Hunger woke her up. It was a sharp, twisting cramp in her stomach that made her gasp before her eyes even opened.
Clarisa sat up. The light coming through the thin curtains was gray. Morning.
She went to the small wardrobe. It was mostly empty, save for a few of her old clothes from high school. Out of style. Out of season.
She pulled out a black turtleneck sweater. It was wool, too hot for the season, but she needed coverage. She put it on. It hung off her frame like a tent. She rolled up the sleeves, but they kept sliding down.
Bethel entered with a tray.
"Breakfast," she said.
Clarisa looked at the tray. One slice of dry toast. A cup of black coffee.
"That's it?" Clarisa asked.
Bethel didn't look her in the eye. "Mrs. Dillon said... she said you need to watch your weight. She wants you to look like a model again."
Clarisa laughed. It was a dry, hacking sound. "A model? I look like a corpse."
She ate the toast in two bites. She drank the coffee, ignoring the burn.
"I'm going to see Grandmother," Clarisa announced, standing up.
Bethel moved to block the door. "You can't. Brady said-"
Clarisa didn't stop. She walked right up to Bethel, invading her personal space. "Move."
Bethel moved.
Clarisa walked out of the lodge, across the wet lawn, and toward the East Wing of the main house. The gardeners stopped their work to stare. She ignored them.
She reached the patio doors of her grandmother's suite.
Brady was standing there. He was leaning against the glass, arms crossed over his chest.
"Lost?" he asked.
"I want to see Grandmother," Clarisa said.
"She's resting. She doesn't want to see you."
"Does she know I'm here? Or are you lying to her?" Clarisa stepped closer. "Grandmother is the only one in this family with a spine. She wouldn't turn me away."
Brady pushed off the wall. He shoved Clarisa. It wasn't hard, but in her weakened state, she stumbled back three steps.
"She's fragile, Clarisa. She doesn't need a junkie upsetting her heart condition."
"I'm not a junkie," Clarisa said, her voice rising.
Helen walked out onto the patio, holding a fashion magazine. She stopped when she saw Clarisa. Her eyes went to the oversized sweater.
"Good lord," Helen said, wrinkling her nose. "Why are you wearing that? You're swimming in it. You look grotesque."
"This is the result of your 'wellness camp,' Mother," Clarisa spat.
"It was rehab!" Helen cried, clutching her pearls. "We did it to save you!"
"I never touched drugs!" Clarisa screamed. "Kaleigh put them in my bag! You know she did!"
"Shut up!" Brady roared. "Don't you dare slander her!"
The shouting drew attention. The glass doors to the main living room opened. Kaleigh stepped out, looking terrified. Ambrose was right behind her.
Kaleigh shrank behind Ambrose, gripping his jacket. "Is she... is she having an episode?"
Ambrose looked at Clarisa. He saw the shaking hands. He saw the desperation. But he also saw the fire in her eyes. It didn't look like withdrawal. It looked like fury.
"Get back to your kennel," Brady sneered, pointing at the guest house. "You're embarrassing us."
Clarisa looked at them. The united front. The wall of lies.
She stopped fighting. Her shoulders dropped. The fire in her eyes turned to ice.
She let out a laugh. It was a chilling sound, devoid of humor.
"Fine," Clarisa said softly. "I won't see her. But remember this moment. Remember when you denied me."
She turned around.
"Sleep well tonight, family," she called over her shoulder.
She walked away. She could feel Ambrose's eyes burning a hole in her back.
