Alive Again

Reese had developed a curious routine, Clary mused. Her older sister would come home from school briefly, to drop off her bag or to even take a quick shower and change. However, she never stayed long, if she stayed at all. Clary had spent the last two weeks more alone than she had ever been. She could have taken advantage of the empty house—her mother either working or spending time with her boyfriend (which she had been more open about, at least to Clary) and Reese was with Kennedy.

But she didn’t take advantage of the empty house. Clary didn’t have a boyfriend; she wasn’t interested in any of the boys currently vying for her attention. She had one boy she was focused on, and he was so different from all the other boys. He was smart, kind, and he wasn’t focused entirely on sex. He treated her like a person, and not like a blow up doll. He didn’t look at her in disgust, like she had an STI.

But he didn’t seem to care about her, either. No, he looked at her as nothing more than a friend’s sister. Maybe to John, that’s all she was. She had slowly accepted that John had eyes for only Reese—it was so painfully obvious. She had planned to get him in bed with her to spite Reese at first, to get him so drunk that he couldn’t remember his own name. Her plans were thwarted when Reese showed up at that party, attached to his waist. She flirted, she teased, she was nice, she played innocent, and she even tried to get to him through his friends—none of it had worked.

So she turned her attention to Garrett, despite her sister’s warnings. She gave up on him quickly, as he and Pat were inseparable and he really wasn’t her type. A “type” had never been a problem with her before, but Garrett just kept turning her off, and inadvertently shutting her down whenever she hung out with him... and Pat. After she gave up on her half-hearted pursuit of Garrett, she began to feel... hollow. Clary couldn’t point out what exactly made her feel so sad, empty, and lethargic, but she had an idea of what might fix it.

John seemed like he was the answer to her problems. She deserved to have a boy like that—one that respects her and won’t sleep with her. He was the kind of boy that believes in trust, love, and hygiene (something that Garrett sometimes lacked). Clary sat back and began to observe John more often after her pitiful attempt at seducing Garrett a little over two weeks ago. She began to notice his little quirks, things that most people would miss if they weren’t watching.

He didn’t smile all the time—only when he had a reason to. His half smile was used when he was feeling sarcastic, or couldn’t find enough enthusiasm for a full smile. She remembered the first time she saw his crooked half-smile. It was her first day of high school and Reese hadn’t gotten her license yet (but she had her permit and got her license shortly afterward). Their mom made them take the bus and Clary had been so embarrassed. Reese had been annoyed by then, pointing out that their mother could have driven them.

He was just about to walk by them, awkward and gangly, his hair a mess under his cap and his hairy legs exposed by his shorts, utterly cringe worthy. He caught sight of Reese and staggered backwards, stopping and turning to face her. His face started as inquisitive, transformed to recognition and then a timid smile. It was solely directed at Reese—Clary stood on the sidelines, unnoticed.

“You look good,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. Reese’s face was flushed, her eyes darting between Clary and her friend. Both teens were uncomfortable—something that hadn’t happened between them before.

“Thanks. You look... taller,” she responded with awkward pauses. Then it happened—John’s mouth lifted into his crooked half-smile that Reese was often graced with. When John smiled at Clary, it was half a smile but it was never as crooked or endearing as the smiles he gave to Reese. Lately though, he hadn’t been smiling at Reese at all. In fact, Clary noticed the boy getting more and more irate when Reese was around—he usually slammed something and stalked off before her sister even took notice of him.

It was obvious that John and Reese were falling apart. Kennedy and Reese, however, were almost attached at the hip—except for lunches. Clary noticed with mounting interest that lunch was a tense affair between Kennedy and John. She had probed her sister, without much luck, and deduced that something had happened between Kennedy and Reese to set John off. The school agreed with her; rumours were flying through the halls. Kennedy and Reese hooked up in John’s bed, John and Reese had been fucking and Kennedy stole her affections. All the rumours were of dramatic love triangles.

Clary saw this continue for two weeks—which in the high school timeline is practically a year—and could hardly contain herself. John was obviously very pissed off and very upset, showing that he clearly cared for her sister. She almost felt guilty for thinking it, but she could use that to her advantage. How could Reese not see that John was wonderful and everything she could hope for? How was her sister just letting him slip away from her? Why would she be fucking around with Kennedy when she had the proverbial prince charming waiting for her to open her goddamn eyes?

Reese was a fool. Clary would make her see that. It would hurt, leaving her to be the lonely one, but she would do it and maybe get something out of it.

Clary waited a half an hour after Reese left to start dialing John’s cell number. She was shaking, nerves stirring her stomach into a nauseous frenzy, waiting for him to answer. It rang once, it rang twice, and it was ringing a third time when she heard the distinct click of a call connecting. Clary brought her hand to her mouth, biting down on her thumb nervously.

“Hello?” He sounded tired, wary even.

“John,” she breathed deeply after his name, like it was oxygen. “It’s Clary... John something bad happened.” Her throat was constricting with the weight of what she was about to do, the sacrifice she was about to make. Her breathing hitched, and she began to lose control of her focused calm.

“What, you failed your biology midterm?” Clary was momentarily silenced by his sarcasm—she hadn’t been exposed to this side of John before. Then again, she understood where his bitterness stemmed from, he was hurt and lashing out. She saw past it, but his cold demeanour only spurred on her tears.

“I-it’s not me,” she croaked through the obstruction in her throat. “I-it’s R-Reese!”

Clary waited after her statement, listening hard for any sound on the line. She could have missed a sign that John was affected by her statement over her sniffles and gasping breaths. She almost convinced herself that he had hung up on her when he spoke again.

“What, did Kennedy forget to buy her candy before their date?”

“N-no, I don’t k-know what hap-happened! I’m s-so scared John, I-I-I’ve never, never seen her like th-this before! Sh-she’s always so f-fucking calm!” Clary really should have taken drama as an elective; she would have gotten an A.

“What do you mean, Clary? What’s wrong with Reese?” Finally, John sounded concerned. Clary let out a small hiccup and fell back onto her bed, relieved. Now she was finally getting somewhere.

“I don’t know, sh-she’s freaking out, J-John. I think you’re the only p-person that can calm her down. P-please come over, I-I’m afraid of what she might d-do!” Clary closed her eyes and imagined John. He would be pacing, taking two long strides in one direction, before he had to turn around and take two more strides. He would tug on his hair, run his hand over his face and grip his neck.

“I’m on my way,” he told Clary before hanging up on her. Rational John would have kept her on the line, she was obviously hysterical and in no condition to be left alone, but he wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. All John could think about were the bruises he had seen, tarnishing the otherwise flawless flesh on Reese’s arms. He knew for a fact that Kennedy was to blame for those bruises, and his mind began to rapidly go through all the worst-case scenarios.

The recurring theme was that Kennedy had hurt her somehow. There was a haunting montage of memories playing in his head as he made his way to the Wallace household. The vibrant hand shaped bruises stood out, transitioning to how she had looked on the night of her birthday—hair matted to her flushed and glistening face, her lips quivering and his name coming as a desperate plea. Was this what awaited him at the Wallace house? Would Reese be sitting amongst the rubble of her once strong defensive wall?

John was going ten miles over the speed limit; he was so worried over Reese that he barely remembered the drive at all. The fact that he could have gotten into an accident eluded him; his mind was on one track and that was Reese, Reese, Reese. He didn’t even notice that the driveway was empty—that didn’t matter, really. Their mother could have the car. He didn’t think for a second that Reese would have taken off, not if she was a wreck, like Clary said she was.

He didn’t knock or ring the doorbell, for that matter, he just gripped the brass knob and turned. The door flew open so easily that it nearly bounced off the wall, but John tugged it back before collision and used its momentum to slam it back into place. Clary was standing at the top of the stairs, her face blotchy and red, glistening with tears yet to dry and pieces of her hair sticking to her face. The thought was in and out of his mind before he could be flustered by it; Reese was much prettier than Clary when she cried.

The young girl sniffled and brought up the balled up tissue to wipe up more tears. John paid no mind to her; he was looking around for Reese. When he couldn’t see her downstairs, he looked up to Clary (who had been watching him) with crazed eyes.

“Where is she?” he demanded, gripping his keys so tightly in a fist that he nearly broke the skin. His muscles were trembling—coiled too tightly and saturated in adrenaline.

“She heard me talking to you and freaked out. She hit me, and then she left and I don’t know where she went.” John was turning away from Clary the moment he heard that Reese had left.

“Where are you going?” Clary asked, and rational John would have noticed how much panic was in her voice.

“She’s probably at Kennedy’s, I’m going to go get her,” John announced calmly.

“No,” Clary shouted, throwing her hand out as if to stop John from leaving. The action was futile as she was too far away to ever physically stop him from going out the front door. Fortunately, her declaration was enough to make John pause. Clary rushed on, knowing that she didn’t have much time to make her case.

“Please don’t go, I’m scared—what if she comes back? I don’t want to be alone when that happens and you have no proof that she’s even at Kennedy’s, what is going there really going to accomplish? We both know that Reese will end up back here, eventually. Please stay, John, wait for her here. She needs you.”

As she spoke, she began to descend the stairs—slowly, like John was a wounded animal liable to run off if he felt threatened. John slowly began to lose his adrenaline rush—the air seemed to swoosh out of his body as her logic sunk in. Chasing after Reese would only leave him frustrated, and Clary was right, Reese needed him here, to be calm when she wasn’t. John unclenched his hand, letting his keys dangle from a finger and turned around. Clary smiled tentatively at him and held out her hand, he went to give her his keys—to assure her that he wasn’t going anywhere—but she caught his hand and began to take him upstairs.

John couldn’t really think of why they might be going upstairs, but he didn’t see a reason not to, either. Clary didn’t bother to justify why she was leading him upstairs, and she didn’t say anything when she brought him into her bedroom.

He willingly took a seat on her bed and began to take in her room. It was different from Reese’s—while hers had photographs, Clary’s had paintings. Some of them were crude and childish, but a lot of them were really well done. The countless glasses of dirty water with paintbrushes sitting in them gave evidence that these paintings were created, not bought. On Clary’s dresser alone, there were five jars of murky water with various shaped paint brushes sitting in them. The colors in the water ranged from grey to green, pink to blue and yellow to red.

While Reese’s room had been clean (the one time John had seen it), Clary’s was a disaster. He attributed that to the fact that she was somewhat of an artist—they weren’t very concerned with organization. She had piles of clothes falling out of her tiny closet and a stack of magazines (Vogue, Teen Vogue, Flair, Vanity Fair, Alternative Press, and some other magazines that John had never heard of) leaning precariously on the edge of her bedside table (where Reese would have had novels) and one of her many pillows was sitting on the floor.

“So tell me what happened,” John said after he was done observing her bedroom. Clary nodded and sniffled.

“She usually goes over to Kennedy’s place after school and leaves me at home.” John watched the tears fall from Clary’s eyes again. The muscle in his jaw tightened at the mention of Reese spending her after school time at Kennedy’s house—he was well aware that his friend’s mother was out of town. His mind involuntarily flashed images of flesh on flesh, exotic movement behind a haze. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly to rid himself of the haunting image. Clary watched him struggle, and that only brought the tears on faster. She wanted to stop, but what she said was the truth.

“Sh-she doesn’t come home un-until late—usually after di-dinner, but t-today she came home a-and started freaking out. She was s-screaming and c-crying and throwing things and g-god, I was so scared. I’ve never seen R-Reese lose control, e-ever. She doesn’t really have the e-energy for it, you know?”

Truth: Reese didn’t come home until after dinner. Lie: she came home freaking out. Lie: Clary had never seen her lose control—she had seen Reese lose control when Christine jumped her in the hall. Truth: Reese didn’t really have the energy for outbursts.

“I c-called you and she st-stormed into m-my r-room and started y-yelling at me and when she found out what I d-did, she hit me. Then she took off with our m-mom’s car. I don’t know wh-where she w-went.”

John didn’t believe for a second that Reese would hit her sister without being provoked—like with Christine. Reese had resembled a feral beast in the hall that day. She hardly resembled a human; she was the epitome of a wild animal, going on pure instinct. Could Clary have invoked a similar reaction?

“I’m really w-worried about her y’know? I-I’m scared th-that she might t-try and d-do something stupid l-like h-hurt herself.”

No, Reese wouldn’t do something like that, John was sure of it. That seed of doubt was planted in his mind though—just how well did he know Reese? How could he be sure that she wouldn’t do that? It was generally just wishful thinking; no one wants their friend to go down that path. Nothing was said for a long time, John was wrapped up in his thoughts and Clary was watching him for a sign. The only noises heard were on Clary’s part; her laboured breathing and constant sniffles. She kept lifting her sleeve to wipe away the tears.

She scooted closer to him on the bed, gaining his attention. When she spoke, her voice was considerably softer than it had been and more controlled. She spoke slowly, like she was reluctant to put the words out there.

“Maybe Reese is like this because of what happened with our dad,” she theorized. John’s interest was piqued—getting Reese to talk about her father was like trying to do brain surgery. “She doesn’t let herself feel anything or get close to anyone, not really. I think you might be her closest friend. She just never talks about it, you know? Seeing her cry on her birthday was the first time she even showed emotion. Some of our aunts tried to get her to talk about it, but Reese was adamant on keeping silent.

“That shirt that Kennedy wore, when you drove us all to school and I broke up with him, was our dad’s. He gave it to Reese the night he left. She got to say goodbye, I guess, she was really too young to understand what was happening. I think that moment eats at her. I resented her for having it for a long time. She probably thinks that I still hate her for it, but I’ve moved on from that. Now I just hate that she keeps me locked out of her life.

“I wonder if she remembers what he looks like, I forgot. We don’t really have pictures of him around—they hurt too much. I can’t remember what he looks like; I can’t remember him at all. I just feel so alone, all the fucking time. Dads aren’t supposed to walk away from their kids; they’re supposed to stick around. He didn’t love us enough to stay, we ruined his life. He was never there to scare away any of our potential boyfriends or to teach us how to change the oil in our cars—he’s gone.”

John couldn’t explain why he felt compelled to take the young girl into his arms—he was caught up in her story. He had no idea that most of this was rehearsed. The tears were genuine and the story truthful, if overused. He was moved by this, felt a need to give her comfort. It was obvious to him that Clary needed her older sister and Reese wasn’t cutting it. He’d be a surrogate substitute for the moment.

Clary reciprocated the embrace, needing to hold onto something that felt like stability. His arms fell heavy around her upper back, his hand awkwardly rubbing against her cotton t-shirt in an act of comfort. Clary gripped John’s shirt in her hand, gripping tightly to a moment that was never really hers to begin with. She accepted his embrace without fear, allowing her head to rest in the spot between his shoulder and neck. She closed her eyes and focused on this brief feeling of bliss. Her tears began to slow until they eventually stopped, but John kept his arms around her.

She heard the distant sound of a car squealing to a stop nearby and let out a sigh through her nose. She had thought that she’d have more time to enjoy this—but her sister had the habit of showing up when Clary least wanted her to. She blinked slowly and then lifted her head, bringing her mouth to John’s neck. She placed two chaste open mouthed kisses to his neck—his body tensed against hers and he flinched away from her—a goodbye to something that would never have happened.

The slam made both of them jump, even if Clary was expecting it. John’s arms fell away from her quickly and Clary sat up from her position of leaning against the boy.

“Clarissa Mae Wallace, I know what you’re doing,” Reese’s voice screeched from downstairs. Clary blinked and missed it—once second John was sitting next to her and then he was gone, like he had never been there before.