CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains topics that may be sensitive to some readers. I would like for everyone to please reread my warning at the beginning of this act (found in the chapter titled 'Act three') before continuing. This chapter touches on excessive drug use, poor mental health and alcoholism. For those who are struggling, my dms are open all the time and please seek help if you need it <3

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Drip, drip, drip....drip

CLARA SHELBY WANTED TO SLAM her head against the wall so hard that she'd lose all semblance of reality as the water from a leaky pipe splattered onto the stony floor. She sat hunched over her knees, her arms loosely dangling between her legs. Her shirt sleeves had been rolled up above her elbows, her coat and jacket both having been confiscated upon arrival at the station. She had been searched and patted down thoroughly when she'd been brought in, her brown envelope full of documents and a paper bag with three bottles of cocaine had been located and removed along with her lighter and cigarettes. She thanked the earth that she had luckily not been wearing her gun that night, having left it beneath the seat in her car, (and that her jacket was so thick that the other vials of snow hadn't been found).

She hadn't seen anybody in hours as she sat in complete stillness. The holding cell was dark and grimy, its wall cold and confining. Clara hated it. She hated the cell and the policeman and her temper and herself mainly, honestly. She would be lucky if she only got charged with assault and possession— but then again, she could try to pass the cocaine as prescribed...but that was only if they didn't sniff out the bottles within her jacket lining. In simpler, more layman's terms, she was truly and utterly screwed in more ways than one.

Clara had been allowed her singular telephone call, a call she had to ponder far before she dialled the number. She couldn't exactly call Tommy, he was still on bed rest at home probably getting high whenever possible and god only knows where Arthur was. She had the sinking feeling of loneliness set in as she considered and reconsidered all of her options. She'd eventually called one of her very last thoughts and was now simply awaiting to try to be bailed out of this situation.

She had to stop doing this. She had to stop turning to others with her problems. Clara made a mental note to ensure that this would be the last time she would call for help. She was smart, she could handle her consequences...yes, she could absolutely handle her consequences. She'd done it before, she could do it once more. Clara's back had begun to ache as she rolled her shoulders and grimaced at the cracks that resounded. She didn't know what time it was, too long had passed and the lack of a window in the holding cell provided little knowledge.

The water still dripped steadily on the opposite side of the cell, each drop scraped away a layer of self-control as Clara fought the itch to stop it one way or another. Her high had slowly faded as soon as she entered the cell and she couldn't stand it. Her hands shook carefully from where they hung and her brain was regaining full clarity. She hated it. She needed to take more snow. But she needed to get out of here to do that. Her foot bounced rapidly against the floor as her back touched the wall behind her. The silence around her was beginning to sound a lot like stirring voices as they urged her to do things Clara refused to repeat.

A door down the hallway creaked open and banged loudly against the wall. Clara shot to her feet, her wild eyes scanning the outside of the cell as two darkened figures approached the holding cell. She gulped ever so slightly as they stopped outside of the cell door. The policeman stepped forward and unlocked the door as the rest of his keys rattled.

"Ms Shelby, you're free to go," the man sighed reluctantly. His eyes swam with anger, anger that he repressed as the figure behind him merely stood and stared. The policeman didn't even bother to wait as he slouched off and left the two in their staring battle. Clara's eyes were blurred and red from tiredness, the shadows under her eyes almost matching the night sky.

"Hello, John," the girl winced as she mustered up a weak smile.

☆

"YOUR COAT, JACKET AND BAG," THE policeman grudgingly handed over her things. Clara silently took them, her eyes not straying from the opposed man, as she scanned his face for any tell of fear and threat. She presumed that was the only way she had been left free— that...and a lot of hush money. Hell, maybe the policeman was dirty, if so, he would be rolling around in the bribe like a pig in shit. But as Clara watched him, she noticed his clenched jaw and the way he sucked his teeth. He was annoyed and it amused her. Perhaps, he would've been able to take a drug ring down by arresting Clara or even receive a promotion because Clara was his two hundredth arrest that month.

Whatever the reason for his annoyance, Clara thrived off of it.

John stood solemnly behind the girl, his arms crossed as he remained silent. It unnerved Clara, she couldn't believe he had remained quiet and brooding for so long. From what she saw out of the corner of her eyes, he looked indifferent to the situation as if he had better places to be— which he probably didn't. The girl shrugged on her coat feeling a small difference in weight on the right side from the bottles she'd stuffed into the lining.

The girl found her messy scrawl being repeated as she signed a few release documents. She didn't even bother to read them. She couldn't care less at this stage. All she wanted was to make snow angels in the depths of her snow and see Nadia...her Nadia. Clara couldn't lose her too. Nadia had been right, Clara had to make amendments and her heart would continue to break until she did.

Clara squinted as sunbeams flooded her vision. She followed John towards his car as he strolled towards it, maintaining his silence. A full thrumming raged through Clara's head as she walked with her head down towards the ground.

"Hurry up, 'n get in," John stated, already inside the car when Clara eventually caught up. The girl rolled her eyes and climbed into the car, her trembling hands inside her pockets.

"Can you drop me at The Aurora?" Clara asked, her tone rather monotonous.

"You're not going out drinking, 'specially not after what I've just had to bloody do," John huffed as he revved the engine and pulled out onto the street.

"I wasn't going to go drinking," Clara argued, her eyebrows furrowed. "I need to get my fuckin' car!"

"No, you're coming back to Small Heath," John responded sternly. "Straight back, no stops."

Clara's jaw fell open slightly as her heart sped up. She couldn't leave London, not yet. She had to see Nadia, talk to her and try to explain the madness she'd been trying to suppress. She needed to be with Nadia.

"I can't just leave it parked up here!"

"I'll get someone to collect it," He dismissed,

"John, I need to get things from my car!" Clara continued to argue. "Besides, this is bloody London, you send someone to collect it and it'll be gone before they even get there!"

"You seem to have everything you need in that bag of yours," John gritted,

"Oh, for god's sake!" Clara cried out, her hands thrown into the air. "I have files hidden beneath the seats. Very important files, may I add. So, either you drive me there or I jump out of this car right now."

"You're not in the bloody position to be making demands."

"John! Why are you so caught up about this?" Clara raised her voice as she spoke. Desperation flooded her words. "You've always done so much worse! Why are you acting like I've killed the King?!"

"Because somebody has gotta be the bloody Tommy to your Clara!" John yelled, his shoulders slowly loosening up at his confession.

Clara paused and moved back, her face scrunched up in confusion. "The what to my what now?" She questioned, her lips parted as she tried to work out what he was exactly he was implying.

"The Tommy to your Clara," John huffed, his eyes straight ahead of him. "It's so simple to understand, even I do."

"Well, do tell if it's 'so simple'," she mocked

"The only one who can ever really shut you up is Tommy and even that's with a struggle, the rest of us have given up even trying to get you to stop!" John rolled his eyes. "You two are the only people in the family— hell the world, who can seem to put each other in your rightful places."

Clara bit her lip to contain a smile at his outburst. She thought it nice that her family had little control over what she did or said. She did hold a little bit of a grudge at the fact Tommy was her chosen mediator, especially given the ever-rocky and unstable relationship between them.

"I'd argue that I usually shut up when Pol tells me to," Clara pondered aloud after a few seconds of silence.

"but that's different, everyone shuts up when Pol says to." John allowed a small smile to creep across his face. There was a moment of silence before her brother broke it. "I can't believe I just had to bail you out...you were supposed to be the good one"

"I don't think anyone in our family could be a 'good one'," Clara joked, "It's not in our blood."

"I mean," John drawled, "You were made to be better."

"I am better,"

"Because you were made like that,"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Clara tilted her head towards her brother as he drove through London.

"Thomas made sure you were kept in school and educated–bloody hell, if you were to drop out, I would have given you a place in the den in seconds. But he wanted you to get educated and work on creating the legal side of things."

"And Pol, she made sure you learned how to stand up for yourself amongst us idiots, and no matter how hard I tried to break that bloody habit, you still argued back and with actual knowledge, which got very dull eventually." John joked, glancing at his sister. "What I'm saying is that you were raised different...nothing 'gainst you, but it's true. Look at Finn, boy's dropped out already, stopped going when he was young."

"I tried to get him to go back," Clara recalled, "He refused." John nodded his head.

"Because he didn't have to go back. He could come work with us." John supplied, "You had the brains, you always did. Used to run rings around everyone, even when you were up to my kneecaps. Worse than my lot you were!"

"I think that's impossible," Clara faintly smiled,

"You might be right there...It's true though, you were a nightmare of a child. Me and Ada tried to throw you down a flight of stairs this one time in a cardboard box." John laughed as Clara's mouth fell open slightly.

"I thought that was a game!"

"Nah, we just told you that so you wouldn't snitch...Mum found out anyways and gave us both a bloody hiding for it." John's lip quirked up at the memory. His eyes were focused ahead on the road as a thought seemed to dawn over him. "You're the image of her. Always said it. The hair, the eyes, the way you go about. You're just like her."

"We never talk about her," Clara's voice was quiet but harsh. "It's like the world forgot about her."

"We don't talk about her but we do miss her." John tapped his fingers against the wheel, "It's easier to get on with life."

"If I die, I want to be remembered, John," Clara huffed almost angrily. She didn't like how dismissive he sounded. "I don't just want to be a stupid name or a torn photograph. I want to be remembered."

The two siblings sat in silence as they let the conversation settle into nothingness. The girl stared out at the passing buildings, only noticing that they were approaching the hearth of the city. She could see her parked car in the distance as she perked up. John let a grin pull its way back across his face.

"I'm not Tommy— and Christ, I bet the world is thankful for that, so I'll let you drive back to Small Heath yourself," John explained as he stopped the car behind her own. "I'm also not a bloody chauffeur either. But come back today, Clara, don't stay here any longer."

"Yeah, yeah," Clara said halfheartedly as she jumped out of the car.

"Clara!"

The girl faltered in her steps and looked towards John whose head was out the side window.

"That stuff in the bag. It's for horses on race days and men with the blues. You don't need it." He said carefully, (well as careful as John ever could). "Got it?"

"Got it, John," Clara answered solemnly, knowing damn well she would be snorting as much of that powder as she could once he was out of sight.

"By the way?" John spoke once more. "Assaulting a copper? Nice going, but next time? Don't get bloody arrested for it."

☆

CLARA STARED AT HER REFLECTION, her blue eyes flitting from one area of her face to another. From the fading freckles on her shallowed cheeks to the faint powder dusted beneath each nostril. She stood in the small bathroom of The Aurora club, which was opening for the evening. She'd taken refuge in the desolate offices above the club for a few hours prior, to flick through the files she was given yesterday. She'd also attempted to call Nadia on multiple occasions, yet the line wouldn't go through. Clara's mind was slowly sinking. Her blurry vision refocused and unfocused with each blink. Her head was hazy and muffled.

The girl grabbed a piece of tissue and wiped it beneath her nose. She'd told John she'd go home today...surely that included the night also? She let out a short breath before she opened the thick wooden door. Jazz music instantaneously flooded into the small bathroom from outside as the girl stepped into the hallway and walked towards the main hall. She'd never get over the feeling of draining exhilaration that shrouded her body when she stepped out into the crowds of London. She weaved through people that mulled about and people who were excitedly making their way towards the dance floor.

Beyond the tables and dance floor, the bar was in full swing with drinks being passed down the bar top. What once had looked ghostly was now full of life as barmen chatted vigorously to the patrons. Clara tilted her head before she made her way toward the bar. One single glass of whiskey wouldn't hurt anyone, it may even sober her up for the drive home.

"One whiskey, Irish," the girl called out as she leaned against the counter. Her hand fiddled with her pocket watch chain before she pulled it out to examine it. Her eyes flitted over the face, her eyebrows scrunching together at the time. It was only six o'clock. Pathetic. Clara rolled her eyes as she tucked the watch back into her pocket. At this time she would usually not even be getting ready yet, no, she would be relaxing until eight o'clock, and then, only then would she begin to get ready.

"Whiskey, Irish," the barman announced as he placed the drink in front of Clara. The girl nodded her head in a thank you as her fingers wrapped around the glass. She turned in her position, leaning back against the marble as her eyes scanned the club.

She could feel the heat beginning to build as people danced with their loved ones. Those who did not dance, socialised and mingled with those around them at the tables. Men talked with men, women talked with women and those enchanted by another found themselves engulfed by the oh-so-devoted love they felt when with each other.

It made Clara sick.

But she couldn't help but miss her London companion and the wit and joy she brought.

The girl's fingers tapped against her full glass as her thoughts drifted to Nadia. She should've visited the girl but something had stopped her and she didn't know exactly what. Perhaps it was the look on Nadia's face when Clara had swung at that copper. She hadn't looked shocked or angry, she had looked saddened. Saddened that Clara had snapped and was reaping what she had sown.

Clara's teeth sink into her lip as she moved the glass further from her lips, to where she was simply holding it and watching the world around her move on by. It moved slowly compared to its usual upbeat rhythm. It felt more comforting. Her eyes flitted from the bustling people entering the doors to the balcony littered with couples embracing each other.

Clara's eyes wandered over the people that stood overlooking the dance floor. She wondered what in their lives had gone wrong or right to bring them there that night. Had they been fired? Gotten a new job? Got caught having an affair? Just proposed? It was fascinating in the weirdest of ways that these people had lives so different to hers. She'd just been arrested whilst high out of her mind and had been bailed out by her brother. The glass in her hands felt cool and unwelcoming as she moved it from one hand to another.

Her eyes drifted to a couple on the edge of the upper balcony, their faces and bodies close together as their frames shook in what Clara presumed to be laughter. A nagging sensation in her stomach forced her to continue watching as both faces remained out of view. She wondered why they were there. First date? Their one-hundredth date? Clara continued to watch as she leaned back against the counter more comfortably.

The girl moved back from the man with a loud laugh and Clara's heart plummeted to the bottom of her stomach. She should've known. She should've known... Her lip furled as she heard the man's booming laugh echo loudly over the music. It was infuriating. It made her want to throttle the life out of him.

There, atop the balcony stood Penny Crawford and Anthony Margrave, utterly enthralled by one another.

A wave of heat and rage washed over Clara Shelby.

How could they come here? To a place her family practically did business out of. How could she bring him here? Of all places in London, out of all the toff, upper-class restaurants and clubs, they came here. She went with him...here?! To the place Clara had brought her when she'd come to London. It felt like a thousand knives had pierced her soul, an odd sense of betrayal overwhelming her.

Clara was beyond seething. Her teeth gritted together as she watched them laugh so joyously. Penny's lavish engagement ring glittered under the lights that were becoming a little too hot for Clara's liking. The glass in her hand was growing warm, its liquid begging and pleading to be drunk as her narrowed eyes remained on the couple. She watched as Penny's own eyes looked around the club until they finally reached the bar where the girl stood.

Clara could see Penny stiffen. Good. The Shelby girl sneered and spitefully raised her glass at the blonde before she downed her drink and slammed the glass onto the counter. She was half certain it had smashed, but Clara didn't care as she scoffed and pushed herself off of the bar and shoved through the crowds to get outside.

How could Penny have made a bad day even worse? There was a time when that would have been impossible. Penny was usually an Angel— a shining light that guided her, but as Clara watched the blonde on the balcony, all she could see was a twisted demon, purposely out to besmirch the memory they had shared at the club. She hated it. She hated her.

How could she?

Clara's head spun as she pushed her way out of the club and onto the streets of London. She wasted no time in locating her car and jumping inside. Her fists pounded against the steering wheel in pure unadulterated rage. She eventually slumped back into her seat in defeat as she ignored the stares of those who had just witnessed the outburst.

They had all witnessed worse—hell, it was London. Something worse happened every minute of every day.

Clara rummaged through her pockets and snatched her keys to start the car. The thrum of the engine roared beneath her as she ran an unsteady hand through her hair.

It was time for her to leave. She'd had quite enough of London.

☆

CLARA HAD ENTERED THE SILENT HOUSE IN A HURRY. It was desolate, not a single one of her siblings lingered around the house. She presumed Finn had gone out drinking and she presumed the rest were bundled up tight in their little houses. The girl stormed upstairs to her bedroom and tossed her brown paper bag and the files onto the chair in the corner of her room. She'd gotten back to Small Heath in record time, too angry to care about her reckless driving.

Her feet paced the room in hopes it would calm her frazzled nerves, (it did not). The girl let out a loud and annoyed huff as she slammed her hands down onto her dresser. Her blue eyes met themselves in the mirror. Clara looked a mess. Sweat beaded along her hairline, her skin sticky and flushed. She hated it. She hated it. A look of great bitterness swept across her face at the sight of herself and before she could process what was happening, her fist collided with the glass mirror which shattered instantly on impact. Her knuckles wept red as she shook them out, her adrenaline nulling any other feeling.

Clara bit down on the inside of her cheek as she shoved the broken mirror to the floor with a clatter. With flared nostrils, she stepped over the clutter and grabbed the brown paper bag now filled with each and every blue vial she possessed. Her blurred eyes watched as her shaky hands fumbled with it before she straightened up and tried to steady her erratic breathing. The girl felt a wave of tiredness sweep over her which caused her to slightly stumble in her place.

With the bag of vials tucked into her palm, she clambered down the stairs and through the kitchen to where she haphazardly grabbed a bottle of whiskey laying idly on the countertop. Clara took a hasty swig from the bottle, using her sleeve to wipe her mouth as she staggered towards the living room. She stood in the doorframe, a small scoff leaving her lips as they curled up into a bitter smile. She slumped into the tattered red sofa, becoming instantly engulfed by the feeling of home. She stared into the unlit fireplace as she relentlessly drank from the bottle, not even pausing for air. She dumped the brown paper bag behind a cushion to lazily hide it. She felt the horrid pit in her stomach grow and expand to every pure crevice of her body and shroud it with the darkness.

And that's where the girl spent her evening. Sitting, drinking and utterly raging at something so juvenile.

CLARA SHELBY WAS DREAMING AGAIN. The world looked fuzzy and bright despite the night that had plunged hours before. She looked around her curiously, noticing the familiar buildings of Small Heath, covered in a white fog. Clara heard a voice. It had said her name. She'd heard it before. Her eyes darted to the side where a woman in a white shawl beckoned the girl to follow her.

Clara felt a tug in her stomach as she followed the woman down a side street. The woman with hair and eyes like her daughter's paused to look back at the girl. On Clara's lips lay the ghost of the smile. She'd seen the woman before, she was smart, she knew it was her mother.

"Clara, Clara, Clara," the woman endearingly sighed, brushing a strand of hair out of the young Shelby's face. The girl leaned into the touch as the soothing voice washed over her.

"You're here," Clara sighed deeply, feeling as if she were once again a child sitting on her mother's lap.

"Mm..." the Shelby woman hummed as she examined Clara's face. Her mother's hands were cold as ice, her fingers like raindrops as they fluttered over her cheekbone. "I'm here...are you?"

Clara tilted her head curiously, her lips pursed. "I think I am..." She answered, glancing behind her, "it's usually quite hard to tell these days."

She turned to look for her mother only to discover that the woman had moved further down the side street. Clara's breath caught in her throat as she hurried her footsteps to catch up to the woman.

The woman stood with a warm grin in the middle of what was to be a street, except it seemed that the street was no longer a street but a field. Clara looked behind her to where the side street should've been, but it had vanished into thin air it seemed, and so she turned her attention back to the sight ahead.

The girl's lips parted in awe at the emerald grass and at the family vardo which stood only meters away in the blades of grass. It looked just as it had, its magenta paint chipped with the yellow lining faded and welcoming. Clara had vague memories of it, very vague but surely they still counted?

The girl's fingers brushed the high grass, each blade as soft as a pillow, its scattered wildflowers waving hello as they peeked out from beneath the greenery. The field was untouched by humanity and yet to be destroyed by booming industries. Clara looked towards her mother who seemed to be piling scrap wood together.

"Clara!" The woman greeted once more, her white shawl flapping in the wind as she waltzed toward her daughter once more. "You're here."

"I am?" Clara's mind was muddled. How had she...? When did she...? The girl's head dropped to her chest like an insolent child as her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"Oh, enough of that, darling," the older woman cooed, her freezing hands caressing the side of her face. "Can you get me a drink of water while I finish up here?"

Clara did not answer but she was happy to oblige. Her boot-clad feet clattered against the wood of the Vardo as she entered the haven. She felt as if she were stepping into another world within her dream. A sweet smell filled the air as the floor beneath squeaked at her movement. She moved towards the wooden countertop where a bottle lay filled with a liquid waiting to be poured out.

The girl's hands trembled as she unscrewed the top and shakily poured the liquid into a glass for her mother. Clara was focused on the task at hand, her lip between her teeth as she concentrated. Once the glass was full and the bottle was empty, she picked it up and turned on her heel ever so carefully so as to not spill any.

As she turned, Clara immediately bumped into a figure and as her heart dropped in shock, so did the full glass. She could do little to stop the glass as it shattered on the floor, and spilt everything everywhere.

"Oh, fuck!" Clara swore softly, her saddened eyes turned down at the mess she'd made. "I'm sorry."

Her mother shook with stiff laughter, her eyes wide open. "Never mind that!" She said hurriedly, disregarding the stained and sticky floor and the pungent smell that flooded through their noses. "Come on!"

Clara's hand interlinked with her mother's as she was dragged outside. The sun was already beginning to sink. Clara wondered how her dream could ever do something like that, she supposed it worked weirdly. The bonfire her mother had put together was meticulously set up, all it needed was a spark to light the flames.

"My darling, you know that each year, one of my children lights the bonfire and tonight...tonight it is your turn." Her mother smiled, her hands on Clara's shoulders as she pressed a lingering kiss to the girl's forehead.

"Mine?" Clara's voice came out as a whisper and a small smile crept across her face.

"Yes, yours!" Her mother teasingly nodded before she looked up at the darkening sky. The Shelby girl not down on her lip to suppress a smile. "It's time, my love, light it for me. Light it all up!"

Clara's eyebrows furrowed even further as her mother handed her the gold lighter she'd nicked from her brothers all those years ago, the small initials 'C.S.' scratched lazily beneath the golden lid.

What a peculiar dream, Clara thought to herself as she flickered the light open, its flame dancing with the breeze. The tantalizing flame continued to dance as the girl crouched by the bonfire pile, her hand outstretched with the lighter. The flame from the golden lighter brushed against the closest branch stacked. She waved it back and forth against the wood until a spark ignited. With a small cheer, she carelessly threw the lighter behind her as the small flame of the bonfire spread up the long branch. From behind her, her mother cheered and made her way around the other side of the bonfire.

As the flames licked the sides of the bonfire, she became enraptured, unable to tear her eyes away. Her mind was silent as she watched the flames grow taller. Through the flames, she could see her mother...or what was her mother. The woman's hair was stringy and had been drenched by water, her white shawl damp and downtrodden. Her lips were tinted blue as she clawed at her throat. Clara watched in a panic as her mother struggled to breathe, strangled screams being emitted.

The fire spread further, now crawling its way to the top of the bonfire. Clara could feel the intense heat that fanned out around her. No...this was all wrong. This was meant to be a good dream, not a bad one. Shrill screams echoed around her. She could feel as hands grabbed her shoulders and dragged her away from the horror of her decomposing mother. She could not see who was dragging her back, but her mother's outstretched arms continued to reach after her.

"Clara!"

No...not again...not the voices. It had been such a pleasant dream...why did they have to ruin everything? Perhaps if she ignored it, they would leave her be...

"CLARA!"

Clara blinked heavily to find herself being tugged back into the side street. Her heavy and irregular breathing grew faster as she glanced at Finn who had a tight grip on her shoulders. He looked panicked and worried, his wide eyes flitting between the girl and beyond her.

"Finn?" Clara croaked, her eyebrows scrunched together. She wasn't at home. Thousands of confused thoughts swirled in her head. "Is this another dream?"

"Another dream? Jesus, fuck, Clara!" Finn hurriedly whispered, "Wake up! This isn't a bloody dream! Clara's heart dropped to her stomach as she examined her trembling hands. "You're lucky I found you first!

"No...it was...I was dreaming, Finn, I know I was!" Clara persisted, "I saw mum, I saw her and she's dead so it had to have been a dream." Finn gulped as he looked behind her once more. "What the bloody hell are you hiding?"

"No, Clara, don't!" Finn attempted to stop the girl from turning but she broke free from his grasp and spun to look behind her.

Smoke billowed into the night sky. The girl's eyes widened significantly as she tried her best to hide her lip as it quivered. She shook her head slightly in denial before she poked her head around the side street corner to look out at the street which people now flooded onto, taking in the sight ahead of them. Clara's shaky hand covered her mouth in horror as she felt her knees weaken.

Ahead of her, through the gathering crowd, Crawford's sweet shop was engulfed in flames, its red and white striped shop front charred and crumbling. The girl found herself stumbling backwards into her brother as she watched the shop burn. A small group gathered around the Crawford family as they stumbled out of the shop, weeping and huddled together to keep warm in their night clothes. The two Shelbys kept close to the shadows, Finn's hand clenched down on Clara's shoulder.

"We have to go," Finn urged, pulling his sister back as she remained silent. Clara allowed her brother to drag her away from the crime scene, as she tripped over her own feet and struggled to walk. The boy's pace was urgent as his wild eyes flitted both beyond and behind them. The girl kept her head bowed, her mind tearing apart at the seams.

How could this have happened?

How in the bloody hell could this have happened?

She had fallen asleep but even then, she didn't know if she had or hadn't. Clara couldn't help but contemplate her entire life, what had been real? What had not? What had simply been a dream and she hadn't realised? What had been real life that she thought was a dream?

Clara's head spun at the countless thoughts that pierced her brain repeatedly, each stab like thousands of pinpricks against her flesh. The girl allowed herself to be pulled left and right as Finn scrambled to get home and out of public sight. She couldn't even recognise her surroundings as her vision swam.

Finn was talking to her again. She could pick out his voice amongst the others. It was deeper but softer. She couldn't make out exactly what he was saying but as he led her towards the living room couch, Clara began to shake furiously.

Her entire worldview seemed to have shifted. For Christ's sake, she hadn't even realised she had been brought home. Finn had crouched in front of her, his hands on her knees as his eyebrows furrowed. He was talking once more. Clara could see his lips moving. He seemed to be looking around urgently, his lips barely opening and closing as he sped through words and syllables.

The girl remained silent, her gaze drifting behind the boy as he continued to ramble. She barely noticed as he stood and ran a hand through his hair in anxiousness. Clara barely realised he had left her alone until the slamming of the front door sent her tumbling out of her head. She raised her heavy head, her limbs weak and sluggish. Her fingers crawled across the material of the sofa and pulled out the brown bag from beneath the cushion. Her hands frantically sifted through the bag and retrieved a vile. She needed the relief. It was no longer just a want. It was a need. She needed it so badly.

Clara tipped out the vial onto the back of her hand and sniffed it up in scattered moments. Her foot tapped against the floor, its dull beating searing holes into her brain. Why wasn't the snow working? Surely, she'd have felt some sort of relief by now? Clara gulped and crushed the heel of her palms against her eyes. She couldn't take much more of her brain and the voices that flooded in through its gates.

"Fuck it," She softly sore as she withdrew a few more vials from the bag. She'd just have to keep taking more until she felt something and surely that would work. Her trembling fingers tapped more and more powder out, her nose growing sore from the impact. The back of her throat was beginning to be coated in a sour taste as the cocaine invaded her system. A tingling feeling spread over her nose and the back of her mouth.

She did not stop.

Clara couldn't yet feel the high she was chasing. She wanted to be happy again. She wanted to feel happy. She hadn't felt it in a long time and she missed it. She missed it so much. She missed laughing genuinely and wholeheartedly, not the fake laughs she'd been squeezing out. She missed the feeling of elation that stemmed from her heart and spread rapidly around her body.

She just wanted to feel again.

The girl groaned as she knocked back another vial, her stomach cramping ever so slightly. Clara wrapped one of her arms around her middle, as she retrieved another vial.

Why wasn't it working?

It should've been working by now!

She sniffed up another lump of cocaine, letting the powder coat the inside of her nose. Her eyes fluttered open and shut heavily as she awaited the effects to set in. The feeling of joy has not yet encompassed her body and Clara's heart sunk further into the depths of desperation as she finished off the vial and searched for another.

She wanted to feel happy and free. She wanted to drift into sleep without nightmares, a proper sleep this time. She wanted to feel light and to drift through life like everyone else around her seemed to be doing. She wanted to not feel like she was stuck, rooted in the bad.

She wanted it to stop.

Clara could feel her pulse quicken but instead of its usual soothing wave, it brought forth a tsunami of frenzy as she grabbed the cushions to ground herself.  Her head swirled as voices began to creep past the threshold of her mind. They always began like this; small whispers that would turn into exuberant shouts. The girl fumbled with another blue vial, her fingers profusely shaking as her stomach continued to cramp and churn.

She threw the vial towards the fireplace as the last of her cocaine had been spread across the back of her hand. Clara took a rattled breath in before she snorted up the remains. Her eyesight blurred as she sat up. Her stomach was getting worse. She was getting worse.

It hadn't worked.

She still wasn't happy.

And the voices just seemed to love that fact.

"Baby Clara, can't smile, eh? Smile little baby, smileeee!"

One teased

"Take more, do it! What will it matter?!"

Another urged

"Can't even make yourself feel anything anymore! You're pathetic!"

It spat, its tone bitter as the girl cried out and shook her head.

The girl gripped the back of the sofa as she pushed herself to stand, her hand still wrapped around her torso. The floor beneath her spun as if she were riding a carousel at the fairs she loved as a child. From around the room, voices jumped out, their voices urging her to do various things as she staggered towards the kitchen, her hands grasping at the walls and chairs and tables as she passed.

Clara felt as if she were floating, only tethered by the misery of her mind and body that sluggishly collapsed against the kitchen wall. Her face was pressed against the brick as her fingers traipsed the grout lines. She squeezed her eyes shut as pain ricocheted through her stomach and tore through her veins. Her fingers stopped their route as they hit the cool metal of the phone on the table beside her. The girl lethargically wrapped her fingers around the phone and picked it up. Her light fingers spun the circle a few times with an absent-minded giggle.

"Hello?"

"23 Watercraft street!" Clara breathed out into the receiver, as her tired body remained against the wall for support.

"Putting you through now, stay on the line," the operator instructed. Clara let out a pained huff as a click echoed through the telephone.

"Uh...hello," a groggy voice eventually spoke.

"Will!" Clara dragged out, her head leaning back against the wall. "It's you!"

"You rang me, you numbskull," Will deeply chuckled, a stifled yawn not escaping her ears. "Is there a reason for calling this late?"

"You like me, Will, don't you?" Clara whispered through the phone, her meek voice strained.

There was a confused pause.

"You're my best friend," he soon answered truthfully.

"But do you like me?...as a person of course, not like that. No...Never like that, actually on the topic of it—WAIT! I can't tell you, can I?...can I?"

"Tell me what?"

"That I could never like you...or a man...any man" Clara yawned as her body shuddered at the thought. Her stomach had gotten worse as she bent over slightly. Will was silent as Clara waited for a response. "Will? Helloooo? You there?"

"I'm here," Will's voice flooded the receiver, now sounding a lot more awake. "Clara...are you okay?"

"Did you know that I loved Penny?" She let out a weak but spiteful laugh, "and she bloody loved me. Past tense...for both. She and Anthony fuckin' Margrave are now a very happy couple. God, I hate them both."

"Clara, where are you?"

"'m at home," she hummed, "Gonna sleep soon though...feel tired, but I don't want to sleep."

"And why's that?"

"I'll hear 'em clearly again..."

"Hear who?" Clara could almost sense Will's furrowed brows over the phone as his tone began to become completely laced in concern.

"The voices." She answered as if it was as simple as answering what two plus two was, (it was four by the way!). Her voice dropped as fear crept over her that they could hear what she was saying. "They're always here and get this, earlier I had a dream! Except it wasn't a dream, Will, it was real...but I saw my mum! Isn't that quite funny, Will? I saw my mum, but she's long dead!"

The boy was silent but rustling could be heard beyond the phone. Clara doubled over even further as her vision swam.

"Will? I feel like I'm dying." Clara admitted carefully, as her hand swiped against her forehead which was beaded with sweat. "I think I'm insane and dying...more so the former but a lil' the latter."

"Clara? I'm on my way," Will hurriedly said into his phone.

"Why?"

"You need me,"

"No! I need to sleep without dreams, Will. Why am I so different? Why can't I just bloody sleep? Why me, Will?" Clara's voice cracked as a singular tear ran down her face all while she struggled to remain upright. "I want this to stop. I don't like the voices. I want to be happy. I wanna r-ride my horse and dance on street corners. I don't want to be like this anymore."

"Shelby, I need to hang up, I'm coming. Hold on for me, yeah?" Will's voice was strained and panicked.

"Mhm..." Clara mumbled as her knees buckled. She felt as if she were standing on a boat, its waves rocking the floor causing her to stumble and fall to the floor beside the phone. She could hear frantic shouts from the receiver as her cheek pressed against the cool wooden flooring.

Maybe this time, she would simply fall asleep and pray that this had all simply been the dream it had felt like.

☆

HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS READERS! THIS BOOK HAS A NEW COVER!

For those of you who might have missed it, I have been foreshadowing Clara committing arson for so long that I compiled a list of instances (which I will provide on my mb!).

Also, the water Clara got for her mother and spilt? It was alcohol, surprise! That + Clara's flame from the lighter is what caused the fire.

ANYWAYS, I hope you enjoyed, I LOVE YOU ALL and I will see you soon <333 (here's your meme)