2007-10-21: The Thinking Corner

Starring:

Claire_icon.gif

Summary: Claire gets a couple of days by herself in a villain-induced Time Out. She doesn't much care for it.

Date It Happened: October 21, 2007

The Thinking Corner


Location:?!?!?!

Was she forgotten here? Or unfindable? Why hadn't her father come for her yet? Did he not know she was missing? If she was trapped here forever, would her parents be better off? Would her family be safer if they never felt the need to protect her? If only she had listened to her father and stayed at the hotel with her mother and brother. Then this would have never happened.

To say that the young, blood-soaked Bennet woman had time to think would be a vast understatement.

She's had far too much time.

It's been two days since Mandy left Claire to her concrete prison, not that the latter was overly aware of it without a way to tell time, and the small amount of water and food left behind were barely enough for a sitting, much less something that she had the wisdom to carefully measure it out in order to make it last longer. It's not as if this were something that happens everyday, nor are teenagers typically known for their amazing foresight. After well over an hour of torturous acidic attacks and the occasional death thrown in on the way to the Hole that Time Forgot, Claire's body had been screaming for the basic sustenance that was offered. Not only that, but Mandy had made it seem like more would be coming on a regular basis, so long as the Amazing Healing Girl behaved herself. Thus, water and food both were consumed in their entirety nearly a day and a half ago.

The first pang of hunger was merely irritating and easily ignored. It was the thirst that set in hours later that proved to be the more maddening. When they started teaming up to beat her down — slowly but surely grinding away at her spirit like sandpaper — it made her situation seem more and more dire by the hour, and eventually Claire's concern about when her captors would return began to morph into a concern that they wouldn't.

They were, after all, criminals being hunted down by the Company according to her father. They could all be dead for she knew, carrying her location to the grave with them. Eventually, her frustration and fear erupts in a violent display as the petite teenager begins ramming herself against inch after inch of wall at full speed, trying to find a way out, doing her very best to convince herself that the next impact is going to be the one that earns her freedom.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

She mercilessly throws her weight into the edges of her spacious and cold cell, screaming and grunting with each hurl of mass and consequent impact. Inch by inch, she travels its length. Bruises are ignored; she doesn't stop until about a quarter of the way through her immense task — when she accidentally rams the wall so hard that she dislocates her shoulder with a sickening 'pop'. There's a different sort of loud cry that rattles the air, loosed in her surprise at the pain. It's easier to choke down what you know to be coming. She ceases her lunatic's task to rest her hand on her rag-covered arm in order to pull the ball of the bone back into the socket of the joint with a tearful jerk, holding her breath. When it rolls back into place, there's a hiss as she sharply draws a breath in between her teeth.

The pain subsides as the torn muscles restore themselves, and the tiny blonde lets the contents of her lungs escape in a swift rush. It is there for a time, that burning agony that is the fleeting reminder of humanity… but then it passes. Fades. Disappears. Claire's back hits the wall with an audible 'fwump' before she simply slides down it to sit on the floor, sparse tears of fear and frustration streaming down her face as she rests her head against the wall, too, and looks distantly towards the low ceiling. Her hand still holds on to her now-repaired shoulder absently as the wasted moisture cuts a cleaner trail through the dried blood splatter on her otherwise pale cheek.

She curls her lips inside her mouth to try to lick moisture onto their cracked surface, but her parched tongue sticks along the ragged surface more than lubricates. She ends up wiping her cheek and using what salty, rouged water remains there to try to give her lips something so they'll stop hurting. The blood-stained tears give some color back to them in taunting streaks.

If she truly was lost to the world, would this eventually kill her? Would she starve? Would dehydration be her undoing? Do these things run out of air?

Maybe that's why Peter couldn't find her in the future. Sure, maybe she had just been somewhere else. Somewhere far from her uncle. Maybe she it was because — two years from now — she was trapped here. Maybe the waiting even killed her.

No. No. That was not going to happen. She was not going to just lie down and wait to die.

Pushing herself back to her feet, Claire takes a deep breath. She has to try. She has to do something. Unfortunately, there's only one thing that she's been able to come up with: continue her assault on the walls, frantically seeking the traitorous give that would indicate the panel of a door. She only gets a few rams into her task, however, before the entire effort falls apart under the crushing weight of rising despair.

This time, however, both hands are on the wall as she drops to her knees and offers dry and thirsty sobs to the dimly lit room. In between desperate, heaving, gasping breaths, there is a tiny whispered request that escapes from underneath the pile of matted, stringy, blonde hair with its partially fallen, blood-stained curls — a prayer born of failing hope.

"Somebody, please help me?"

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