How to Love Claire Mason

Talk

The room I'm transferred into at the hospital I first underwent inpatient treatment in is disconcertingly familiar, as if I'm experiencing deja vu. The walls are the same pale, pearly color, the paint on the cabinet that faces the foot of the bed is peeling, the bathroom is right by the door just like last time, and the multipurpose room seems to be about the same distance down the hall from the room as the first time I stayed here. Perhaps it is, coincidentally, the very same room. I never cared to memorize the door number the first time around; I only saw the door as something to walk out of and never return through.

Yet here I am again. They'll keep me on bedrest till my vitals become stable, just like last time. Again, I'm irritated by this because I can walk just fine, save for a bit of dizziness. But this time around, I'm not stressing about the lack of exercise, or the large dinner I will inevitably receive. I will eat it without a care in the world, because there is nothing here to remind me of why I was not enough.

But then she calls. Jacquelyn, that is. My mother held onto my phone after I fell and the hospital confiscates them anyway, so she has to dig in her purse to retrieve it for me before leaving the room. I haven't spoken to Jacquelyn since the day we fought. I assumed, just as I did with him, that she had stopped caring. But her voice is urgent.

"Claire where were you at school today? I didn't see you walk into English and-"

"I'm just sick. No big deal. Why does it matter to you if I'm absent one day?"

She walks with him, hand in hand, to English each day before going to her Spanish class. That's the only time I see her. I didn't know she noticed me, always paces behind them, eyes averted.

"Well I was afraid you were humiliated or something and thought

you might hurt yourself."

"Humiliated? About what?"

Everything. Loving him, thinking he loved me. Thinking you were my friend.

I hear her take a breath in, sharply.

"Claire, everyone's been talking about how you and Nathan Roy were making out after school and that on the first day you talked to him, you sexted him nudes and that that's what you always do with every guy you meet. I don't know about the making out part but I know the picture part isn't true. I know that's not you. I told them it wasn't true but they won't listen. They take his word over mine and-"

"Whose word?"

"Ian's. He's the one who started it all. I'm so done with him now you don't even know."

I haven't heard, much less said, his name in ages. Ian. He couldn't redeem himself by sending me to counseling, couldn't own up to the fact that he took advantage of me and so he decided to resort to what he does best: hurting me again. But he won't win this time. I didn't even know the rumors existed, but they must have started not long after he confronted me. In the past three days, most likely. Maybe I've become so adept at shutting out the world that not even the buzzing of the rumors in the air or the critical stares I was given could reach me.

"Claire? You okay?"

I laugh bitterly. "Me? I'm fine. But I'm not so sure about Ian. He may need to get his head checked. Where'd he come up with that story?"

"He and Nathan are best buds. I figured Nate told him. He said it's why he dumped you. That you were a sleazy bitch who couldn't be trusted to be faithful. What a load of bullshit."

So the asshole just was looking for a reason. A stupid, made-up reason for why he bought me like a book only to return me as damaged goods. Because he never had a reason. It was never my fault. I was only nasty and bitchy after he hurt me, when insults and savage acts out of pain were fair game. It was always him, not me. It was him who wasn't good enough. For the first time in months, I grin.

"Jacquelyn?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for not believing him. I guess you just needed to see for yourself why I couldn't stand to be around him anymore. We both were duped into thinking he was some great guy and he got in between us and I want to fix that. Can we be friends again?"

"Of course, girly. I won't be hanging around him anymore, that's for sure."

"Good. And one more thing...Nathan's way too polite, as far as I know, to make up something like that. Besides, I've only talked to him once. What do you think really happened?"

"Well I did overhear them talking about you, but it seemed like Nate was just complimenting you and then Ian got mad and told him never to talk to you again. Because of his "history" with you."

"Hmm. Can you do me a huge favor and talk to Nate about it? I don't have his number. I don't really like getting involved in drama, but I need to prove that Ian is a liar. To humiliate him."

"Sure. When do you think you'll be back at school?"

I look around the room. "Uhh..who knows."

"Is it that bad? What's wrong?"

I don't want to explain it all to her. "Please don't worry about it. Just know that I'll be fine."

"Um..okay. Get well soon! We'll talk later. Love ya!"

Love ya. Just like how we ended all our phone calls before he entered the scene. I smile to myself again.

"Love ya too. Bye."

"Bye."

I shut off my phone and take a sip of the new drink that was placed on the nightstand without my knowledge. It's not in the red bottle, but a familiar white cup with blue and yellow lines. The sight of it is comforting. Suddenly, I can't wait to be off bed rest. I can't wait to talk to the other patients.