Crazy but Sweet, Sweet but Crazy

52: a father's job

'Feeling sick, not gg to sch tmr. Don't come to pick me up'

'Okay'

A whole day of school had ended, after the two terse text messages were exchanged between Elliot and Clare.

And at 5pm, Elliot sat in the dining room of Clare's house with a plate of cookies in front of him, while Sonia cooked.

He'd rung the intercom of her house. Sonia had answered and let him in.

She'd explained that Clare was 'a bit sick' and she wasn't sure if Clare would be well enough to come downstairs.

That was an hour ago.

"Goodness, what's taking her so long?" Sonia said a little loudly, switching off the stove and glancing at Elliot apologetically.

It was strange.

Sonia was shuffling about the kitchen in her slippers, making mushroom soup and washing the dishes, but somehow, the house felt as silent and unoccupied as an empty library.

Elliot wondered if Jessica and Michael were home too.

He stood, smiling faintly. "I'll go upstairs and ask. Thanks Sonia."

It took about two knocks and half a minute of silence, for a response to come from her room.

The door opened wide.

Clare stood at the threshold, her make-up on, in a dark blue tee shirt and black loungewear pants. Her black hair was neatly combed and pulled into a low ponytail.

On most occasions, she'd come to school barely with any make up on. This face of Clare was unfamiliar to him.

"Hi." His voice came out so calmly.

Her startling green eyes looked back at him, dispassionately. Like how she'd look at a chair, or an empty lecture hall. His heart seemed to sink.

"Hi," she said after a pause, her eyes fleeting back downstairs to Sonia. "You want to come in?"

~ * ~

Michael hadn't returned home. Jessica had called to say she'd be with him, that they'll be home 'soon'.

Sonia didn't bring up a word about Nicole Romano's lawsuit, or the photo of Michael being egged, spreading in various forms of memes on social media.

In a state of uncomfortable composure, I spent the day at home like a senior ought to- studying for my exams.

When the sun started to set outside my windows, the intercom rang.

It'd taken longer than I'd expected to put on make-up.

I couldn't possibly face Elliot looking like this. I thought I was in an abnormal state of placidity, but my dark circles and somewhat gaunt face, said otherwise.

Now, I sat on my bed next to Elliot, wondering what I should say.

"Are you feeling better?" Elliot asked, quietly.

"...Yeah. I am. Thanks."

"I'm sorry." I'd been glad we were sitting side by side, so I wouldn't have to face him.

But at that one sentence from him, I found myself looking at his face.

My heart seemed to sink.

It was the face of a sinner. Atoning for someone else's transgressions.

Elliot wasn't meeting my eyes. His fingers were curled up on his lap, tense.

"Don't be."

"My father won't lay a finger on you anymore. You'll be safe. That's the most important thing," he muttered.