WHO Claire & Whiskey WHEN After Claire finds Dominic's body. WHAT Comfort.
Claire was dizzy. The world was sort of revolving around her and she couldn’t get her balance – every time she thought she was standing up straight something shifted and she’d fall – it wasn’t easy to get to her room, especially not with blood on her hands, leaving a trail, but she needed to get away from the scene, because right now she felt so lonely and confused. The feelings were so basic, so primal, that she couldn’t distract herself from them, she couldn’t remember any time she hadn’t felt this way. Everything was tragic, everything hurt, everything need to stop and she needed to be alone. Pulling herself into her bed, she curled up like a cat, pawing at the bedding, trying to get the blood off her hands.
Whiskey hadn’t seen the body, but she’d heard what had happened; dealing with death had become so second nature to these people that it was actually unnatural. She’d been affected by it but not altogether unsurprised. She hadn’t seen Dominic since Adelle’s death, but she could surmise what he might have been like. Confused, reckless. Probably some idiot like Ballard could have killed him without trying too hard. She’d been about to leave the house for awhile, maybe go get something to clean up all the bloodstains that had been amassing all over the house, but then something had occurred to her. Claire.
Creeping towards the girl’s door, she pushed it open slowly, not wanting to frighten her. However, when she saw the state that Claire was, she figured that she wouldn’t be able to scare her. Not in her current state. Abandoning any form of stealth she’d been using, she scampered to the woman’s bedside, kneeling next to her and running her fingers through her hair. Claire started at the gesture but didn’t push her away, wasn’t angry with her, and instead rolled over and curled into Whiskey’s arms, her arms, which had been stolen from her, but were still hers in some weird way. Whiskey petted her hair, making soothing noises, rubbing her back – a moment that could have very easily been mistaken as an intimate encounter between sisters.
“Why are you here?” Claire asked half heartedly, although the words were choked out and cut off by a sob. Whiskey drew back so she could look the other woman squarely in the eyes – Claire realized that this was the first time they’d really looked at each other, really been near each other.
“You are a part of me, Claire.” Whiskey said, her tone genuine. She was not in this moment malicious or insane, not the monster Claire had come to think of her as. “You were always different, sure, you never quit fit with us, because you took up too much room, you were too strong for us-” Claire’s laugh interrupted her, but she just kept talking, “But you are me. We’re the same.”
Claire wanted to protest but she couldn’t; Whiskey was right and she was too broken to argue. Instead she just leaned her head on Whiskey’s shoulder and shut her eyes.