Work Text
I.
When Claire was 10, she realized that she liked both boys and girls.Sophia Chamberlain was her first kiss before she moved away, and Gregory Smythe was the first and last boy to ask her to the end-of-the-school year dance. Sophia made her blush, and Gregory made her stomach do many gymnast-level backflips. Her parents and the rest of the Newmans didn’t want her but two strangers did.Sophia’s genuine niceness and this twinkle in her eye intrigued and aggravated Claire. Gregory was making fun of her by asking her out so she said no sharply and returned to The Art of War covered by Wuthering Heights. Nobody would have asked the resident playground monster and mean it. She never told Jordan how Sophia’s scent stayed with her for years or how Gregory’s dark brown eyes reminded her of healthy soil. But no, she wasn’t healthy—Claire was sick inside. Jordan told her she was born sick, but when she was old enough, all was going to be well. Just like her grandmother Eve should have been if not for that wretched bastard Victor Newman.That’s what mattered: revenge.Not Claire’s blossoming awareness of something very important awakening within.—When Sophia kissed her, Claire tasted the remnants of Sophia’s strawberry lollipop.When Gregory Smythe asked her to the school dance, she declined. Claire waited until his footsteps were distant and he’d turned a corner. She lowered her book and realized something glinted in the afternoon sun: a bracelet made of blue and green cat’s eye beads. She let her blue eyes scan the library even from the table she sat alone.The librarian, Mrs. Grady, was ordinary. Nice, even. Even brought cookies on special occasions and left an array of lollipops in a cup on her desk. When Claire left that library, Ms. Grady would encourage her take one—any flavour she wanted. Purple was grape. Orange was…orange. Yellow was sweet lemon. Green was lime. Blue was a weird mix of blueberry and raspberry, and red…Red was strawberry. Strawberry. Sophia. Strawberry. Sophia—“Claire, go ahead. Take one.”Claire gripped her book bag, and beamed as bright as she could. Ms. Grady was a skinny woman with messy dark curls, wide blue eyes that shined like sunrays on the surface on a clear lake and had thin lips. Ms. Grady tied her curls back even though a few stubborn ones escaped and framed the librarian’s heart spaced face.She was aware of Gregory’s bracelet, the smooth texture and roundness of the beads against the hand casually in her pocket.Claire smiled like Aunt Jordan told her, too and took the strawberry one.“Thank you.”“You’re welcome,” Ms. Grady replied. Claire saw the slight crease in her brow. Concern. A lot of teachers were concerned and Claire managed to handle them. Ms. Grady would be no different.There was nothing to be concerned about anyway. Her clothes were neat (but she wanted nicer ones). Claire’s hair was washed and brushed by herself (but she wished her birth mom wanted to do it sometimes), and she liked school and homework well enough (because better grades meant access and power of her own).“Claire?”“Are you okay?”Claire nodded, unwrapping the red lollipop from its wrapper and put it in her mouth. “Mhmm,” Claire removed the lollipop from her mouth, taking seconds to savour the strawberry flavour. She shrugged, her tone innocent and light. “Yeah. I’m okay.”“That’s good to know. Have a good winter break.”“You too, Ms. Grady.” Claire bundled up with her jacket, scarf and mittens and walked home the long way so she could enjoy her lollipop and hide Gregory’s bracelet in a box she kept hidden. Jordan hated when she had candy, and of course, trinkets—as she called them—would be gone as punishment soon. She walked a little slower to the house, trying to wish the pit in her stomach away. Sophia and Gregory were healthy people, had nice houses and perfect family. Claire was not healthy. She was born sick and damaged.The Newman family didn’t want her. But, Jordan promised, all would be well soon.So, she had to be well. She couldn’t be sick or different.—Claire’s first period arrived six months after she turned 12 on a May rainy morning in Connecticut. She had been enrolled into an all-girls private school there—the Westover School. The first time she had been under Jordan’s tutelage full time was at 14. Her name was Claire Grace, not Eve Nicole Newman Howard. She was an orphan girl who lived with the aunt loving enough to take her in and love her.Her parents died in a horrific accident, but she was the picture of resilience and making the best of very bad circumstances.She no longer lived in Oregon for a few months of the year, but Aunt Jordan’s presence was everywhere. In her mind, in her dreams, sometimes in her body because of her instructions. Talk this way. Dress that way. Be affable and sweet. She had to walk in a way that made her steps sure. Be the picture of both competence and innocence. So, that’s what she did. Perfect student with the highest grades that opened the door to scholarships and full rides to universities. She had to make the universities fall in love with her. Perfect classmate who worked well with others. Perfect person with all of the needed extracurriculars. Perfect everything when everyone from administrators down annoyed her.Still, she moved throughout the social hierarchy of this school as if one of them.Even her…feelings grew more intense, more pronounced and more…present.—At 14 years old, Claire realized she grew up. Not really in the physical sense because puberty was a normal mechanism. Her menstrual cycle arrived regularly every month. She never took medicine for the cramps as painful as they were and she became desensitized to the blood. Using and applying tampons became easy, providing her with more control than pads. But she grew up in her curiosity. Jordan never told her about sex when she came home to their small lake house in Oregon. Claire was sure her aunt even knew, but if she did, she wasn’t aware of it. Claire tried to stuff it in a box and tried to let it sink down into the wide watery expanse that seemed to have no bottom.During her Social Studies class on a lesson on human sexuality, the box floated its way up to the surface and cracked open. Its contents spilled open and seeped into her bones.“…as we know, human sexuality has always been part of human societies. Heterosexual ones, but also same-sex ones. Studies and research show this. The Kinsey scale is a tool used to measure sexuality on a 1 to 7 scale…” Ms. Hawthorne spoke, teaching and she took notes like a dutiful student. “…But we have terms like heterosexual, homosexual, asexual, omnisexual, and bisexual.”
Bisexual.
The word—that word—rang clearly above the noise of everything else. It struck a nerve as if plucking one taut guitar string. Her hand curled around her pencil a little tightly, her neat printing shifting slightly over the printed blue lines of the page.
Bisexual—
“Claire?”“Yes?”She could feel the heat of a blush go to her cheeks, the light snickering of her peers but she kept her confident posture and met Ms. Hawthorne’s gaze. She’d never seen someone with grey eyes before and wondered. What genetic mixture could produce that?“How about you take a stab at defining bisexuality?”She cleared her throat and tucked a lock of her blonde hair behind an ear. Racking her brain, the definition began to take shape in her head. She did have a habit of living in her recesses of her mind before re-emerging in the real world. Integrating information. Receiving information. Filtering it. Analyzing it before saying it. These were the steps she took. Claire had to take it or it was wrong. Not perfect or logical.Veronica Greene, the class Queen Bee, narrowed her eyes at her, plastered on a charismatic smile and raised a hand.“I think I’d like to try while Claire daydreams. I’d like to help my classmate.”Claire smiled back at Veronica, clear in the other girl’s attempt to assert dominance. All that long dark hair was a hazard. Those pretty, expensive shoes with rhinestone buckles and heels would be rough with stairs.All she had with simple off-brand shoes that looked black and white Converses, but they were safe and shewouldn’t be the one break an ankle or an arm.“I can help myself, Ronnie,” she shot back, sickly sweet and as fake as every one of these kids here. Veronica attempted to insult her intelligence so Claire broke the significance of her nickname. Before the queen and her band of teenage village idiots could react, Claire inhaled and spoke eloquently even as her fingers twitched, a new warmth from her belly to her thighs formed. “Bisexuality is a sexual orientation that means a person can like people of more than one sex and/or gender,” she added a question for her own curiosity and because she was greedy for more of Ms. Hawthorne’s attention. Not too much, Claire, she told herself. Her inner voice, sounding like Aunt Jordan scolded her. Eagerness meant strength and attentiveness. Desperation is for the weak. “This means that liking someone this way can happen at different times, different ways and levels are different, right?”Ms. Hawthorne beamed at her. “Very astute, Claire! And yes, correct. How we feel about ourselves and each other is always on a spectrum...” she directed her glance to the rest of the class. She could feel Veronica’s glare and the princess pouting. Claire couldn’t hear anything Ms. Hawthorne said anymore.She found herself back in the ocean of her mind. It was dark, deep and had water that made goosebumps appear all over her skin. But she had to tune in and play pretend. Writing additional notes in the margins, Claire let a barely-there but dreamy smile cross her lips.Somewhere in her printed, handwritten notes was a doodle of a grey sky full of stars.
Ms. Hawthorne’s eyes.
—Veronica Greene faded away to a distant into oblivion. She was a princess locked away in a tower that disintegrated into ash as delicate as her.But… Ms. Hawthorne. Perhaps, she was both dragon and knight. Her hair was copper that could spark into fire. Full lips, and voice that caressed Claire’s ear as if it was silk and raspy so they were grazed by the blade of a sword. Knights always had one of those, right? Claire exhaled deeply, thankful that her roommate, Carmella, was away for the week. Her grandfather had died. Claire was genuinely sorry for her loss. In between sobs and sniffles, Carmella would look at her with these pleading eyes. Understanding. Maybe help in making the pain go away.Being discarded as a baby wasn’t the same as Carmella losing her Nonno.People left. People died.Others (Ms. Hawthorne with her first name being Claire, too) lived and left an imprint.—The library was big enough for Claire to work (hide) in. The book shelves were organized (until she messed with the Dewey decimal system just a little bit). The space was quite big (public) as other girls walked away until she decided to go. Her heart was racing when she found her dorm, free from Carmella. She maintained her composure, waving to the other girls. She didn’t even know their names or care. Claire got the door of her room open and locked the door behind her. No, she didn’t want to do movie night. Lots of homework to catch up on. She had at least two years left in this place if the plan was executed correctly.Claire Hawthorne was not part of the plan. This teacher was supposed to another nameless, faceless administrator. The still plucked nerve by that word continued to vibrate, the warmth in her belly turned into an ache that pooled between her legs because she needed to see the stars in Ms. Hawthorne’s eyes again.—She masturbated for the first time alone and the vibrating strings broke. Claire didn’t hear Aunt Jordan’s voice in her head once while in this strange weightlessness that felt…good.
II.
Claire lost her virginity when she turned 16 between the bookshelves with poetry printed on its pages. Dickinson, she recalled.His name was Matt. Blonde, green eyes, almost stupidly nice and trusting and…ordinary.Matt stopped being ordinary when her world blew up and was the lead paramedic who helped her newly family discovered members live. No, they weren’t really new to her. She nearly killed them. She nearly snuffed two generations. Claire nearly sent her parents she thought didn’t want her to the grave when, in reality, all they wanted was her. For a brief moment, Matt had locked eyes with her and knew. Something she didn’t know had passed and then the moment was over.His last name was Whittaker.—Her understanding of sex was a selfish one. It needed to stay that way.Nobody was truly altruistic. Every interaction was transactional for the fulfillment of an itch that stemmed from her sense of self-preservation and greed. Greed for vengeance. Greed for power that was always supposed to be hers.Her time in undergraduate and graduate school felt as if being strapped to a rocket. Scholarship, high-achieving grades, the needed extracurriculars and the favour of her professors gave Claire the ability to throw herself into being perfect for Corporate America. The Lundquist College of Business at University of Oregon was because of geography—only a three-hour train ride from Eugene to Bend—and Wharton Business School for her MBA was for prestige. Jordan always praised for rising up to the challenge and devotion to balancing the scales. She was still strapped to this rocket ship, still feeling the heat but the coolness of leaving a bubble that granted her freedom. Seeing the glimmer of approval in Jordan’s eyes, Claire always obeyed and did what was expected of her. Always reserved and composed, she came home for instructions as her knowledge of the Newman family grew and expanded.So did her ability to play the pure, untouched virgin.The moment she graduated from Wharton first in her class, Claire felt that familiar weightlessness again. She had done it and powering through business school for a purpose, it gave her perspective. The world was her oyster. People called her. The most powerful people offered her internships with guaranteed employment opportunities nationally and internationally.London. Shanghai. Sydney. Paris. Rome. Tokyo. Hong Kong. Los Angeles.Her inbox became a dizzying flood on job offers when all she wanted was a chance to be worldly, to be free and explore. Claire felt the need for justice converge with her desire to explore. Then an offer for a job at the biggest asset management firms in the country became her ticket out.
New York.
—I need this, she wanted to say, but instead, sat across from the small dining table for another round of Talk Time and said, “We need this. I’ve finished everything else. We need to move on to New York.”“Why should I let you go?”Claire inhaled discreetly, feeling the conflict of rebellion and obedience.“Because it would be better for me to adapt. New York is the financial capital of the country. New York has museums, restaurants, and the Newmans have a presence there.”Her aunt sat there in unusual silence, and Claire wondered if she knew. If she really knew how Claire toed the line while stepping out of it. She wondered if Jordan knew how she experimented. She wondered if Claire planned out her encounters although the unplanned ones always gave her a shot of adrenaline. She explained the logistics, the positive aspects of geography as it pertained to the Newmans—a family apartment on Billionaire’s Row, Victoria’s penthouse in Tribeca and her young half-brother, Reed living in Greenwich Village—and adapting to New York and being more worldly. It didn’t hurt that this job paid quite well so she could hone her corporate craft and the plan at the same time.Claire didn’t tell Jordan about the time Bea (she was Bea the Bartender to Claire, no last name) went down on her in the bedroom of Bea’s average apartment. She never told Jordan she learned four languages fluently, committed the other Genoa City families and their members to memory. Context when planning was important after all.“That’s not enough, Claire.”Claire raised a brow, “Victoria Newman being the keynote speaker of a conference on women in business in Manhattan isn’t enough? The woman gave me away. This is a key opportunity. We need to strike now.”Jordan narrowed her eyes and Claire’s heart skipped beneath her cool exterior.“Don’t let me down.”A predatory gleam in her dark eyes that showed both assent and approval. A discrete exhale of relief that set of a spark of anticipation Claire kept locked away. Her own Pandora’s Box of sorts—only this time, she craved chaos. She wanted it.“I won’t,” she replied, ever obedient always trusting in Jordan’s plan.—It was the right one. Newton’s Third Law of Motion said so.For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. For every passing day the Newmans lived without ever acknowledging her, they would die knowing she – Eve, yes that one – lived, and existed.Claire was loosening the knots of her own plan in the shadows. New York was the final step. New York City was alive and buzzed with a frenetic kind of energy. Wall St called out to her like the sirens she only read about it, but she would not crash.Claire vowed to be in a different kind of Alice In Wonderland and tumble into everything New York had to offer. It was the city that awoke with the bell of the New York Stock Exchange, its permanent gong and never went to sleep. Everything that was decadent, indulgent, and even borderline hedonistic would be hers to take and enjoy.Connection without contrition. Ambition without apprehension.
III.
When she started therapy, it was court mandated. Claire wasn’t sure of the terms and frankly, didn’t want to know all of the legalese.As time passed, she found herself not understanding where she fit into this grand million-piece Newman family jigsaw puzzle. Her mental health team threw terms around trauma, childhood abuse, disassociation until she heard post-traumatic stress disorder and the fog parted. She cried more than she swore. She read more than she spoke and preferred to sleep more than exist awake. She was strapped another rocket ship again, but did not know where to land: two parents, siblings, and a whole extended family who either tolerated or outright didn’t like her (it was okay—it grounded her and meant she existed in reality where everything was not linear).Careers came easy to her although being Harrison’s nanny was both effortless and challenging. Harrison and the job were the easy part. Navigating her dynamic with Summer was a minefield and at times, Claire was tempted to counter her cousin’s glares and cutting remarks with an icy retort and a dagger wrapped up in false niceties she would never see something. Her darker impulses pushed Claire to crush her because Summer was another one of them. Vapid, empty-headed, and nothing but make-up and air. Crush her. She is beneath you. Unfurling her hand, she found the imprints of half-moons in her palms. No, Claire told herself. She couldn’t. She wasn’t that person anymore.Summer aside, she had to come to terms that a career in education wasn’t going to be. Maybe for Eve in an alternative timeline, but that name and that job no longer felt right to Claire. Having a whole corporate pathway may have been dictated to her, but Claire did genuinely thrive in the wildness of it all.She had been in the belly in the beast for completely nefarious reasons—she knew that now—but still, Claire had heard the corporate heartbeat. Yes, she was a Newman, drawn to the wider chess matches and even hungry for everything at her disposal. Chancellor Industries was vacant, the path painted with the carnage of Billy’s career. She didn’t interact with him much outside of being Johnny and Katie’s big sister, but Claire got the sense that he wandered, searching for stable ground and Jack’s validation.
You know, Claire… If I were you, I’d stay away from the Newmans. Except for your mom. They’re all cut from the same blood-soaked cloth as Victor. Don’t learn that the hard way like I have.
Inside of her, as Claire watched Billy leave, were two responses. One was instinctually callous, the other was empathetic borderline condescending.Neither one felt…right, so silence was the only option.—Claire was always better at observation. She exhaled as if to exorcise the residue of whatever cancer still resided within. Claire paused to gaze around Dr. Fields’ office, grateful that her therapist could handle when she word vomited like this. The therapist smiled and then asked her a question everyone else had not.“New family, new scenery, new career,” Dr. Fields listed off, and gestured at her from top to bottom. “A new wardrobe and a new relationship. How do you feel about that?”Her hair was a warmer blonde to bring out the natural blush in her cheeks and was still getting used to her new bangs. Light makeup was what she wanted to go with. She wore a royal blue satin blouse, skinny jeans and tan high heel ankle boots from Nordstrom. Although her hair was in a high ponytail today, she fidgeted with her bracelet. Claire caught a glance of her smooth, manicured nails painted dark red. She appreciated Dr. Fields giving her long pauses like this to reflect and turn this broad complex question.Claire finally looked her therapist straight in the eye—hazel ones, she noted and answered it honestly. She found herself dealing with a medium-sized pit in her abdomen and a slight tightening in her chest. Her heartbeat felt like a hummingbird’s wings desperate to escape.“I’m…” Claire fiddled with a simple rose gold on her left middle finger. “I’m on a pedestal.”“Unpack that a little more for me.”“I mean…” she gazed upward in thought, aware of the number of tiles on the fluorescent ceiling. “It feels like I’m on this pedestal. I didn’t ask for it, but I’m…there. The air is thinner up there so it’s disorienting. But…if I jump off, gravity will kill me. I’m grateful for all of these opportunities suddenly open to me. At the same time, I feel like I’m taking up space that doesn’t belong to me. The only time I ever feel like I’m in reality is when I’m with my parents, or when I encounter someone and they don’t know what to make of me. Which is perfectly fine. I don’t need or want to be liked by everyone. The space between also has Kyle and Harrison there. Kids are refreshingly honest,” she explained to Dr. Fields, recalling all of the ways this boy was both real and quite whimsical all at once. “And well, Kyle… he’s a good dad. Very, very flawed. Sometimes, it takes everything in me to tell him to get over himself. I used to be able to do that. I used to be able to cut people like him down and destroy them with ease.”“What changed?” Claire found herself frowning, the memory of the rich people who put on airs during her time in New York. The corporate world was running and driven by ambitious people with fake personas. Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she fidgeted again. No matter the agenda, Claire had seen it—the facades, the ruthlessness behind the smiles, and the knives behind the negotiations.What had changed was with this connection she didn’t want to put a label on became something more. She needed to understand it. There had been too much deception in her previous encounters. It was all deception with lack of warmth. Claire didn’t want whatever this was with her and Kyle to be the cause of something else. whether it was transference, or latching on, she needed to take a step back and look objectively. As starved as she was, Claire was deficient in forming healthy relationships. She knew this about herself, the self-awareness both enlightening and startling.If this connection was just because of Harrison, she needed to sever it. It was not Kyle or Harrison’s job to fill whatever void Claire still existed. If it wasn’t, then maybe—just maybe—it was real.What the hell was the concept of real?—“Claire?”“Yes?”“You drifted,” Dr. Fields explained, her eyes both soft and questioning. “Where did you go?”She knew where she had gone. Claire had drifted to the space between the space between her pedestal and wherever gravity would drag her down. It was quiet, but hazy in this stasis. Her heartbeat didn’t race and her hands didn’t sweat. She didn’t know how but out of the fog emerged all of her encounters. Names weren’t important and faces seemed to matter less. Relationships with anyone caused complications—that was difficult to unlearn and navigate. The haze was still a veil, but she saw Kyle. She saw Harrison. Kyle’s hand passed through the veil to touch hers and Harrison’s laughter was the clearest sound.She closed her eyes, as if to ground herself to the present. She was at Memorial—the second floor. It smelled like disinfectant and felt sterile but Dr. Fields’ office smelled like a floral air freshener. Although she wasn’t wearing a hospital gown, Claire still felt the scratchy texture against her skin.Her name was Claire Newman-Howard. Her favourite colour was teal. She was right-handed even though her left hand was dominant. She was a Scorpio like her mother and her little sister, Katie. She was firmly bisexual, worked hard to be this optimistic sane person, but had Newman blood in her veins and (possibly) Howard madness in her mind. Genoa City was home but it was fucking hard. The date was—Stop. “I went to that space in between,” she admitted, plainly almost sounding matter-of-fact. She shrugged. “It was hazy, but tolerable,” she shook her head slightly as if to rewind back to Dr. Fields’ previous question. What changed? Before she could catch herself, the answer pushed past her lips and escaped.“Kyle and I…connected.”To phrase it as having sex sounded cheap, but to say she and Kyle made love sounded far heavier than it needed to be. There was no need to overcomplicate things.She blushed and couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.“He saw all of me, and not just in the physical sense. No agendas. It was…nice.”
IV.
For years, Claire had been told about Victoria—her mother—the most of all the Newmans.She was the heir apparent to the Newman Empire, groomed to be queen. She was told that she was the coldest one of them all. Venomous, too. Perfection and power were her endgame and Claire just didn’t fit into it. Yes, her mother was full of ice and steel and could swing from protective to poison. Victoria was sweet, cared a little too much and her maternal instinct manifested itself like a shield. She didn’t know how Johnny and Katie felt it but they told her they were used to it.For Claire, it felt like an icy wind that became a soothing balm to the wounds inflicted on her. What was a healing balm to her could be a corrosive acid to whoever was foolish enough to draw Victoria’s wrath.Which is why Claire’s last trip to Crimson Lights didn’t have her mother reacting explosively to Phyllis provoking her on her bingo card.—Her mother had Nirvana, The Foo Fighters, Prince and classical music all on one playlist. She fenced, rode horses and moved with a regal grace but Claire watched her loosen up and laugh. Claire liked meeting up to have dinner with whatever restaurant tickled her fancy and went with her to a bar on the edge of bar called The Graveyard. Her mother had a whole other life away from the usual players of the Genoa City stage. What a small inner circle she really had. Claire had met her mother’s group of friends once, and met Jared Gilmore—a person her mother described a gentle giant, a big softie but gruff. He never called her Victoria either, just Newman. Claire was taken with Jared Gilmore because his height, defined features, deep set moss green eyes and his stark red hair was hard to miss.Claire thought that Victoria would have summoned a pool cue to counter Phyllis’ attempt to slap her. She was as good at pool as she was as business. But no, Claire watched her mother explode. Catching Phyllis’ left wrist, her mother delivered a sharp kick to the other woman’s knee and drove her to the ground. Phyllis swore loudly, calling her mother a bitch only for Victoria to calmly agree and twist the redhead’s arm quite painfully. It was quick, automatic and effective. There was a flurry of sounds and voices (“Vick, let her up!” “Damnit, Victoria!” “You’re psychotic!” “Aunt Victoria, stop!” “About fucking time!”) until Claire herself asked her to let Phyllis go. Victoria glanced at her and Claire nodded imperceptibly.Phyllis was helped up only to lunge her at her mother again. Her mother stood unmoving, blue eyes narrowed and then slapped her so hard, the sound cracked the air like a whip. A curtain of red hair came over her face. When Phyllis touched her lip, her hand came away with blood. Those blue eyes were the most expressive part of her face, but it was fascinating how love and warmth shone in them but cut also cut a person down to size. Like they were the dust beneath her heeled shoes. Almost like they were nothing. Claire noted Katie had that same withering glance. She was just relieved to stop being on the receiving end of it. The big sister-little sister relationship was a learning curve hard than anything business related.“It seems you have the unfortunate task of associating with her,” she regarded Billy with both begrudging respect and annoyance. “We will figure out Christmas with the kids this year at a later time. And you…” she turned to Nick, still managing the task of restraining Phyllis. “Do a better job muzzling this one,” Victoria glanced at Phyllis, up and down. “Scary Poppins, huh? Vaffanculo…”She heard her mom spit the word out like acid on her tongue. Claire observed Summer’s reaction as that withering gaze landed on her. She had lived in Milan—of course she knew what it meant. Claire didn’t, but it had to be someone kind of swear word.And then…things moved in real time again.“Claire, let’s go. We’ll have coffee elsewhere.”—“I’m sorry you had to witness that…ugliness,” Victoria apologized as she slammed the driver’s side of her silver SUV. Claire pulled the seatbelt over her torso to secure herself as Victoria stabbed the start bottom with a little more force than necessary. The engine turned over and she rested her hands on the steering wheel. She inhaled. “Claire, really. I am…”“It’s fine.”“Phyllis has this astounding talent of bringing your worse instincts to the surface. She provoked me but she’s not the reason I’ve been jumpy since the night of Abby’s wedding.”Claire looked at her curiously, “What is the reason?”Her mother gazed out as if searching for something, maybe even someone.“I don’t know,” Victoria answered, tone distant. She clicked her tongue in irritation, put in the car in Drive and pulled out of Crimson Light’s parking lot. After a few silent moments, Claire asked how she was able to do that. Stopping at a red light, Victoria turned to her and smirked. “Jared. He was a Marine.”“Ah. Good for you, Mom. I have one more question.”“Sure, honey.”“What did you tell Phyllis before we left? I noticed Summer had a reaction to it.”The steady click of the right turn signal sounded, and Victoria smoothly turned right. She chuckled. “Of course, Summer would have a reaction. Her Italian is as fluent as mine. That word loosely translates to fuck you. I can’t imagine her being happy about that.”“Oh. Then nicely played, Mom.”—A week later, Claire drove herself to Crimson Lights and continued working on her analysis of Chancellor Industries after accepting the position. The company under Lily Winters’ stewardship was healthy. The way the company changed hands was less than stellar. When companies changed hands, it could be anything from amicable to hostile. So, she decided to analyze the company as it was now.The previous night had been a celebratory night at Society—dinner, drinks and dessert. It was winter, but at least, she had a reason for wearing that dark red backless dress. Things ended at the Neil Winters Jazz Lounge with dancing. As much as she loved being with Kyle, they both had to be responsible adults. What a damn shame, Kyle had whispered against her mouth as she laughed and kissed him. I agree, Claire replied, breaking away breathless, drunk on champagne and his cologne. Really, really unfortunate.The live band played a cover of Nat King Cole’s L-O-V-E filled the room as he twirled her on the dance floor. Practice, Kyle said, catching her effortlessly after he spun her. For Spence and Zach’s reception. Of course, nothing said dance reception practice like their mutual friend’s wedding in the New Year.The night was still young, she whispered in his ear and perhaps, they could be irresponsible just a tad longer. Claire paused her typing, allowing herself a moment to recall how irresponsible they’d been until the first rays of a Genoa City sunrise.—She yawned, taking another sip of her hot coffee and went back to work. Christmas decorations adorned the coffee house, but Claire moved away from thoughts of Kyle to focus on her new role at Chancellor. She typed, sent emails, and made call phones asking questions in some areas but finding solutions in others.“Hey, Gina. You think you can get those acquisition reports to my inbox for me? Yep. Analytical reasons…” Claire kept her phone pressed to her ear as her mind raced in several directions as she found the new email perched at the top and unread. “Received, Gina. Lunch with everyone at the Athletic Club this week is fine. Bye.”Bringing the Christmas tree themed mug to her lips, Claire let the coffee warm her as she opened up the encrypted report. Ah, this was perfect. Opening up an already colour coded spreadsheet, she brought up the financial report and began entering information. To the average person, it was hieroglyphics but she understood it and hoped her grandparents would be happy with it. Claire was by no means nervous.Actually, she was quite confident in her abilities and excited but genuinely working with others was a learning curve. In all honesty, Claire hated incompetence, hated slow people and despised disorganization but the people at Chancellor were okay. She appreciated that they respected her request for no preferential treatment. On the other hand, as she took the time getting to know everyone from the executive team to maintenance, Claire knew a handful of people were still loyal to Billy. Wherever Billy was, Phyllis seemed to follow lately. That could grow into an imminent threat.—“You’re settling in to Chancellor Industries…”Claire glanced up for her laptop, looking around to make sure Summer was addressing her.“Oh. You were talking to me,” she said, as Summer sat in the empty chair across from her. Making sure to save this third draft from her comprehensive analysis, Claire closed the sleek cover of her work MacBook Pro, and took a drink from her coffee. “Is there something you need from me?”“Yes. It has to do with Harrison.”Claire’s brow furrowed as a pinprick of concern shot through her.“Is he okay?”“He’s great. Before I forget, you looked stunning at Abby and Devon’s wedding.”No, she didn’t forget. Claire resisted the urge to smirk, realizing how painful that was for Summer to say as disingenuous as it was. She had encountered Summer’s type all her life but that type was Claire’s favourite to mess with and analyze.“You looked beautiful, too. But I highly doubt you interrupted your busy day at Marchetti to trade compliments on formal attire. I’m not important to you.”Kyle and Summer had given her permission to speak with Harrison about not being his nanny anymore. Of course, she had framed it in a way he could process. She didn’t want him to think she was abandoning him or leaving. She was just on a new adventure, but they would still see each other. Of course, Harrison had deduced that she was his dad’s girlfriend and didn’t have a problem with it. All he wanted was for her to help build his ginger bread house—no, mansion. Didi—it was sweet how he called Diane this—was helping him draw it out.Summer’s eyes sparked with a glint of disdain and Claire was finally relieved. She saw her cousin’s disdain and it was honest. Claire took another sip of coffee in acknowledgement of this energy that crackled in the air. She was able to smell freshly baked gingerbread cookies and hear Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree playing softly, but she appreciated the way Summer’s eyes flashed and narrowed.Summer laughed, but there was a certain mockery to it, but hey, the coffee here was good and she still had no idea how to work the Keurig machine at home. “You’re right. You’re not important to me, but my son thinks you hang the moon. You’re not the nanny anymore. You’ve moved up to Kyle’s girlfriend. What’s going to happen when you two break up and Harrison is caught in the middle?”“Kids are resilient, and Harrison’s capacity is bigger than most adults. We’re never going to be friends,” Claire explained, seriously gesturing between them. “Harrison being safe is paramount. To me and Kyle. As for Kyle and I,” she lifted a shoulder, holding her mug between her palms, “…We never labelled anything.”“So, friends with benefits? Or…are you going to revert to type and attempt to kill the Abbotts, too?”Claire didn’t answer, but laughed before taking another mouthful of her coffee. It was lukewarm and bitter, but it beat beating Summer with the coffee mug. It was such a cute mug, and her cousin wasn’t worth it. If she wanted to destroy, she would have done it already and watched the carnage. Summer’s penchant for provocation mirrored her mother’s, it seemed.As she strung her words together, Claire imagined what it would be like to pin Summer to the ground underneath her boot and rip her arms off.—“I respect you as Harrison’s mother and a human being.”“Wow. You’re good. Your crazy ass aunt raised you well.”“Excuse me?”“I mean,” Summer mused, “Victor Newman is one of the most suspicious people I know. I get how you were able to snow him.”“I meant what I said. I do respect you…as Harrison’s mother. Because of that respect I have for both Kyle and Harrison, Kyle and I will define what we are and explain it to Harrison.”“How saintly of you.”“I’m not the halo-wearing type,” Claire replied, countering Summer’s sharpness and sarcasm with cleverly veiled edges of her own. She felt them—always straining and bending against the cage she worked hard to build. She called her edges, her madness, her…inclinations a monster. The Monster. Jordan called it her greatness, her higher purpose. The beginnings of something like the sound of a roar starting a ringing in her ears. It was the same high pitched ringing Claire had heard when she watched Nikki fall under the influence of her tea drugged with a cocktail of Valium and Ambien.Only shoving a hypodermic needle to her Nikki’s neck could have silenced it.—The ringing was a slow-building roar now, getting ready to crescendo. Dr. Fields acknowledged it and told her to breathe, reframe and refocus. Summer was saying something to her, but Claire couldn’t hear it. For that, she was relieved.
Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus.
Focus, Claire—
“Weeks in the psych ward doesn’t work. You’re a fake, Claire, but I see you. I don’t think you’re this little ball of sunshine.”Claire glanced past Summer’s shoulder to where it all happened. That fight where Summer’s mother was under the mercy of hers. She redirected her gaze to her cousin, making sure she met Summer head-on.“I don’t care what you think. What I know is I have the right to figure out what my present and future will look like. Yes, my present includes Kyle. That’ll bleed into my future. I like him,” she cleared her throat and continued. “Clearly, Summer, we clash. I’d like to be civil with you though.”“I will never be civil with you.”“Duly noted,” Claire replied after a beat of silence. “You are your mother’s daughter, but I’m discovering… I’m also mine,” she said, start to pack up. This analysis of Chancellor Industries was almost done but she no longer wanted to be here. She stood up and shrugged her jacket on, tied her scarf up and pulled the strap of her tote bag on her shoulder. Claire let the smile fall off and her edges rubbed against each other. “I’m not Jamie Vernon. I’m not Pax’s wife, and I’m definitely not Lola Rosales either.”“What’s that supposed to mean?”“It means I see you too. Happy holidays, Summer.”—Claire liked to drive. That didn’t mean she hated walking.She loved that, too, but driving was liberating. Her car was a hybrid, and an SUV that was a cherry red. Claire would have chosen something sleek and fast, but she loved the space and the velvet grey interior. An SUV for one person was a lot of space, but she loved being able to have that kind of space to herself. She kept it clean, and serviced. That was the responsible thing to do. Driving on the asphalt roads were silent, as if she were on an airplane on land. Claire’s red SUV transported her from one place to the next but it allowed her to be still—and ground herself. Walking across the Crimson Lights parking lot, Claire rested her hands on the smooth steering wheel and willed herself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.She opened her eyes, and allowed herself to scan the parking lot. Summer’s silver car was parked on the opposite side and she caught Chance parking and leave his car. She was sure it wasn’t police-related but Claire watched him take purposeful strides, his expression determined. It was nothing. It had to be nothing.That woman with the blonde wig and British accent didn’t feel like a real person. Her energy was felt familiar and foreign all at once. She had entertained the thought that perhaps—somehow, some way—Jordan had escaped the confines of prison again. No, it was impossible. Claire had been there in that Oregon courthouse as her aunt raved, and ranted saying she was her Claire. I made you! I nurtured you! You are mine, Claire! Walworth Country had done its job. Victor made sure of that, but Claire had to travel back to Oregon for any entirely different reason. Not to be Jordan’s weapon, and even worse, her ally, but to say her peace.Her hands trembled as she unfolded an ordinary piece of lined paper. She scrawled an outline of a victim impact statement and part appeal to the courts. If asked what she had said, Claire couldn’t remember consciously. She remembered the rage burning through fear. She remembered thanking the judge, and then running to find a bathroom to throw up. Despite her car being warm, that hot, burning rage came back. Bantering with Summer was low on of her list of priorities and Dr. Fields would have been proud of Claire’s restraint. Hell, she was proud of herself.Maybe it was adrenaline, the residue of trauma and the tendency to be prepared but her eyes flickered over to her glove box. She opened it and pulled the pepper spray to help with her self-defence. If—and that was a miniscule possibility—if Jordan had managed to return as the monster underneath her bed, Claire planned to use the pepper spray first. Anything else Claire or anyone else did to her afterwards, Jordan deserved it.“Stop it. She’s in jail.”The worst kind of criminals landed in jail. History and her reading of crime said so. Jordan was in the bowels of a maximum-security jail. Even the monsters there had their parameters. If there was one type of criminal universally hated in prison, it was child abuse. Yes, what Jordan had done to her was child abuse. If Jeffrey Dahmer could be murdered in prison for his depravity, but Jordan wouldn’t survive this time.“Jordan’s in jail.”Past the pepper spray, Claire found a sugar-free lollipop she had forgotten about. Bright red and strawberry flavoured. Unwrapping it, she put the candy in her mouth. The familiar was familiar and comforting. Claire let clarity wash over her, and pulled out of Crimson Lights when she pressed the start button on her car. Wine sounded nice right about now.Or, eggnog with brandy they had at Top of the Tower.Claire let herself fall into the serenity she felt while driving to Newman Tower.
V.
The afternoon sun broke through the grey clouds, giving Genoa City a respite from another onslaught of snow. The break of momentary as there was more on the way overnight. If there was enough, Claire knew she would be roped into building a snowman, tobogganing down the perfect hill located on the Ranch. There was also the annual Chancellor Park Winter Carnival. She’d never experienced it before but was excited.—The sleek silver doors of the elevator opened up and the heels of her boots tapped across the floor. Customers sat at tables. A few faces she recognized worked while some people held lunches beneficial to Newman Enterprises’ dominance in the corporate arena and ultimately, the world. She smiled as she took strides to the bar and took a seat. She put her coat and scarf behind the high-backed chair, and her tote bag on a chair next to her.“Hi,” the bartender named Maeve greeted her. “What can I get you?”“Hmm,” Claire answered, her eyes travelling over the shelves that held the varieties of red wine, white wine and rosé. She put her phone on the bar and tapped on its the white case before her gaze landed on the bourbon. “I was in a white wine mood, but I’m feeling like bourbon is the way to go.”“Alright. What kind of bourbon would you like?”Oh, there were different kinds.“Ah. It’s the holidays. Surprise me.”“You got it.”“Thanks.”—
As Maeve prepared her drink, Claire heard conversations bleed into each other until they became an indistinct cacophony. Utensils tapped against plates, and like every other place, the Top of the Tower was decorated to infuse it with holiday cheer. Her phone ringed with a text alert, and knowing who it was, Claire couldn’t help but laugh. Magda was always up to something, her mind an interesting stream of consciousness. Magda showed Claire what it was like to have true friendship. Magda showed her like it was like to have genuine connection but it was okay to be silly and have gripes. Magda told her about helping Zach put together a suit for his wedding, but being so single-minded that he had decided her studio lighting was ideal to work. Her grandfather would be pleased, she supposed. Complete with picture proof, Claire complimented the picture’s mood and lighting. Magda’s fairy lights were pretty, too.Claire often thought Zach’s stoicism contributed to his inability to talk about feelings. For Zach’s stoicism, Spence’s philosophical calm balanced their dynamic out. For Zach’s reserve, Spence’s go-with-the-flow attitude kept things healthy. The two didn’t have outward displays of affection, but covert acts of physical touch and acts of service in passing seemed to be enough.Her tapping on the screen was broken by Maeve setting a tumbler of bourbon down in front of her.“This one has been aged about 18 years.”“Sounds interesting.”Claire thanked her again. Maeve told her to enjoy it and walked off to deal with someone else. The bourbon was a dark brown slight burgundy hue. She took a sip, the alcohol warming her from the inside out. The flavours of the bourbon settled on her tongue with notes of dark chocolate, caramel, vanilla and hints of oak and spice. “Oh, that’s really good.”Claire held the tumbler, continuing her conversation with Magda before taking another. Might as well enjoy this, Claire thought as if to prepare for mimosas with Magda and Frankie next week and everything becoming dull. She wasn’t drunk but Claire felt the tension seep from her bones and grant her respite from earlier in the day. The precious alcohol was her morphine.If following the path of a thread, sparkling and delicate with the potential to gather strength, she caught Kyle’s eye from across the room. He walked through the same elevator she had exited earlier, walked to where she was sitting and kissed her.“Hi.”“Hey,” Kyle held her face, stroking the apple of her cheek. He kissed her again, letting it linger. “Mmm. You taste really good. What’re you drinking?”“Bourbon,” she replied, gesturing with her half-filled glass. Another sip. Another hit of morphine and warmth. Although, this round of warmth came from more than just alcohol. “Trying to live dangerously,” she added in jest, sort of. Claire held out her thumb and index finger, leaving a little bit of space between the two digits. “Just a tad.”“Harrison is with Summer for a sleepover at her new place. The office is not as a busy as I thought 'what the hell?'. I’m living dangerously by playing hooky.”Claire chuckled, “You know what they say about great minds. Join me.”—Kyle sat next to her and when the bartender came by, he ordered his usual.
Glenfiddich 1937.
“You have a usual here. On Newman turf?”Kyle smirked, mischief in his blue eyes. “Yes. The thought of drinking your grandfather’s alcohol freely after he screwed me over did put a spring in my step. Might as well make it a three-peat.”Claire raised a brow in genuine curiosity and amusement.“A three-peat?”“Being the third Abbott man to aggravate Victor Newman,” he said. The bartender set the tumbler of aged, very expensive liquor in front of him. Kyle thanked him and like a very well-dressed ghost, the bartender seemed to float off into the ether. He took a sip of his drink and sighed. He turned to her. “God, I needed this drink after surviving your very, very protective mother,” he took her hand and smiled softly at her. “But the threat of being skinned alive reminds me that your company matters to me. Seriously, Claire. You matter to me.”Claire knew she didn’t need validation outside of the people who mattered to her. She didn’t need the world’svalidation. The world was too big and from pictures, she’d seen of the Earth from space, this planet looked like a tiny blue swirly marble. She wasn’t a praying person but she did wish. She didn’t believe in a god—or God, Buddha, Allah, whomever—but Claire often thought something much vaster presided over everything. Like her father, she too had the ability to retreat into the depths of her imagination. In her imagination, Claire often wondered if this vast presence shook up the solar system and let the planets bump into each other like marbles rolling along playground asphalt.Kyle had been another force to bump into her with all of the depth he had beneath the surface. He was an heir, privileged, cocky and sometimes, stubborn. Beneath the surface, he was a wonderful father, a person complex person who had thoughts on a broad spectrum of subjects from philosophy to business to his own religious beliefs. I’m not a practicing Catholic, but I still go to confession once in a while. There’s that, but I also appreciate St. Luke’s architecture. Balances out my inner nihilist, he had mused after sex one night. Claire stared at him, pensively before snuggling into his embrace as he traced lazy patterns on the small of her back. I think I co-exist with my nihilism, too. But I think like being a realist, facing things as they are. Kyle had made a sound of amusement and planted a kiss in her hair.—Claire found her growing sense of idealism—reality being equivalent to the mind, spirit and consciousness—plucking at her emotions until she teared up. Her life, for all intents and purposes, had the puzzle pieces to be a fairytale. The miserable beginning, the harrowing middle and then the neat, dazzling happily ever after. But she wasn’t a princess—well, she didn’t feel like one or subscribe to that perception. Kyle wasn’t this perfect, shiny prince either. Just a complex, multifaceted human being with all his flaws. She craved being around that and feeling the strands of her humanity come together. She felt her throat tighten and tears spring to her eyes, and apologized. “Hey, what’s wrong?”“I’m fine,” Claire replied and gestured to the air around them. “Holiday spirit. That’s it,” she joked, chuckling and sniffling at the same time. Claire touched Kyle’s face and took her hand back. “Just feeling a touch vulnerable. I get overwhelmed. I don’t have my shit together.”Kyle laughed, but it was equal parts self-deprecating and regretful. His hand found hers, the fingers intertwining.“Wanna know something?”“Sure.”He smiled and it reached his eyes, “I’m selfish, an asshole, and can sink to really messed up lows. I re-discovered that about myself with this whole mess. Old habits. Not-so-distant vices,” he admitted, kissing the back of her hand, her fingers still intertwined with his. “I don’t have my shit together either. Force and fraud are in war the only two cardinal values,” Kyle quoted what she recognized as Thomas Hobbes. “Hobbes hasn’t helped me out much lately.”She regarded Kyle with a playful scrutinizing look, the cross of a soft smile and a smirk on her lips. Claire took her glass with bourbon and prompted Kyle to do the same with his whiskey.“Perhaps a toast will iron out our philosophical wrinkles.”Kyle raised his glass to meet hers.“I love that idea. To…” he trailed off and it made Claire smile. “I got it. To a holiday season and beyond figuring things out together.”Claire clinked her glass against his. “I love it. Cheers to being human, Kyle.”