𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞

Clairence Thompson

"I have to go check on her." Clair muttered to himself.

He laid strewn about the bed, boots kicked off on the floor. He studied the vaulted ceilings of his new room. Clair understood Cathryn better than anybody. He knew her inside and out. He'd written countless stories with characters based around her, or even named "Cathryn." So Clair knew, best of all that she'd be a mess right now. He could imagine her vividly, hair tangled over her shoulders, her soft ragged breaths, and her hands, clasped nervously together in front of her midsection.

Clair simply couldn't bear the agonizing thought of this girl. Cathryn rarely spoke of Ruby, and Clair was grateful for that. Not because he didn't want to be reminded of his ever imposing competition, but because he knew it was best for her. Best for her to remove any lingering thoughts of him away. His mind flashed with memories of when she had been utterly broken. Clair pounding on her door in the middle of the night, demanding she'd speak to him, but she'd only turn him down once more. She'd been unreachable, and Clair felt sick when she'd explained why she didn't want to talk.

He felt terrible, apologized over and over. But somehow, he still had the idea tugging at the back of his mind that Cathryn never really forgave him for those times in the middle of the night. 

"Maybe I'll try again. Maybe she'll want me there now." He urged himself.

Warily, he sat up and moved for the door. Pausing with a deep breath before turning the cold brass knob, he plunged into the dark hallway.