Hourglass
Hourglass
Claire cried herself to sleep. She was dirty, sticky, sweaty. Curled into a ball on the cold cement, she wept only slightly as she drifted in an out of a fitful sleep. The only real noises emitting from her were little gasps and squeaks that she wasn't even aware she was making anymore.
Something warm and wet, but solid, suddenly touched her, and she startled, opening her eyes. Somebody had her. Somebody grunted softly-speaking, but she was too hazy to make out what they were saying. It was a man, and he was speaking in a gruff, hushed tone. She was able to make out bits and pieces...only words. She was able to pick up her own name. She was able to pick up "quiet". She was able to pick up "here".
"I'm-I'm..." Her breath caught in her throat fast. She was close to hyperventilating. "I'm...I-I'm hurt...hurt...I'm hurt..." she broke down in tears again.
Something else touched her. Lips. They brushed over her forehead, and a large thumb brushed just under her eyes, wiping away tears. Claire's vision came into focus-her mind started to catch up to reality, and her brows furrowed slightly. "Sylar?"
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She woke on a bed. The room was dark, nearly pitch black, and it was cold. An AC window unit hummed loudly next to her, blasting her with freezing air. She sat up, blinking heavily, and blindly felt the spot next to her. It was empty. She shivered slightly when her bare feet met the floor, and even after that it took her several moments to realize that her entire legs were naked. She was wearing a large shirt and very loose cotton shorts. Both were well over-sized, and she actually had to jerk the shorts up as she walked just to keep them in place. She eventually found the bedroom door and let herself out. It was still dark, but there was a bathroom right across from her. Light leaked from underneath the closed door.
She opened it and shielded her eyes, which were still adjusting to even the faintest of light. The bathroom was small, slightly cluttered, and smelled like the bathroom her father and brother shared-musky soap, aftershave, stale laundry. Sure enough, the shower curtain was open, and Claire saw a pile of clothes sitting on the wet tile. She leaned closer, picking up a Tshirt with two fingers, and dropped it when she realized they were soaked with warm blood. She locked the door, used the bathroom, washed her hands with the nearly empty handsoap, and wandered down the small hallway into the living room.
"You're awake." The person sitting on the sofa did not turn around.
"Sylar..." she swallowed hard. "What are you doing here?"
Sylar turned his head. He smiled a little and shrugged one shoulder. "I live here."
Claire looked around again. "What am I doing here?"
Instead of answering, Sylar patted the spot on the sofa next to him, but Claire shook her head, taking a few steps to the side. She wrapped her arms around her small frame, and Sylar couldn't help but feeling a tad guilty over getting slightly excited by her current state. There was something about her being snuggled into his clothes that just made him want to look at her longer.
"I found you," he said. "Behind your dormitory. You..." he sighed quietly, looking away. When he looked back at her, he asked, "What do you remember?"
Claire's face crumpled, but she didn't cry. Instead, she folded her lips in and shook her head. "I don't remember anything."
A total lie. She clearly remembered everything now. A small get together at the neighboring dorms. A few drinks, some video games. What did she have to lose? She couldn't get drunk. She couldn't die. A boy, cute, somewhat shy, funny...he'd asked her to walk around, get some air, so he could smoke a cigarette. She couldn't die, but she had realized she could still get hurt. He'd been incredibly strong for just a young adult, and Claire had fought off much worse. He'd covered her mouth, slapped her around, and finally had his way with her. The entire time she'd fought and struggled and tried to scream. She was a virgin. She had been a virgin. When he'd finished, he'd stood up, moved to the grass, smoked one more cigarette, and all Claire could do was huddle against the wall and cry. Once again, she'd built up a tiny bit of courage, a tiny bit of trust, and it'd all blown up in her face.
Sylar stood up, and he seemed to tower over her even more in his crowded apartment than he did on the street or anywhere else. Claire furiously wiped at her stinging eyes and asked in a small voice, "Where are my clothes?"
"The dryer," Sylar said. "I washed them."
Claire remembered the clothes in his shower. "Did you?" She had to know. "Did you kill him?"
Sylar nodded. Claire hung her head and tried to get herself under control. She hated for him to see her cry. She could handle her family seeing it. She could handle Gretchen seeing it, but for some reason, it embarrassed her for Sylar to see it.
"How did you know?" She asked, looking back up. Sylar couldn't help but think she was beautiful in tears. Her face was red, her eyes glittery and intense.
"Let me get you something to drink." He wasn't about to tell her he frequently stalked her at school. He fixed her a glass of ice water and held out his hand. Claire took it and took a sip. She sat down on the sofa to finish the rest.
"I always tell myself I can trust people, that I can have fun and be normal," she said, her voice shaking. "And it always ends badly."
"I just wish I could have been there sooner," Sylar said, sitting on the arm of the sofa, dangerously close to her.
"Does my dad know?" She asked, drawing her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.
Sylar shook his head. Claire nodded and started to move to take the glass back to the kitchen, but he took it from her. She turned to the direction of the bathroom. "Can I take a shower here?"
He looked a bit taken back. "Of course."
"There's..." she fumbled. "Your clothes...they're in the...I wasn't sure."
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She felt weird showering in his bathroom. This was the man who'd tried to kill her, cut open her head and felt around in her brain, kidnapped her in class, kissed her, saved her...he was a mystery on every level, and she wondered how she was even suppose to feel about him. She frowned slightly, inspecting his bland, typical male shampoo and body wash, and as she tried off, she could smell the familiar scent of him lingering on her skin and in her hair. Her clothes were folded on the counter, along with another clean Tshirt and pair of boxer shorts. She threw her own clothes in the bathroom trashcan-never wanting to see them again, and opted for the borrowed attire.
He was still on the sofa watching television-the volume so low it might as well have been mute, and she timidly moved beside the sofa, finger-combing her wet hair. He looked at her. "All clean?"
"Yah." She nodded. She stared at the sofa. "Can I-"
He scooted over and she sat, strangely enjoying the warmth his body left in the space. They both stared at the TV screen, pretending to watch whatever was on, and eventually Sylar stood up and moved to the kitchen. He stayed there for a while, opening and shutting cabinets. Claire felt something cold press against her cheek and she jumped a bit. It was a bowl, filled to the brim with ice cream.
"Thanks." She said, feeling confused and awkward. It wasn't everyday your immortal enemy handed you a bowl of vanilla ice cream.
"Are you upset that I killed him?" Sylar asked suddenly after he sat back down, like it had been an itch he'd tried not to scratch.
Claire moved her spoon around, grateful to have something to occupy her nervous hands with. "Yes," she finally said. "But not for that reason."
Sylar stared at her. Claire bit her bottom lip. "You didn't see what happened?"
"If I'd seen what happened," he said, in a voice that she remembered from when he was stalking her in her own home. "It wouldn't have happened."
Claire set the bowl down and massaged her eyes with her fingertips. "I can't die. I can't feel pain." She laughed a little, though nothing was funny. "Why does this feel so horrible?"
Sylar didn't say anything. He didn't think it'd make her feel any better to know he'd tortured the little pick first before finally taking him out. Big tough guy, that kid. He could easily take advantage of a girl who was crying and scared, but when it was him crying and begging...Sylar had found it even better that he cried. He'd wanted him to cry. He'd wanted him to be just as scared and tormented as Claire had been.
"Thanks for..." Claire picked her bowl again and took a small bite. "Everything, I guess."
"You're welcome," was all he could reply with.
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"Clean sheets are on the bed," Sylar said, walking back into the living room. "I'll take the sofa."
"I can take the sofa," Claire said, almost indignantly.
Sylar shook his head. "I like to be close to the front door," he lied.
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The bed was big and cold, and Claire wriggled around, trying to get comfortable. She cried a little, stared out the window for a while, and finally got up and wandered back into the living room. Sylar was still awake, but the television wasn't on. He was just sitting, staring down at the floor, picking lint off of his pajama bottoms.
"Sylar...?" She asked, clearing her throat.
"Gabriel," he said, looking at her. "My name is Gabriel."
Claire smiled a little, a little grin at the corner of her mouth, squishing up part of her nose. "Gabriel," she said. "Are you going to go to sleep?"
"Eventually." He went back to staring at his pants.
Claire had yet again taken a step into bravery, and lost-just like a bad game of dodgeball. She sat down beside Gabriel, and after several long, quiet minutes, asked, "Will you sleep in the bed with me?"
Gabriel looked at her. "No, Claire."
"Not like that," She said, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she said, "Just to sleep. I just...I don't want to be alone."
Gabriel reached over and pushed some curly strands of hair out of her face. He'd never noticed, but her hair was naturally curly. He guessed she spent a lot of time after showers making it straight. He wished she'd just leave it like that.
"I really, really just don't want to be alone," Claire said, her eyes growing wet. "The time you kissed me- she quickly corrected herself. "The time you used Lydia's powers...you said we were just alike, and I know we are, but I just never knew how." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I feel safe here, and I shouldn't. Not with you."
Gabriel continued to stroke her hair. "It would only be sleeping, Claire," he said quietly.
Claire nodded. Gabriel nodded too, and stood up, pulling her up with him. He followed her to bed, and chuckled softly when she kept checking back to make sure he was still behind her. She climbed into the bed first, and he followed shortly. Claire took another blind leap of faith and snuggled against him, and she was glad he didn't pull away. He just kissed her lips, softly, almost too softly, and wrapped his arms around her. He was incredibly warm, and Claire didn't even mind that the AC was still blasting frigid air on her backside.
"Can I stay here?" She whispered, yawning.
"As long as you like," Gabriel murmured back, kissing her again, a different kind of kiss this time. "Forever, if you want to."
Claire yawned again, smiling drowsily as Gabriel rested his chin on top of her head. "Forever is a long time."
After she fell asleep, Gabriel said, "Not long enough."
The End...