THE ARISTOCRATS #1

00:13

tw: abuse

Class with Elijah was pretty uneventful, unlike Aaron, he ignored her the entire lesson. Clementine was surprised by how much she missed his gruff and cynical presence.

She walked through the hall to her room, her skirt swishing softly. It was quiet now that everyone had dispersed into their rooms and common areas. The setting sun cast an orange light on the floor, causing her shadow to stretch out.

Clementine swiped her key card on her lock, opening the door as she struggled to tuck her card back into her wallet.

She walked into her room and stopped dead.

"Mum?"

Her voice was strangely high and choked, like it was seconds away from shattering into millions of sharp pieces.

Her mother sat on her bed, examining her polished nails blandly. Her face was bare of makeup and her pant suit was rumpled and creased. The blonde hair that Clementine had inherited looked ruffled, her usually perfect bun was messy and tangled..

"Clementine," her mother greeted with a smile.

Clementines bottom lip trembled as she dropped her bag into the floor. That smile was the kindest thing she'd ever received from her mother. Her inner child was banging at the walls of its cage, begging to be let out. She wanted to drop into her mother's open arms and listen to her coo into her ears, lick her palms and smooth down her hair. She was shaking softly.

"Mum," she whispered again like a broken record, stumbling forward as her mother opened her arms with a beckoning smile.

Her mother enveloped her, squeezing her tightly. She smelt of expensive perfume and clean cotton. Clementine broke down, sobbing into her shoulder. Awful, hitched sobbing from deep within her chest, ripped from her throat. She held her tattered pride in her hands like a beggar, pleading for someone to take it, look after her, tell her she was a good girl. Her mother smoothed her hair with a hand, making soothing sounds.

"Why are you crying, Clementine?" She asked.

Clementine sniffled and leaned back, looking into her face. She was like a marble statue, cold and smooth. There was something lacking within her, something inherently wrong.

"I don't know," she mumbled. "I missed you."

She felt like a child once more, vulnerable and in desperate need of affection. She was a rabid animal, feral and foaming at the mouth, longing for someone to just hold her.

"Do you want to know why I'm here?" Her mother asked, her hand curling loosely around the nape of her neck.

Clementine nodded, still wrapped around her mother.

"I've heard about your new friendship with a certain four boys," the grip on her nape tightened.

"What?"

Her mother's eyes flashed, and her embrace suddenly felt like a python circling around it's prey, slowly suffocating it. Her mother shoved her away from her, disgust contorting her features. Clementine stumbled backwards, tripping over her own feet and hitting the blunt edge of her drawer. She yelped at the sharp spike of pain, landing hard on her knees. Her expression was wounded and confused as she reached for her mother, disorientated.

"I didn't know that I had raised a slut," she curled her lip. "What do you think it looks like when you're out there surrounded by four men at all times? Do you know how this looks for me? Parading around in your short skirts around not one, but four men."

Clementine tensed on the floor, eyes widening with shock. Her cheeks reddened with shame and self-loathing. Her breaths came out in short bursts as fear tightened her throat.