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A ghost of a touch. A brush of a calloused hand. A deep whisper of her name.
Clarice’s eyes fly open and she shoots up from her bed at an ungodly hour. Breathing hard, she tries to console herself—bewildered and, slightly more embarrassed than she would care to admit about her...ordeal—she gulps.
Is something wrong with her?
A chilling shudder runs up her spine as she tries to shake those thoughts out of her head. This wasn’t like her. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she can appreciate the concept of shallow skin deep purely physical attractiveness—she won’t deny that. But, this...this was different. It felt real.
It just made no sense.
Memories ran awry in her thoughts she doesn’t remember making. Dreams that never crossed her mind before were all that occupied her head now.
She couldn’t even trust herself.
Clarice let out a frustrated groan and flopped back on the bed. It creaked under her weight.
Closing her bright emerald eyes, she thought back to the way Sonia had been acting around her, almost as if she was avoiding her. The redhead would stare at her when she thought Clarice wasn’t looking, except she was. She wasn’t aware of what was going on, but something was definitely up.
Rubbing her eyes, she rolled over to her side, deciding she’ll talk to Sonia tomorrow morning—ask her what her deal is. But for now, she needs to sleep without having inappropriate dreams.
//
A yawn escapes Clarice’s lips as she waits for the new espresso machine to finish brewing her coffee. She’s willing to down a whole pot if that’s what it takes to keep her awake for the day. Clarice isn’t much of a morning person. And even mutants need their fair share of sleep to function. But thanks to these little almost-sex dreams she’s been having, she can barely keep her eyes from drooping.
How inconvenient.
She slumps against the counter of the makeshift kitchen and takes a sip of her drink. Signing in content as the caffeine finally enters her system and wakes her up, she gathers herself to join the rest of the mutant society (and the Struckers). Clarice is about to head out to search for Sonia, when just on cue, she hears her and John treading right in front of the entrance of the kitchen, arguing about something in hushed voices.
She beams, but just as she’s about to walk out, something John says stops her in her tracks.
“You have to tell her what you did,” she can hear a tremor of underlying anger in his tone.
Her smile drops.
Who the hell are they talking about?
Clarice isn’t sure what it is, but something deep in her gut—maybe instinct—tells her to stay put and keep listening in.
“Why?” Sonia exclaims in response. “Johnny, everything is going smoothly. Her powers are working again and she doesn’t suspect a thing.”
There’s a crack between the door and the wall where the hinges are attached. Clarice peaks through to get a better visual of the scene. From the sliver of space, she can see John facing Sonia, brows furrowed and jaw clenched as if they were having a heated exchange.
“This isn’t right and you know it,” there’s tension in his shoulders like he’s been carrying the world for far too long. “What you did, the way you did it—you went into her head without her permission—it’s wrong.” He’s rubbing his forehead now, stress written in its creases.
“Do you have any idea how valuable she can be to us? We’re all fugitives, Johnny! When Sentinal Services finds this place, and it’s only a matter of time—she can help us escape. Her powers are important! We need them.”
“We need her,” John corrected. “Her powers are a part of her, but she’s more than just her powers,” he sighs, exasperated. “You’re right though, we do need her.” Sonia gives him a small smile, placing a reassuring hand over his forearm.
He places his own on top of hers, dwarfing it on the process.
Clarice purses her lips. There’s a lump that formed in her throat that won’t go down. She can’t tear her eyes from how Sonia’s thumb slowly traces circles on John’s skin, no matter how hard she tries.
After a beat, he gently removes Sonia’s hand from his arm and allows it to drop—hanging there, as she glances up at him, dumbfounded.
“...But not like this,” there’s a look of disbelief painted across his face as he stares at Sonia. Shaking his head, he turns around and leaves without another word.
Meanwhile, Clarice’s mind had gone blank, almost as if she was registering what all this meant for her, but couldn’t process it. She didn’t know what to think. How can someone violate her like that? She trusted these people. She knew something was wrong when she began having those dreams, but she never expected...this.
And, then, suddenly, there’s an explosion.
One moment, she feels numb. The next, her head is a whirlwind storm of overwhelming emotions and thoughts. She releases a shaky breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
The world starts spinning on its axis again and she feels disorientated.
Clarice closed her eyes.
She felt betrayed. Dizzy and nauseous and sick to her stomach, all she wants to do is wash herself because even when she lived in the streets, she’s never felt this dirty.
Her head is a whirlwind storm of overwhelming emotions and thoughts.
And out of it rises anger.
Because, how dare she.
Clarice can’t comprehend what she’s doing until it’s too late. But, it’s like her head is detached from her legs, and they have a mind of their own. Next thing she knew, she’s bursting through the kitchen door, slamming it against the adjacent wall—startling Sonia in the process.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Her expression is downright hostile.
Eyes slightly wide, mouth agape and utterly taken back, she remains silent for a moment. “Clarice,” she starts, looking like she’s almost guilty. “Listen, I can explai—“
“No, you’ve said enough,” there’s a fire burning behind her eyes—eyes that are already hard to look away from. “Now it’s my turn.”
She steps closer to Sonia, “I’m not a toy. And I’m not an object. You had no right to treat me like one. All of you here act like your motto is all about caring for and saving people. Like people here all sing Kumbaya and formed this one big happy community of freaks,” she mockingly smiles. “Cut the bullshit. Because all you’ve really done since you brought me here is use me.”
She takes another step, “just tell me one thing,” her facade slips of a sliver of a second and her voice cracks, “why’d you do it?”
Sonia shrugs, and earnestly says,“I did it for Johnny.”
Clarice rolls her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” the redhead whispers.
“I’m sure you are.”
//
Clarice wills herself to remain calm as she shoves the few items she’s acquired since she moved into the Headquarters into a backpack she swiped from someone else’s living space. Mostly, they are just spare clothes John and Marcos gave her when she first got here.
She putting on her leather jacket, and swinging the bag over her shoulder when John walks in, “Hey, I was looking for you—“
But when he notices her, he stops dead in his tracks. “What are you doing?” He frowns.
“Well, what do you think I’m doing?” Her reply is nonchalant, “what do you think people who just found that some creep put their ex-boyfriend's memories in their head do?”
He inhales sharply, looking slightly uncomfortable.
When she doesn’t receive a response, she nods, “Trick question: that’s literally never happened to anyone.”
And with that, she heads for the door, sliding past John as his body is blocking the entrance. But as she does, a hand reaches out and grasps her forearm in an attempt to stop her.
When she looks back up at him, he’s already searching for her eyes. In his, there’s something present that Clarice can’t put a finger on. For a moment, silence reigns. Then, he utters words that were barely audible, and if she wasn’t so close she wouldn’t have heard them either.
“Don’t go.”
He gives her a look. Again. She doesn’t know how to describe it other than intense.
She blinks.
And rips her hand away from his.
“You got what you wanted. You got Lorna back. You don’t need me anymore. So just, let me go.” A beat, “unless...” she shrugs, “is this a prison?” She stares back at him in open defiance, raising her brows.
With a defeated sigh, he steps back.
Clarice turns back around and doesn’t look back as she leaves the Headquarters. On the run, once again. She should’ve known this home was temporary, just like all the previous ones.
John can’t stop himself from staring at the back of her head as she walks away. He can’t stop from blaming himself for what happened. He should. This was all his fault, dammit. He should’ve known what Dreamer would do. He should’ve taken Clarice with him when he went to find the Struckers, just in case. He should’ve told her all those times he had the chance.
By the time he runs after her outside, he finds the backend of a closing portal. And he knows, even if he tried, it was too late to catch it before it disappeared and he never saw Clarice again.