy fish, not knowing what to say for the first few seconds that passed by.
"Morning," Harry was the one to speak and save her from her lack of words. She coughed into her hand and let her eyes meander everywhere but on him. The last time she had seen his handsomely rugged face was when he was blatantly ignoring her, the words I'm falling in love with you lingering in the grim air between them. She hadn't found the energy in her to see him again after that, knowing very well that Harry had not taken her declaration the way she hoped he would. Clara didn't think she could survive another rejection from him, so she was better off letting Harry stay in the uncertain part of her life that she had a tendency to tuck away in one of the many compartments of her brain and leave there, ignored.
But now he was here, standing right in front of her and she couldn't just ignore it.
"Morning," Clara gaped. "I thought you were my friend, Liam. I'm glad you aren't because I don't really want to see him at the moment. Not that I really want to see you, either- I mean, I do want to see you, I always want to see you. But you sort of broke my heart the last time I saw you and-" She palmed her forehead and exhaled a heavy, frustrated breath. "You know what I'm saying," her voice was small and defeated now.
Harry appeared completely unfazed by her rambling; he just continued to stare straight at her with his jaw set tight. The expression he was wearing meant one of two things- she had seen it once when he was angry, and another time when he was uncharacteristically nervous. She silently prayed it was the latter.
"Why are you here, Harry? How did you even know-"
"I memorized the way here when you were driving," his voice was low but clipped. "I have to talk to you."
"I don't want to hear it, Harry. I can't bare to hear you say that you don't feel the same way," she sucked in a breath and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It was bad enough having you say nothing."
"I know," Harry's face softened and he blew out a breath. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted."
"Sorry?" A sudden wave of anger flooded through Clara's veins as she thought of the mornings she had woken up to a stain of tears on her pillow and an ache of regret in her chest. "You've had a week to say sorry, why show up on my doorstep now? Couldn't go any longer without having an easy fuck?" Her lips pressed together and she focused on her frustration because if she didn't, the hurt would peek through and the floodgates would shatter.
"No. That's not why I'm here," he shook his head and reached into the pocket of his coat for something. Clara put her hands on her hips and watched him unfold a crumpled paper in his larges hands, fingers quavering. Why was he so nervous? He's just faking it, her conscience insisted. He only wants you for sex and you know it, Clara.
"I wrote down what I need to tell you," Harry lifted his head to look at her and the notch in his throat bobbed as he swallowed down his unease. His words formed slowly on his lips as though he was unsure if they were going to result in her approval, or her sending him away. "If you will let me..." He trailed off and looked at her expectantly.
Huffing out a breath, Clara stepped to the side and allowed room for him to pass through. Clara shut the door behind him and Harry looked around the front room before glancing back at her. "Could we sit down?"
"I guess," she sighed and they silently padded over to the couch. Clara waved her hands at Maggie, shooing her away so Harry could sit down and hopefully not sneeze too much. There was a good distance between them; Clara didn't think she would be able to handle feeling the cold radiate from his skin if she were too close, or smell the musk rolling out of his pores. She rubbed her hands against her thighs and tucked the material of the robe under them so her underwear was safely concealed. Harry didn't look at her, he looked only at the paper in his hands which was filled with scribbled ink.
Clara didn't know what to think of him even being there, but her heart knew exactly what it wanted. It wanted her to look past their date turned embarrassing nightmare so Harry could hold her again and they could go back to the way things were. Even if she always wanted more from him, having any bit of Harry that she could have would be enough. At least, that's what the beating organ under her ribs thought.
She watched him with a hard gaze, not wanting to let her facade crumble so easily in front of him. He clenched and unclenched his jaw before opening his mouth. "I don't love you," Harry said, ending the prolonged period of silence. Clara narrowed her eyes.
"Harry-"
"Let me finish," his hands clutched the paper so tightly she thought it might rip in half. The tone of his voice caused her lips to seal shut, even though her heart was racing in her chest.
"I don't love you," Harry repeated in a murmur but it felt like he was speaking loud, too loud. She didn't know if she could bare to hear it. "But I need you."
There was another short period of silence that felt deafening.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," he whispered to himself before clearing his throat and reading the barely legible words. "I've only ever loved my dad. You already know that. He has been there for me through all the shit I've done and he still... he still manages to see good in me somehow." Harry looked at her briefly for the first time since they had sat down. "You remind me of him in that sense." Clara bit down on her lip, her face softening despite her restraints, and he returned his gaze to the paper.
"It wasn't until I was out of high school that I actually started to get close to him. Before then, I was horrible. I blamed him for my mum leaving us and I said cruel things to him all the time and never listened to what he asked of me. But he still- he still loved me. He took care of me and never got upset with me. He was more than I deserved and it wasn't until," Harry let his eyes flutter shut for a brief moment, his nostrils flaring, before reopening them.
"It wasn't until he was diagnosed with renal cell carcinoma that I realized how much I loved him. I remember the day I took him to the doctor for the first time. He had been coughing all day long and eventually I yelled at him to leave because it was annoying me. Then I noticed that there was blood... It was all over his shirt and it got on the floor. I fucking panicked," his hand shuffled through his hair and Clara wasn't sure if she was still breathing. "I took him to the doctor and I waited in that stupid fucking waiting room for hours until a nurse came to tell me that I was supposed to go in there with him. The doctor sat me down and my dad couldn't fucking look at me. The doctor asked me a bunch of stuff to lighten the mood, like how my day was or if I wanted one of those gross lollipops from the front desks. Then he finally told me that my dad had something called renal cell carcinoma, which of course I had no idea what it was."
Harry looked at her and noticed the tears that had begun to stream down her cheeks. He reached his hand over and collected some of the moisture with his thumb. "It was cancer. In his kidney," he spoke quietly. Clara inhaled sharply. "It freaked me out so much that I started to spend every day with him after that. The doctor told us that they had caught it early so they could just do some surgery and it would be gone. I was still scared, though. The thought of losing the only person I had was just... unbearable. I graduated high school and that's when I started to fight for money. It was just for the money at first. I used it to pay for his surgery. I was 19 when they told us that it was all gone, that my dad was going to be okay."
Clara muffled a sob by clamping her hand over her mouth. This was not at all what she had expected when he walked through her door. "Don't cry," Harry said, licking his lips. "It's okay, baby. Don't cry."
She screwed her eyes shut in attempt to stop the tears and Harry continued, crumpling up the paper and setting it beside him. "My dad got it again, Clara. At the beginning of the year, he started coughing blood again and I knew deep down that it wasn't going to be fixable this time."
"Harry," she sniffled and moved to sit on his lap. Harry placed his hand on her thigh and allowed her to cup his face in her hands and kiss his forehead.
"Don't cry," he rasped again. "My dad tells me not to cry over things that aren't in our control."
Clara wiped her cheeks and nodded feebly. She had thought all her tears had been used up the night before, but apparently not. She couldn't help but cry for Harry, and for his gentle father who had always made her feel at ease. "Okay. Go on, I know you have more to say," she croaked. Her heart was tearing at every seam and she feared she would pass out from the weight of Harry's honesty. This was what she had wanted from him for weeks, to open up with her so she could understand him, but now she wanted to clamp her hands over her ears. She had to listen to him, though. She had to at least try to soak up some of the hurt and anger that she knew he had to endure all on his own.
Harry inhaled a breath, his head naturally relaxing against her chest. "So I took him to the doctor again and they said the cancer had come back. And it had spread. They told me that day, almost a year ago, that he had about a year to live."
Another sob broke through Clara's swollen lips and she just couldn't stop it. Harry closed his eyes, fingertips tracing mindless circles on her inner thigh which the robe had revealed.
"I wanted to keep using the money I got from fighting to pay for something, anything that could help him. But my dad didn't want me to. He said it would be a waste because there was nothing anyone could do change his destiny or whatever. He wanted me to save the money for myself but I don't have any desire for it so I told my boss, Ray, that I would just do it for a small share of the winnings as long as he let me fight every night. It distracts me. It lets me forget how angry I am at those stupid doctors who couldn't fix him, or at those fucking cancer cells that won't leave my dad alone."
Clara nodded in understanding and combed her fingertips through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Harry. Neither of you deserve this." She sponged another kiss to his forehead, lips damp from her salty tears. "How come your dad thinks you work at a supermarket? Why did you lie to him?" she questioned softly, finally feeling free to ask him the questions that had lingered in her mind.
"He believes in me so much, I didn't want to ruin that for him when he only has so much longer, you know. That's why I let him believe that we are together. I know that more than anything, he just wants to see me make something of myself before he..."
"It's not fair to lie to him, though," she commented quietly.
"Yeah," he parted his lips to let out a heavy sigh. "I'd rather lie to him than hurt his feelings, though."
Clara nodded again. She didn't think it was possible to feel so much hurt and sympathy for another person, but as she stared down at his supple face, at the scar by his eyebrow, and at his bloodshot eyes, her heart ached for him.
"I know I'm cold with you a lot of the time, and I'm sorry for that." Harry lifted his head from her chest and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He cupped her jaw in his hand and their eyes met. "It's just the way I am. I wanted to say the words back but I didn't want to lie to you, Clara. I don't think I can love you or anyone until I can get past this whole thing. But if you... If you give me time, then maybe I could. I meant it when I said that I need you. I had to sit in the hospital all of Christmas Day because my dad could barely get out of bed that morning. I sat there and I thought of you. I wanted you to be there with me."
"I'm with you now, Harry," she reached for his hand that was against her jaw and brought it to her lips. Her lips grazed against the tips of each of his fingers and her eyes didn't leave his. "I can be with you whenever you need me to. And if you need your space, I can give you that, too."
"Thank you." Harry watched her play with his hand and they both took a well-needed breath. He let his forehead press into her cleavage and the feel of her warm breath against his ear made his muscles unwind. Clara continued to cry silently, her nose pressed into his hair. She felt selfish for crying so much after she had lost her job, when Harry had so much more to grieve about. Had she always been so selfish? She gnawed at the inside of her cheek as she stared down at the man she would let her heart break over and over again for.
"Please don't leave me," she thought she heard his voice reach her ears after minutes, maybe an hour, of them sitting there.
I won't, Clara thought and let the promise be spoken through her fingertips as she stroked his cold cheek.
~
There's only 8 parts left but still so much to happen...