Chapter 3
As night settled in, things got much worse for Claire. The temperature was freezing, and she had absolutely no blankets. All she was wearing was a now dirty short-sleeved blouse, good Converse, and ripped skinny jeans. Her duffel bag was still in the car. To make matters worse, the small, rolled up position on the bookshelf made her back ache, and muscles strain.
Claire fiercely hoped that her god-awful guardian would soon get her out of this dreaded place. He probably didn't know that Claire had a serious phobia of insects, and had a very strong allergic reaction to pollen.
Claire shivered as she tried to imagine what would happen to her if a bee wandered its way inside. Her throat would probably clog up, and she would fall off the bookcase, twisting and turning while making gurgling sounds. Meanwhile, Mr. Smith would probably be reading or relaxing. Claire would die.
Then, somehow, some way, Claire's eyelids managed to droop down, and she spiraled into a deep sleep.
~*~*~*~*~
Claire woke with a start as the door suddenly slammed open, causing momentarily blindness for her poor eyes, who had finally adjusted to the darkness.
"Rise n' shine, Cathy!" shouted a drunk Mr. Smith, who came wobbling in.
Claire groaned inwardly, while rubbing her eyes groggily. Could this man ever get her name right?
"Up, up, up," he yelled once more, throwing his beer bottle on the floor, causing a black spot on the floor to quickly move. Then, for good measure, Mr. Smith added,"Girl, you better get off that shelf and onto this floor or another slap is coming your way."
Groaning aloud this time, Claire carefully climbed off the bookshelf, gently massaging her cramped muscles in the process. "What do you want?" she asked, just wanting for him to leave.
"I'm just reminding you girl, that your job starts in five minutes. Don't forget to wear this," he said, tossing a slutty looking maid outfit. It was very low cut, and it looked like the dress would barely cover her butt.
Job? What job? thought Claire.
But instead of asking, she just laughed humorlessly. "And what makes you think I'll be wearing that?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow. She was not going to loose any more of her dignity as a woman.
" 'Cause if you don't, some tragic accident might happen. Maybe you might just get the teensy bit hurt," he replied, taking a metal baseball bat and slapping it down on his palm.
Claire gulped. Maybe she could afford loosing a little more of her pride.
"Be ready in five," he called over his shoulder, as if he hadn't just threatened her.
Sighing, Claire quickly took off her clothes and lay them atop the bookshelf. She then put on the trashy outfit. Looking down at her attire, she sighed once more, as she had been right; the dress stopped right after her rear, and Claire started pulling at it, wishing it'd go lower.
No more than three seconds later, Mr. Smith's head popped back into sight. "Let's go, sweetheart," he said, seeming to be talking at Claire's chest.
Claire complied. She knew that if she disobeyed him, things could get worse than this. Maybe she could just find a phone and...
"Girl! Get moving! We don't have any time to waste!"
Tugging at her dress hem one last time, she trailed a few feet after Mr. Smith. Claire was then taken inside his house.
"Some pals of mine are coming over. You'll be cleaning the floor for now," Mr. Smith said nonchalantly.
"And don't try anything, I'll be watching!" he called over his shoulder as he headed down the hallway to do god knows what.
Letting a small tear slide down her cheek, Claire knelt down on the revolting algae-covered floor. She then grabbed a sponge and scoured the tiles as violently as she could, letting all her hate onto the floor. Her dignity was gone. Every last ounce of it. She might just as well strip naked in front of the whole world.
She wished she was still at St. Angie's.
When she was halfway done scrubbing, and her fingers started blistering, the doorbell rang. She ignored it.
Five minutes later, Mr. Smith came running down the hall, giving Claire a death-glare. "Why didn't you open the door?" he demanded.
"You didn't tell me to," she retorted.
Mr. Smith furrowed his eyebrows once more, his face turning as red as a tomato.
It would've been funny if it weren't so scary. But, deep inside of her, Claire knew she had won the argument. Maybe there was some hope after all.
Shaking his head, and muttering,"I'll deal with you later," he opened the door and greeted his friends.
The first man who walked in looked just as bad as Mr. Smith. He had auburn hair and a bushy beard. As he saw Claire, he gave a low whistle.
Claire just rolled her eyes, and while he wasn't looking, tugged down at her dress.
The next man was clean shaven and bald. He, too, reeked of alcohol. "Where'd you get the girl, Oli?"
I saw Mr. Smith shrug. "Got her at some run down orphanage. Pay her no mind."
The trio sat on the couch, somehow not noticing it's coatings of filth, and turned on a small TV to the sports channel. Of course.
As they were engaged in the game, Claire slowly got up. Maybe the kitchen had a phone...
"Oli, you're girl's getting up," Bald Man quipped.
"I know," responded Mr. Smith,"Charlie, get back down and keep scrubbing."
Reluctantly, Claire sat back down on the semi-clean floor. She had been so close.
And it had all slipped away.
~*~*~*~*~*
The rest of the day had been a series of torture, death glares,disgust, torture, death glares, disgust, and more torture.
Claire had been forced to clean the kitchen, wash all the dishes, scrub the walls, mow the lawn, and wash the floors.
She was just glad she hadn't been instructed to clean the bathrooms. She simply just couldn't handle that. In fact, Claire didn't even use the restrooms. Instead, she took a risk outside. It was much more sanitary behind the toolshed then in the bathroom. But to make matters worse, Claire had been told that the small town of Steamboat had no reception, except in the police station.
She now sat on the front of Mr. Smith's porch. His friend's had long been gone, as well as (thank god!) her outfit. As she looked down the gravelly road, she smiled. At least all the beauty hadn't been drained from the world. Then sun was now setting, turning the sky to a pinkish hue. Light, fluffy clouds danced on the horizion as a few birds chirped, flying away in the distance. The scene was so innocent, beautiful, and tranquil. It was so different from what she had seen for the past ten years.
As she gazed out the horizon once more, a sudden rush of emotion washed over her.
She suddenly longed for a mother, for she hadn't met hers at all. Or perhaps a sign from her father. After all, they had never been there for her. It was always her against the world.
Claire pondered, and let a small chuckle escape her lips, recalling the one happy memory of when she was a little girl. Her father had just returned home from work, wearing his dark green trench coat. A four year old version of herself had come running up with kiddy scissors and a drawing. As she hugged him, her scissors had accidentally cut into his coat, causing a giant gash on the right to appear.
As she reminisced, Claire spotted a young girl walking with a toy in one hand, dancing on the sidewalk.
She smiled, glad that there was also some happiness left in the world.
"Girl, get over here!" screamed a husky deep voice from inside the house.
Sighing, Claire got to her feet, brushing the dirt off her knees. As she turned to leave, a piece of paper blew towards her carried a soft, warm breeze.
Claire leaned down, and picked it up hesitantly. The picture was of a beautiful woman, with dirty blonde hair and warm hazel eyes. Her expression showed that she was very happy Shocked, Claire pinched herself, making sure it wasn't a figment of imagination.
It wasn't.
This woman was her mother.
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(A/N)
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And, yes, sadly this was just another filler chapter because Samantha is a giant procrastinator. :P