Read Online The Ending Beginnings: Clara (An Ending Series Novella) (The Ending Series) by Lindsey Fairleigh, Lindsey Pogue - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lindsey Fairleigh, Lindsey Pogue
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woman; he was walking with
Joanna.
Seething hatred
burned to life. That fucking black hair. Clara’s heart seized, and she felt her
fingernails gouging into her palms as she squeezed the steering wheel. Joanna hooked
her arm through Andrew’s before resting her head on his shoulder. Leaning to
the side, he kissed the top of her head. He was ruining everything…Joanna was
ruining everything…
That arm Joanna
was clinging to was the same arm that had been holding Clara against Andrew’s body
only two nights before. That smile he was flashing her was the smile he
reserved for Clara. He was hers .
Clara couldn’t
breathe, and her jaw ached as she clenched it. All of the reasons she hated Joanna
came back to her like rows of playing cards turning over with one quick sweep
of the hand, revealing each and every one of the horrible memories Clara had
tried so hard to forget.
This was her
Prince… her Prince. Clara had worked so hard to find him, and he was hers,
and they were happy…
A piercing
scream filled the car and sent Clara into action. Pressing the gas petal to the
floor, she felt a sense of liberation wash over her as Joanna glanced back, her
eyes filled with terror.
“Josie, look
out!”
Although Clara
heard his voice, she was too enveloped by the sound of the revving engine and
the sight of Joanna’s pretty little body hitting the Volvo with a solid thud.
She was pinned against Andrew’s truck, hopefully dead, and would never be able
to hurt Clara again.
The tension
left Clara’s body, and a smile tugged at her lips. She was finally rid of Joanna.
Peeling her eyes
open, Clara focused on her surroundings. The walls of her room were white,
barren, the blinds on the window behind her were drawn, and the air smelled of
vomit and sweat.
With a groan,
Clara sat up, the ache in her head was duller than before, but it was still
there. She felt different, lighter somehow. Glancing around the room, she
noticed that it was in complete disarray. Her desk chair was on the opposite
side of the room from the desk, her bedside table was moved further away from
the bed, and the books that had been stacked on her desk had fallen on the
floor; a mound of white rags, mostly stained with yellow and green, were piled
in their place. There was puke on the side of her bed and a small garbage can
against the wall filled with more vomit.
A loud bang
emanated from the hallway.
Clara jumped, confused
and immediately regretting the motion. As her hair swung into her face, a hard,
clumpy mass of it brushed up against her jaw. She froze. Pulling at the strands
with her fingertips, she cringed. Vomit was matted in her hair, and she stank horribly.
Gag reflexes
kicking in and forgetting about the noise, Clara ran for the bedroom door,
flung it open, and ran down the hall and into the bathroom. She made it to the
toilet in time to empty what looked like water into the toilet bowl. Although
there was nothing left in her stomach, she continued dry heaving, unable to
stop. She felt like her insides were tearing apart, and her muscles were
fatigued, barely able to support her weight.
Trembling and
using the wall for balance, Clara inched her way toward the closest shower stall.
She turned the nozzle with all her might until, finally, water starting streaming
from the showerhead. Twisting the nob all the way to the left, she waited for
it to heat from cold to warm to near scorching before stepping, fully clothed, under
the falling water. She didn’t have the strength, nor the energy, to strip out
of her soiled tank top and pajama pants.
Although steam
filled the air around her, soothing her raw throat and prickling skin, her
bones felt brittle with cold. Huddling in the corner, she sat on the tiled floor
in a haze of heat and weariness. Beyond the sound of water pouring ceaselessly
over her, Clara heard Roberta’s voice echoing in her mind. She felt the
pressure of fingers and the discomfort of her muscles as they strained and
Joanna.
Seething hatred
burned to life. That fucking black hair. Clara’s heart seized, and she felt her
fingernails gouging into her palms as she squeezed the steering wheel. Joanna hooked
her arm through Andrew’s before resting her head on his shoulder. Leaning to
the side, he kissed the top of her head. He was ruining everything…Joanna was
ruining everything…
That arm Joanna
was clinging to was the same arm that had been holding Clara against Andrew’s body
only two nights before. That smile he was flashing her was the smile he
reserved for Clara. He was hers .
Clara couldn’t
breathe, and her jaw ached as she clenched it. All of the reasons she hated Joanna
came back to her like rows of playing cards turning over with one quick sweep
of the hand, revealing each and every one of the horrible memories Clara had
tried so hard to forget.
This was her
Prince… her Prince. Clara had worked so hard to find him, and he was hers,
and they were happy…
A piercing
scream filled the car and sent Clara into action. Pressing the gas petal to the
floor, she felt a sense of liberation wash over her as Joanna glanced back, her
eyes filled with terror.
“Josie, look
out!”
Although Clara
heard his voice, she was too enveloped by the sound of the revving engine and
the sight of Joanna’s pretty little body hitting the Volvo with a solid thud.
She was pinned against Andrew’s truck, hopefully dead, and would never be able
to hurt Clara again.
The tension
left Clara’s body, and a smile tugged at her lips. She was finally rid of Joanna.
Peeling her eyes
open, Clara focused on her surroundings. The walls of her room were white,
barren, the blinds on the window behind her were drawn, and the air smelled of
vomit and sweat.
With a groan,
Clara sat up, the ache in her head was duller than before, but it was still
there. She felt different, lighter somehow. Glancing around the room, she
noticed that it was in complete disarray. Her desk chair was on the opposite
side of the room from the desk, her bedside table was moved further away from
the bed, and the books that had been stacked on her desk had fallen on the
floor; a mound of white rags, mostly stained with yellow and green, were piled
in their place. There was puke on the side of her bed and a small garbage can
against the wall filled with more vomit.
A loud bang
emanated from the hallway.
Clara jumped, confused
and immediately regretting the motion. As her hair swung into her face, a hard,
clumpy mass of it brushed up against her jaw. She froze. Pulling at the strands
with her fingertips, she cringed. Vomit was matted in her hair, and she stank horribly.
Gag reflexes
kicking in and forgetting about the noise, Clara ran for the bedroom door,
flung it open, and ran down the hall and into the bathroom. She made it to the
toilet in time to empty what looked like water into the toilet bowl. Although
there was nothing left in her stomach, she continued dry heaving, unable to
stop. She felt like her insides were tearing apart, and her muscles were
fatigued, barely able to support her weight.
Trembling and
using the wall for balance, Clara inched her way toward the closest shower stall.
She turned the nozzle with all her might until, finally, water starting streaming
from the showerhead. Twisting the nob all the way to the left, she waited for
it to heat from cold to warm to near scorching before stepping, fully clothed, under
the falling water. She didn’t have the strength, nor the energy, to strip out
of her soiled tank top and pajama pants.
Although steam
filled the air around her, soothing her raw throat and prickling skin, her
bones felt brittle with cold. Huddling in the corner, she sat on the tiled floor
in a haze of heat and weariness. Beyond the sound of water pouring ceaselessly
over her, Clara heard Roberta’s voice echoing in her mind. She felt the
pressure of fingers and the discomfort of her muscles as they strained and
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