WARNINGS: talk of religion in a negative light.

☆

"CLARA,

It has been approximately two and a half months since I last saw you. This is my fourth letter. So I'm not quite sure what to say, or what I can say. I don't even know if you're receiving these, for all I know is that I've sent these letters and they aren't being replied to.

I've called you six times—cost a bloody fortune but the chance was worth it. I'm not quite sure what's going on and since you have been completely avoiding me, I remain in the dark. I don't understand what happened, and I would like to understand. Did I do something? Did I push you too far?

I miss you, Clara Shelby. I miss you. Please write back, let me know if you're okay...I want you to be okay. I can leave you if you want me to, just say it. I will leave you alone, but Clara, I want you to be okay.

Yours truly and faithfully,

Nadia-Marie Evans."

Clara's fingers traced the girl's name at the bottom of the page. Her hands shook ever so slightly as she gripped the letter between two fingers. Guilt brewed in her stomach just as it had for the last two months. It was a constant gnawing that refused to settle. It would cause her stomach to churn to the point of nausea, it would cause blistering headaches that refused to ease.

It was hell.

It was hell and Clara deserved it. She deserved every single, little morsel of suffering that she was going through.

Clara hated to admit it but she was avoiding Nadia. It wasn't that she'd found herself caught up in work or family issues...she was simply choosing to avoid the girl. Perhaps out of embarrassment or perhaps out of fear of how Nadia would react to seeing her again. Avoiding just seemed to be easier–or it would be if Nadia didn't care so much.

The Shelby girl sighed and folded the letter as she placed it into her desk drawer along with all the other letters Nadia had written her. Clara glanced over the drawer, her eyes scanning for the little bottles of blue she craved. Many of these bottles were scattered around the drawer yet each one had been emptied of the powder it had previously contained. She cursed beneath her breath as she collapsed back into her leather seat. Nowadays, the only thing keeping Clara together was the cocaine she consumed. It had become a safety blanket of sorts, allowing her frantic mind fleeting moments of bliss.

She'd have to get more before she lost her mind entirely.

Clara sluggishly ran her hands over her face, her palms resting on either cheek as she looked down at the paperwork she was supposed to have already finished. Truth be told, she had, had the time to do it all...she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She was in a slump of sorts, not bothered to do anything but sit and stare at the walls with a cigarette in one hand and glazed-over eyes.

The voices had gotten worse. She still heard the whispers as they plagued her brittle mind—loud ones, soft ones, whispers that belonged to nobody. Whispers intended for only her to hear.

Some, if ever told this fact, may fall to their knees and pray, wishing to hear these voices because no one could be crazy...no, they had to be hearing God himself speaking through a vessel. Others, however, may fall to their knees and pray for another reason entirely. They may believe that Clara Shelby was the devil with evil lurking within just waiting to infiltrate the world and rid it of all good. Clara did not find comfort in these religious conclusions. She did not believe in a higher power. She'd experienced and witnessed too much for her to remain faithful amongst all of the faithless turmoil the world bestowed upon her.

To her, religion was a mere figment of a fool's imagination. It gave people false hope and preyed on the weak and repenting. Clara just couldn't find it within herself to trust a few thousand words written around a few thousand years ago. She needed her faith to not be in a higher power but to be in herself. How else was she meant to survive?

So, these whispers were not the result of a religious grant. They were an irritating buzz created within Clara's own head, by the girl herself.

But she was fine...she had to be fine, no amount of prayers would change that.

Clara linked her fingers across her torso as she leaned back into her seat and shut her eyes. Another downfall that was a consequence of her guilt was her lack of sleep. Usually, her sleep schedule was horrific, often plagued with nightmares and disastrous dreams. Now, however, she rarely slept at all. She'd lie in her bed and stare into utter nothingness, smoking a cigarette to try to ease the anxious pit in her stomach. She was lucky to get a mere two hours of rest when her body finally caved into exhaustion. At least the lack of sleep brought forth the lack of dreams.

The girl took even breaths in and out as she tried to focus her mind. It was as if her mind had tunnelled, her frenzied thoughts blurring with speed as they ran endless circles around her brain as if partaking in a rather malicious game of tag. She found some serenity in these quiet moments in her office. Just her, her mind and her cigarettes all in her own little space.

A sharp knock resounded through the room as the door swung open. She could hear loud footsteps approaching her desk before they stopped. Clara did not open her eyes. All she wanted was a minute of peace, but once again, karma seemed to laugh in her face. Michael stood patiently with his arms folded as he waited for the girl to look at him. He knew she wasn't asleep. She was too clever for that. Clara eventually huffed and pried open her eyes when the man refused to give up.

"What?" She grumbled as she reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

"I need you to go to London...today," Michael announced. Clara let out a tight laugh as she lit her cigarette with her golden lighter, letting the flame flicker for a few extra seconds before she shut it closed.

"No," She let a cloud of smoke pass through her lips as she shuffled some papers on her desk.

"It wasn't a question,"

Clara looked up at him with bloodshot eyes that were shadowed by the black bags beneath them. She felt a fit of vicious anger bubbling within as she glared at her cousin.

"And yet, I gave an answer," She dryly mused. The two merely stared at one another, each daring the other to speak once again. Tense silence engulfed the two of them as Michael folded his arms and looked down at her with an unimpressed brow raised.

"I need the documents from London."

"Have them mailed." Clara dismissed once again, as she tapped the ash from her cigarette into the small glass tray.

"Bloody hell," Michael huffed as he rested his palms on the desk in front of him. "Just do your fuckin' job, alright?"

"Fine," Clara conceded, blowing a large wave of smoke towards her aggravated cousin. She lowered her voice slightly. "Egotistical bastard."

Michael placed down a small envelope and left without another word, leaving Clara to mull in the haze of her office with a strangled groan promptly leaving her lips. She stubbed out her cigarette in annoyance her other hand slamming onto her desk. Stupid Michael with his stupidly reasonable demands. She hated him. She hated him for making her go to London and she hated him for forcing her to face the reality she'd been avoiding.

Clara raised her head and cast her eyes toward the ceiling with an exasperated sigh. She didn't miss the way her hands trembled ever so carefully as they clasped the envelope, she did, however, choose to ignore it. Not so blissful naivety was easier than taking too much notice of small troublesome potholes.

It was better like that...easier.

☆

CLARA SHELBY WAS NOT IN THE MOOD TO HOUSE THE FEELING OF JOY AS she strode through the desolate club. The ornate and lavish room was empty, bar for the few people that cleaned and prepared for the opening of the club later in the evening. The club was one for ghosts, the phantom sound of light jazz drifting through the building, empty glasses beside pulled-out chairs, the floors scattered with loose bits of food and glass shards. It was the vivid and wrecked reality of the afternoon that followed a night out.

A shiver ran up her spine and spread goosebumps throughout her body as the girl's boots clicked against the tiled floor while she wove through the tables and chairs. Through the envelope he had given her, Michael had told her that the documents had been left on the desk in the main office two floors up from the club dance floor. Clara found herself completely and utterly lost in the nothingness of her thoughts as she climbed the flights of stairs, each creaky step echoing through the building.

A cold sheen of sweat glittered across her forehead as she clenched her shaky hands inside the pockets of her jacket. She'd used up the last of her precious white powder that morning and it seemed as if her body was already facing the consequences of not taking more. Her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip as she reached the top floor. Metallic flooded her mouth and tastebuds as she strode straight across the empty offices and towards the one furthest from the rest.

The office was dusty and ill-maintained with water damage lining the ceiling and scuffed and broken floorboards. Filing cabinets were pushed against the furthest wall, the wooden desk right in front of it. Clara grimaced at the state of the wooden desk, it couldn't even begin to compare with hers. It was moulding beneath and was littered with holes as if the wood had been taken from a pile of scraps. The girl rounded the desk, her chin on her chest as she gazed down at the disarrayed contents that littered the entirety of the desk. There was a lit lamp off the corner of the desk, its bulb flickered rhythmically as Clara merely stood and watched it dance.

Her fingers glided carefully over a few documents—documents that should not have been left laying about. Financial documents, personal ones, it made Clara recoil into herself at the thought of her documents being left unguarded by a locked cabinet door. She wrinkled her nose as her fingers brushed against coffee-stained papers while she swept away a few loose sheets to grasp a brown packet buried beneath the chaos. She tucked the packet beneath her coat before she switched off the lamp.

Just as she wrapped her fingers around the brass door handle, a loud ringing erupted from the phone atop the desk. Clara merely stared at it as it rang. Her heart pumped loudly at the startling noise and as it kept incessantly continuing, the girl had had enough. She reached for the phone and picked it up, cautiously raising it to her ear as she awaited for the other person to speak first.

"Clara?"

The girl gritted her teeth angrily at the voice.

"What the fuck, Michael?" Clara spat. Her shoulders loosened at her cousin's amused laughter coming through the receiver. "How in the name of bloody hell did you know I was here?"

"I got the doorman to call," Michael replied nonchalantly as if it was the simplest of things. "Wanted to make sure you'd do your job."

"I always do my job."

"Not recently."

Clara looked down to the floor as she swallowed. She supposed she hadn't done her job recently. She'd slacked off, gotten lost in her head and troubles.

"Look, you need to get it together, Clara. You know it. You need to do your work and get on with it. I can't keep covering for you. You're becoming a laggard."

"Then don't. Don't cover for me." Clara quietly responded, "Goodbye, Michael." The girl placed the phone down to hang up as she ran a hand through her hair. "FUCK!" The girl swept the papers and clutter off of the mediocre desk. Paper fluttered around her as she repeatedly kicked the wood, pain flooding her foot. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!"

The girl stopped as the destroyed office came to a standstill with paper and objects that littered the floor. Her chest rose and fell heavily. She needed snow. She needed it now. She needed to calm her erratic nerves and her pounding heart and her brain and her shaking hands and her...her everything essentially.

Clara let out a deep breath before she straightened up and left the office as if nothing had happened. She heard the door slam behind her as she briskly made her way down the stairs. Her boots clattered and echoed in an obnoxiously loud manner but Clara didn't care. She had one goal and she wasn't going to stop until she had a bottle of snow in her hands.

☆

THE GIRL QUICKLY RAPPED ON THE DOOR of a decrepit house, her jacket lapels up to cover her face and her head down and covered with her hat. The sun was beginning to set beyond London, and the smoke and darkness began to snuff out all light from the sun. She could hear movement from inside as she rocked on her feet in paranoia. She glanced behind her as people looked toward the girl with the expensive coat that stood out so blatantly against the rundown houses on the street. She had left her car outside of the club and had walked from there to avoid any unwanted attention. The girl shifted and looked back toward the door as it creaked open.

"What do you want?" A man gruffly demanded, his bloodshot eyes appearing from the darkness behind him.

"Al," Clara greeted firmly, "you know what I bloody want. Must we do this every time?" The man let out an intelligible noise as he stepped aside and let the girl pass. Clara took one last breath of 'fresh' air before she stepped into the hazy and murky house. Her shaky hands remained in her pockets as Al shut the door behind her.

Al, a middle-aged, balding drug supplier from just outside of London, stood in all his glory in the centre of the hall, his eyes scanning the girl. Clara had known about Al's business for two years, having been introduced to it by Nadia. He had supplied Clara with all her snow when she was in London. It cost her half an arm and a leg but in the long run, it was worth it.

"How much?" Al huffed as he bent down towards the floorboards.

"As much as you've got...I'll take it all," Clara answered truthfully.

"It'll cost you," Al warned as he lifted a loose floorboard and set it off to the side. His hands rooted through the beneath as he pulled out and counted bottles. "I can give you ten bottles of 70—that's all I have at the moment."

"That's it?" Clara bit her lip as her eyebrows furrowed.

"Look, you're taking the entire stock until Tuesday. You're lucky I'm even giving you these." Al snarled, "I want one seventy up front."

"One hundred and seventy pounds?!" Clara questioned in disbelief.

"You heard me."

Clara gritted her teeth as she pulled out her wallet. She thanked the lord that she had brought a lot of money. Her fingers filtered through the money before she pulled out a small wad of notes and handed it to the man.

"Want me to gift wrap them?" Al teased, shaking a small paper bag at her.

"May as fucking well, seeing how you've ripped me off," Clara grumbled as she watched the man load all the small blue bottles into the bag.

Once Al had folded over the top, Clara had snatched it from his hands and tucked it into the pocket beneath her coat alongside the documents she'd collected. She didn't even bid Al goodbye before she rushed out of the house and done the street. Her hands were now profusely trembling so much to the point where she had to steer off the main street and duck into the small side street between houses.

Her fingers ripped open the brown bag and pulled out a singular container. She examined it carefully before she tapped the substance onto the back of her palm. She brought her hand to her nose and recklessly snorted the powder, losing all abandon as it coated the rim of her nostril. The girl didn't stop until the substance had been cleared from her hand. She allowed her head to fall back against the wall behind her as an instant relief sprang throughout her body and frazzled any lingering turmoil.

Clara stayed on the small side street for god only knows how as she shut her eyes and allowed for the snow to completely engulf all of her senses. It usually started with a slight ringing in her ears, then a soft fuzz coated the rims of her eyes and finally, her body would be revitalised and ready to continue for the night.

The girl eventually allowed her body to push itself off of the wall and rummaged through the brown bag, stuffing as many blue bottles into the lining of her coat as possible. She didn't need to be found carrying this much snow, it would raise a lot of unwanted questions. Questions she most certainly did not want to answer.

Clara found herself emerging from the street and onto the dark road that would lead her back to the club. The moon was hidden behind the violent clouds above, its glow sheathed from the masses, leaving the only source of light to be dim street lamps. The girl was one with the shadows as she approached the hearth of the city, where the bright lights made the night feel like dawn as they flickered and flashed

People hurried to and fro in their best most fashionable outfits as they entered clubs and pubs around the city. The noise hit Clara like a freight train as she stepped onto one of the busiest streets of the nighttime. She waltzed through crowds not caring about how many people she bumped or shoved past. She kept her head down as she walked, her hat shadowed her face and hid it from prying eyes.

Clara stopped at the edge of the footpath to cross the road when her eyes landed on a girl standing opposite her, surrounded by a few girls. The Shelby girl's throat tightened as her fist clenched, her nails digging into the rough skin. She took a deep breath in before she crossed the road towards the girl.

Why now?

Bloody hell, of all times, NOW?!

Nadia Evans spotted Clara before she even reached the group. Even with the distance between them, Clara could see a twinkle of anger and concern dance across Nadia's eyes.

"Go on ahead," Nadia urged her friends, her eyes barely leaving Clara's. "I'll catch up with you inside!" The girls left, leaving Clara and Nadia to merely stare at one another as the hustle and bustle around seemed to slow.

A small breath left Clara's lips as she stood still. She felt all the blood rush out of her face as Nadia approached. The Evans girl walked slowly but with purpose as she stepped closer to the Shelby girl. Clara tilted her head without a word expecting a 'hello' or scolding, but instead, she was met with a sharp slap to the face.

"Bollocks! That really hurt!" Nadia cried out as she threw herself forward and tangled Clara into a tight hug. "Screw you, Shelby. Screw you to the moon and back."

"Hi, Nadia," Clara muttered, her rigid body loosening against Nadia's. The girl pulled away from Clara, her fingers now softly tracing Shelby's cheekbones. The two girls had shifted off to the side of the footpath and out of the crowd.

"Two months! Two whole months and not a single call or letter?!" Nadia burst, "Clara, you had me sick with worry. You can't bloody disappear like that!" Clara didn't say anything as she moved her gaze to her mud-lined boots. "I was so worried!"

"I'm sorry,"

"Why? Please just be honest, we always are."

Clara pondered her options as silence fell over the two. She could tell Nadia of her presumed insanity or she could lie. The latter seemed far more appealing than the former.

"I don't know," Clara stiffly spoke, "I don't know why." Nadia physically recoiled. A look of hurt flashed across her face and caused Clara's heart to drop and splatter across the pavement.

"You...don't know?"

"I don't...I can't...I don't know what happened."

Nadia's eyebrows were scrunched as she looked around in utter confusion. "Are you in some sort of trouble, Clara?" She asked, lowering her voice. "Because I can help you, I swear it."

"No, I'm not in trouble" Clara answered truthfully,

"Then why are you lying?" Nadia asked, her voice breaking halfway through the sentence. "I know you...I know you, Clara Shelby. I know you and I see you. I see the bags beneath your eyes and your shallowed cheeks. I see you and I know that you are not okay. I see you and I know you're lying and I just don't get why."

Clara couldn't allow herself to look at Nadia as her gaze drifted off to the side shamefully. Her own heart was slowly splintering at the Evans girl's words. They were true. They were so painfully true. Clara was just too stubborn to verbally admit it.

"Nothing's wrong, swear it," Clara smiled weakly but Nadia instantly screwed up her face as she spotted how the smile had not reached her eyes like it usually did.

"Clara, I'm not going to push you...not tonight. If you want to talk in the morning when you are sober, we can." Nadia murmured. "I want to in fact...but not now. Not when you insist on lying to my face."

"Ladies!" A police officer walked up to the two of them with a tight smile, his baton swinging loosely in his hand. "I'm going to have to ask you to move from here, you're disrupting the entrance of the pub." Clara glanced to the side where it turned out then had indeed been blocking the door. She let out a loud groan as the policeman stared at the two.

"No problem, officer," Nadia falsely grinned, her hand grabbing Clara's forearm.

"Give us a second," Clara spat hurriedly as she completely disregarded the officer. She lowered her voice to speak to Nadia. "I'm sober and I want to talk."

"Then find me tomorrow morning, you know where I'll be."

"No—"

"No?" Nadia questioned, slowly withdrawing from the girl.

"Ladies!" The officer warned, pointing the baton at them and gesturing for them to move.

"I said give us a bloody second!" Clara snapped loudly, her rage stirring within her stomach.

"Clara, you're causing a scene," Nadia whispered, her eyes flitting to the people around them who stared as they walked by.

"I won't be here tomorrow morning," Clara gritted as she desperately tried to calm her shot nerves. "I have to be back in Small Heath." Nadia deflated ever so slightly, sadness coating her eyes.

"Then another time, Clara...I'm not taking initiative here. I was the one who reached out so many times only to be ignored. It's not me who has to make amendments here."

"I know, I know!"

"I know you know!" Nadia agreed, "You feel guilty, I can see it all over your face. Either we talk tomorrow or within the next week or I won't wait around anymore, Clara. I can't keep waiting by the phone in hopes that it'll call, I can't keep waiting for someone who won't acknowledge my presence."

"Ladies, you really have to go," the policeman spoke as he interrupted them once more. Instead, this time he made a fatal mistake.

He had placed his hand on Clara's shoulder.

Something within the girl snapped and ripped as she grabbed his lingering arm and ripped it off of her before she rolled up her fist and punched him flat in the face. The girl watched as he stumbled backwards, an instant wave of regret rolling over her. She glanced back to Nadia with wide eyes who watched in horror.

Shit.

Clara felt herself being thrown up against the very wall they'd been told to move from, her cheek being forcibly pressed against the harsh brick as a cool and thin metal was placed around her wrists.

The world was silent, Clara observed.

It was so quiet to her. People's lips were opening and closing but nothing came out, she could feel the vibrations of music but no tune was heard. The world was silent as she was pulled off the wall. She desperately glanced towards the crowd gathered to observe her, searching for Nadia amongst the masses but the Evans girl had disappeared. She had disappeared and Clara was alone.

As Clara was pushed forward and loaded into a dark police van, the world remained quiet, the only distinguishable sound being her rapid heartbeat that thrummed relentlessly.

Clara Shelby was fucked. She was truly and utterly fucked.

☆

I AM A NADIA LOVER, THAT GIRL CAN DO NO WRONG AND HAD EVERY RIGHT TO SAY WHAT SHE SAID!

ANYWAYS, hello my gorgeous readers, it's been a while— I know and I'm incredibly sorry! Writer's block is still kicking my arse :'(

ANYWAYS, I love you all and I hope you're all doing alright!

SEE YOU SOON (and here's your weekly meme!)