It had taken Clara a very long time after the… situation with Axel to work up the nerve to enter Chelsee’s again. Perhaps it was because of how deeply that memory had seared into her mind; she relived it every night without fail, and she could feel his words ghosting over her bleeding skin. Asking if she wanted anything from Chelsee’s, as if the young woman had simply been a visitor in his humble domain. The knowledge that such a monster lurked within Bentley, hidden to herself and all others, just another face had haunted her— it still did, without fail. But now Clara was prepared for him, after finally, finally telling Sean who had tortured her, breaking her promise, the guarantee of her life to Axel.
And thus this particular space had her on edge, not that Clara was always on edge regardless. Every face, every back of the head, every voice had her head spinning, needing to examine everyone in this small coffee house just to know he wasn’t here, waiting for her as he was every night that she went to sleep. The worst part was Clara could realize how… paranoid she was. How she probably looked half-mad a good portion of the time, and was just barely masking it if she was even able to do that much.
In a way, it was almost ironic with how Sean and Clara had gone from becoming complete opposites, the lion and the lamb, to leveling out. Both were suffering from this madness in a way, for different reasons, albeit too many things were now making sense to Clara. Sean’s arsenal that once made her laugh and rub his shoulders, saying there was no need for them now only just managed to calm her. The boxing lessons that he had offered her a number of times had now been accepted, Clara showing up nowadays more often then Sean did. The gun he had pushed on her on various occasions now… was very close to being accepted. The young woman hadn’t yet reached that point, content with her knives and fists, but it had been considered.
And yet the man who was so concerned with her safety, who promised her time and time again that he’d keep her safe, was gone once more. At least this time Sean had told Clara, before leaving on some three week quest to work out the inner workings of his mind in solitary. Clara couldn’t bring herself to be angry, as she couldn’t begin to wrap her own head around his less than alive self; she couldn’t imagine what actually living like that would feel like, having faced death and lost, yet not able to move on.
The coffee took her mind off things, off of people who left and people who shouldn’t be here and things that shouldn’t be endured. Black, bitter, scalding. Clara was sure her tongue was burnt, yet the pain was welcomed. Strong, solid hands gripped the cup as she looked around the cafe, taking a calming breath. She could do this, she would be okay and no one would know differently. Night was when she could fall apart in the comfort of her own home, in her room, quietly locking the door behind her.
The young man’s exclamation only made a bright smile come to her face, something that Clara had reserved for those she trusted and could try to be herself around. His quickness in standing almost made her giggle, something idiotic and youthful-like, as the chair nearly toppled over. Instead the brunette’s happiness over seeing her friend faded for a moment, her expression quickly turning to one of worry. Clara’s hand wrapped around his forearm, afraid for a moment that he, not the chair, would be the one to fall over. In the worst case scenario the young woman was probably by now strong enough to at least catch Ethan if he did fall, but the worry that accompanied that thought— why he was weak like this in the first place, certainly pained her.
"Oh— bless you. Jesus Ethan, why aren’t you in bed?" Her tone wasn’t harsh; rather it was soft and gentle, yet fiercely concerned in a manner that could almost only be associated with Clara. "Do you need something to help you fight this off? I have loads of things for colds, just tell me what’s wrong. How are you feeling? Do you have a fever?" She couldn’t help but press the back of her palm to his forehead, in a way all too familiar to how she treated her siblings when they were ill. "I could run over there and grab you some things if you’d like; you could stay here and sit."