lean on me / presley & clara.

C L A R A

Being back in this house, the place she's been made to call home since she was a girl but has always felt more like a prison, felt strange. Even if she was just here to pick up a few outfits. Clara had plans to ask Naomi out on a proper date after she'd made such a fool of herself during their last encounter. She wanted to actually brush her hair, wear make-up and a cute dress, and take her out to dinner. She wanted to get to know Naomi, wanted to spend more time with her and look irresistible, obviously. But all that was in her closet back at school was button down shirts and pleated skirts, an entire aesthetic she's donned all her life, but it wasn't what she wanted Naomi to see. She made Clara feel alive, happy even, and she wanted to show her the other side of her. The real side. The side of her that was free of expectations, free of constraints, free of Cleo's shadow. 

Bag packed and the house to herself, Clara decided to grab a snack from the kitchen before she headed out. Just a bite to eat before she had to get to practice in an hour, that way she could probably skip dinner and work on her notes for the upcoming biology project she knows is due right around the corner. Sandwich made and a bag of chips in hand, Clara heads to the door feeling pumped, excited for what the rest of the day would bring. She'd finish up lacrosse practice, shower and get dressed in one of the dresses in her bag, and rush over to Naomi's door. Would she say yes to dinner tonight? Maybe that's too eager. Make plans, don't just expect her to drop everything for you, she said to herself as she headed for the front door. But her thoughts and her exit are interrupted by three loud knocks on her door. They sound official, like knocks from a Keeper. And her suspicions are confirmed as she peeks out from behind the curtain at the living room window and her eyes land on the familiar white uniforms. Oh, god, she thinks to herself, suddenly very grateful she left her pills in her dorm and not on her person today.

Another three loud knocks make her jump where she stands. "Coming!" she shouts, taking a few deep breaths before going to answer. Its never good when they come to your house, that much Clara knows. What she doesn't know is what they're about to tell her, and soon enough she'll decide she never should have came home today. 

She opens the door with a wide, albeit fake, smile, slipping the strap of her bag off her shoulder and setting it down next to the door. "Good afternoon," she says as cheerily as she possibly can, but the stern looks on their face cause her stomach to do somersaults. "Can I help you gentlemen with something?"

"Holy shit," one of them says. He's shorter than the others, looks younger, too. Probably a trainee, finally getting a chance to go out into the field. "She looks just like her." Clara's eyes widen, noting the fact that these Keepers clearly know Cleo, or at least what she looks like. Another Keeper nudges the one who spoke in the side and he gasps softly but keeps his mouth shut. 

"Like who? My sister?" Clara asks, getting more and more nervous as time goes on. The men before her all look like they've seen a ghost, and staring back at them sends a chill up her spine and she shivers uncontrollably. 

"Are your parents home?" One asks, looking past her, to the left, then the right for an adult. He seems agitated at the sight of Clara and that makes her uneasy. "We need to speak to them."

"Uh, no," Clara looks down at her watch. 3:37 pm it reads and she knows neither of them would be home for at least two hours, probably three. "They'll be at work for a bit longer. I'm just here to pick up some stuff before lacrosse practice." She overshares and suddenly feels completely bare before these authority figures, making her so uncomfortable her cheeks start to flush. "Is there something I can help you with?"

He sighs heavily, head falling into the palm of his hand before he pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated by her answer. "You need to come with us then, Clara, right?" She nods, but steps back instinctually. Keepers aren't to be trusted, despite the Capitol saying they're here to keep us safe. Clara's witnessed too many violent responses toward Six's citizens to ever agree to go anywhere willingly with a Keeper, let alone four standing at her front door. "You need to identify the body." He clears his throat and shifts his weight from one leg to the other, obviously uncomfortable delivering whatever news it was he was trying to spit out. "It's your sister. She's been murdered."

There's a high-pitched ringing in her ears as the words settle into her head. Her brain tries to grasp at them, to understand what she's being told, but like a corrupt file on one of the computer's in the library, it's unreadable. It's unimaginable. "No, you must have the wrong person," she says without thinking. "I just saw her yesterday at practice," Clara laughs uncomfortably, a little angry at this clear misunderstanding. It's cruel, even, to mix up something like this, something so serious. "You're wrong."

The man closes the distance with a hand to her shoulder, "I'm afraid not, darlin'." He tilts his head as he looks down at her like a lost puppy does when it hears a new and unusual sound. It makes her uncomfortable, like his glance is filled with regret and finality and Clara can't bring herself to accept it. "Come with us. We'll call your parents and have them meet us there." He ushers her forward and closes the door behind her. She thinks she hears him ask if the door is locked, but she feels powerless, voiceless, aimless. 

It isn't until she locks eyes with Presley across the street as she's about to get into the Keeper's vehicle that she snaps out of her own headspace. For some reason the sight of him grounds her. He isn't anyone special to her, though over the past few weeks they've gotten to know one another and spend a bit of time together. But for some reason seeing him made her feel better somehow. And she needed someone right now. Someone who didn't know her that well, but well enough to empathize. Hopefully. 

"Presley?" she shouts across the street, extending a hand to wave as she takes a step away from the Keepers and toward him. "Hey, I'm about to-" she turns back and looks over her shoulder, and before she knows what's happening tears are streaming down her face when she looks back at Presley. "They just told me-" she gasps out between crescendoing sobs. They grow louder as she stumbles forward toward him, the few steps she takes shaky and awkward. Clara falls to her knees atop the pavement of Maple Lake Drive feeling like a piece of her was stolen, ripped out from within the deepest parts of her and shredded into confetti. Left to the wind to scatter.

"She's dead," she chokes out, a part of her knowing it should have been her to die young, not Cleo.