Beautiful Redemption ━━ Teen Wolf [3] [Completed]

26 | search for a diagnosis

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CHAPTER TWENTY SIX;

     SEARCH FOR A DIAGNOSIS

     A veterinarian clinic was the last place Clara would have thought to be in the middle of the afternoon, but desperation and the creeping sensation that things were only going to get worse overshadowed her disbelief. The teenage girl was shuffled inside the waiting room, surrounded by the sunlight beaming through the windows and the discomforting color of the mucus-green walls. She was barely sitting on the cushioned chair, her feet anxiously tapping against the carpet and her back uncomfortably straight as if a hot poker was pressing against her spine. There was too much nervousness coursing through her system in order for her to relax and twist her body into a more accommodating position. School had ended less than an hour ago with the entire student body buzzing over the coyote break-in and the almost attack on Kira. 

     Clara hadn't seen Stiles or Scott since the locker-room confrontation with Malia's father and if she was being perfectly honest, she wasn't in the mood for a conversation with either of them. Out of the two, Scott would most likely be the one who would noticed something was wrong with her, that the sudden disappearances had nothing to do with Tate or Morella. She wondered if he already caught onto the fact that there was something not right about her health, if he sensed the fatigue building up in her body and the nausea that would come-and-go in a single flash. If he did noticed or felt something odd, he didn't let on. Stiles, on the other hand, if he knew the frantic state of Clara's mind, he probably wouldn't waste any time with niceties. God, she could imagine the expression on his face when he bombarded her with questions; the frustrated look in his eyes, the frenetic movement of his hands as he spoke, the rapid pacing of his feet. He would not let it go, even if he had his own problems to deal with. The same courtesy would be shared by Scott as well. 

     Which is why her trip to Deaton's office was unannounced and unknown by any other members of the pack. Even the doctor himself didn't receive a phone call from the brunette girl. Calling and informing him of her despairing condition, and her desire to have a formal appointment would have been the polite thing to do. But she knew that once she got on the phone and had to vocally express the trepidation inside of her, Clara would lose all of her courage to actually face the internal challenge. She needed to confront this on her own, in her own way. That's the only way this was going to get down, or at least that's what she kept telling herself in order to feel better. 

     Finally, after a rather long waiting period of pure silence, the backdoor of the clinic opened and the dark-skinned doctor walked in, his head downcast as he read a chart in his hands. He stilled his moments once noticing Clara in his waiting room. Baffled and more than a little confused, Deaton sat down his chart and raised his eyebrows at the teenage werewolf, "Clara, what a delightful surprise! What brings you here?" 

     Reluctantly, Clara stood up with her hands fumbling with each other. Trying to shove the worry swirling around in her, she kept her voice low and steady, "I came, because there's something wrong with me and I think I need a doctor's opinion." 

     Deaton, constantly being the wise and knowledgeable, quickly noticed the underlying tone of fright in her words. He motioned towards the door to the examination room, "Let's go to a more private room. While I hope to be of some help, you do realize I'm a veterinarian and not an actual doctor. I'm not sure if I'll be much assistance to you." 

     They walked into the examination room, the metal doors swinging open and then swiftly closing behind them. Clara noticed the extreme cleanliness of the brick built room, the smell of Lysol and detergent awning the medical tools. Suddenly becoming timid in revealing her concerns, Clara clenched her fists tightly together and her dark eyes roamed every corner of the walls, trying to avoid the intense stare of the dark-skinned man. Eventually, Deaton took the first steps treading into the conversation, "Is everything alright, Clara?"