Stained Glass | A Claire Dearing One Shot [Jurassic World]

Stained Glass

"My skin is made of glass

But apparently it's stained.

'Cuz you notice all the cracks

But can't look inside my pain."

-

Do you remember what it was all like? The industrial structured premise in which the beasts roamed, and where man found himself amongst them - only separated by metal and concrete partitions? The teal and sleek design of the establishments, which only validated the power hungry nature of humankind? The control and power you wielded with an overcompensating fist? Did that deep, dark, ever-expanding blackhole inside of you ever really go away when you put on those heels, plastered on a deceiving grin, and then proceeded to greet your people with an act of professionalism and security?

-

July 3, 2015

You are so worthless.

The voice was there again. It creeped up in Claire's most vulnerable moments. Like a predator it struck when her mind was most fragmented and distracted. One minute she could be staring blankly at the TV, and then a minute later she'd find herself holding the blade above her right wrist. The tip of said blade would float teasingly, just a few centimeters from her fleshy armor - begging her for a release. And she'd comply. Why? Control. Ever since the park had shut down, she found herself without her daily dose of control. When one is quenched for a lifetime, and then has their precious clear nectar stripped away by some force above them, what happens? Claire had known from a young age that if she was in control, she was safe. And then by some force who was on her side..she had found it... the sense of control... by going up the pillars of Jurassic World. But the control had escaped her grasp once again, all because she had let one mistake slip through her cracks. Everyone was there to witness her failure. The media scratched her wounds endlessly and the phone calls did not end. It was catastrophic blow after catastrophic blow.

"I'm in control," she breathed euphorically as she separated the sharp object from her skin. "I'm in control." The TV was playing a rerun of Friends, not that she was paying attention. She didn't even know what had led to another self-harm episode. The voice just came up, her body had separated itself from her, and the world seemed blurry. The tsunami of emotion pranced into the cracks of her heart and she had no choice but to do whatever it was to try and make it go away.

But it never went away no matter what she did.

The blood splattered onto the green rug her mother had bought her as an apartment-warming gift. Claire's eyes just stared at the scarlett droplet. She didn't react. At that moment, neither the blood nor the apartment nor the world seemed real. Her mind and body were separate entities. She could feel herself seeing her from a third point of view. Should she be scared? Her mind said yes, but this had happened before.

"What is wrong with me?" she exasperated out loud, as if anyone was there to even hear her. Her chest pumped out frantic breaths as she tried to ground herself. Her eyes squeezed in concentration as she tried to fix her vision. "Why am I depressed? I'm still alive. Even though it's my fault. This is all my fault."

Dozens of lives lost. The animals were now out to fend for themselves. Even Hoskins' death picked at her guilt. And she made it out alive; her family weren't preparing themselves in dark attire, eyebags deepened and tears flooding their eyes, grief stricken in time for her funeral. Such a scene was only the case for other families, like Zara's. Goddamn, Zara! Her would-be husband was probably finding it hard to push his legs forward over the edge of his bed every morning, and here Claire was, selfishly depressed and heart drowning in shame.

Get over it. You are one of the lucky ones. Stop being so selfish and answer Karen's damn text.

The blood on her wrist was still gushing from the abrasions, trailing downwards among her skin. Claire then directed her eyes to the scars below the cuts - seven to be exact, all placed nicely on her forearm.