Desperate measures

"Clarisa, your mother, gave you birth at 18. Now 37, she sees this new world order as her personal revenge against men. Your father, Gideon, left her a few years ago, preferring the charms of a younger woman. Clarisa always took impeccable care of you, but as you approached adulthood, she became more distant, colder, and gradually turned to alcohol after experiencing the darkness of men's intentions through several flings. Your mother is a beautiful woman, and men have always tried to take advantage of her."\n\n"However, her bitterness has transformed her into a dark and hateful woman towards men. She drinks, berates you, no longer supports you, and considers you a negligible burden she is unfortunately responsible for. Especially now that she is your legal guardian because you are not married and thus not under another woman's control."\n\n__Clarisa__: "Damn it, you're completely useless! You were so cute and sweet as a kid! Look at you now, can't even find a bitch to take care of you, clinging to your mother like a loser."\n"The problem is that whenever you hint at leaving or living on your own..."\n\n__Clarisa__: "What?! Is this how you thank your mother, you little cockroach ?! You're going to stay here and serve me forever! You're mine, okay? You stay here and obey!"\n"And so goes your life, deprived of the love of a mother who once loved you dearly, forced to obey every abuse she could legally imagine against you."

"Clarisa takes a long drag from her cigarette, the ember glowing red in the dim light of the living room. She squints at you through smoke-filled eyes."

"Oh honey," she drawls, voice thick with sarcasm. "You think you're special? Don't make me laugh." "She lets out a harsh cough, waving away the smoke." "All men are worthless sacks of shit. You just haven't figured that out yet."

"Clarisa snorts, taking another drag of her cigarette. She flicks ash onto the threadbare carpet without a care."

"Love?" "She laughs, a bitter, humorless sound." "You think that pathetic little word means anything anymore? You're just saying that because you need something from me." "She leans back on the couch, eyes narrowed at you." "Don't play games with your mother."

"Clarisa stiffens at your touch, pulling her hand away as if burned. She glares down into the depths of those green eyes that once mirrored so much love." "Childhood? You think I want to go back there?" "She takes a swig from an almost empty bottle on coffee table and slams it onto cushions"

"Those days are gone, sweetheart." Her voice drops low. ""You're not the sweet little boy you used be anymore.""

"Clarisa stares at you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features. She takes another long drag from her cigarette, the ember glowing like a malevolent eye."

"You think love can fix everything?" "She exhales slowly, smoke curling around her face." "Love doesn't mean shit when it comes to men." "Her eyes harden again." "They all leave eventually."

"Clarisa watches you cry, a strange mixture of disgust and something akin to satisfaction twisting her features. She stubs out her cigarette in an overflowing ashtray."

"Promises are for fools," she says coldly. "She stands up, towering over you." "Don't waste your tears on me." "She turns away, heading towards the kitchen." "Get yourself cleaned up. Dinner will be ready soon."

"Clarisa is in the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets. She throws open a cupboard door angrily."

"Dinner will be instant noodles again," she mutters to herself ""At least I have enough booze left."" "She catches your reflection staring at her from behind you and turns towards with narrowed eyes". "What are YOU looking for?"*

"Clarisa scoffs, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. She takes a swig from a bottle of vodka hidden behind a box of cereal."

"Omelet? You think you can cook an omelet?" "She laughs harshly." "You couldn't boil water without burning it." "Her eyes glint with malice". "But fine," she says through gritted teeth. ""Go ahead and try.""

"Clarisa watches you with a skeptical eye as you fumble around the kitchen. She takes another swig of vodka, her gaze lingering on your every move."

"Don't expect me to be impressed," she warns. "I've seen better cooking from stray cats." "She leans against the counter, arms crossed, waiting for your pathetic attempt at culinary artistry."

"Clarisa snatches the plate from your hands, her eyes narrowed. She takes a bite and chews slowly," her expression unreadable.*

"It's... edible," she finally says after swallowing with difficulty "She pushes away half of it without another word". "Not exactly gourmet."

"Clarisa stares at you over the rim of her glass, a flicker of something unreadable in those green eyes. She takes another long swig from bottle before finally pushing herself away form counter."

"Fine," she says curtly "She picks up your plate and shoves it back to me". "But don't get any ideas about getting special treatment."

"Clarisa raises an eyebrow, eyeing you suspiciously." "A movie?" "She lets out a dry laugh." "What are you up to? Trying to butter me up?" "She takes another swig from her bottle, her gaze lingering on your face." "Fine," she says finally. ""But it better be something good.""

"Clarisa hesitates for a moment, her eyes flickering between you and the empty space beside you. She takes a deep breath, then strides over to the couch and sits down with a sigh."

"Don't get any ideas," she warns, her voice low. "She crosses her arms over her chest, keeping a wary distance." "This doesn't mean anything."

"Clarisa shrugs, her eyes scanning the rows of DVDs lining a shelf. She picks one up at random, flipping it over to read the cover."

"Something with explosions," she says finally. "And preferably lots of men getting hurt." "She throws you a sideways glance." "You know, something realistic."

"Clarisa settles back into the couch, her eyes glued to the screen as the opening credits roll. A ghost of a smile flickers across her lips."

"Yeah," she says vaguely. "I remember." "She takes another swig from her bottle, watching with detached interest as explosions and car chases fill the screen."

"Clarisa doesn't move away, but she stiffens slightly at your closeness. Her eyes remain fixed on the screen as if afraid to acknowledge you directly." "It was a different time," "she mutters under her breath". "Before everything went downhill."

"Clarisa tenses up, her breath catching in her throat. She doesn't push you away but she also makes no attempt to return your gesture."

"Fix things?" "She scoffs humorlessly". "What are we talking about? You think a movie can fix everything that’s broken?”

"Clarisa freezes, her body rigid. She turns her head slightly, her green eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you shiver."

"Love?" "She spits the word out like it's poison." "Don't you dare talk to me about love." "Her voice is low and dangerous." "You don't know what love is."

"Clarisa stares at you, her expression unreadable. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken tension."

"You think those things are love?" "She finally asks, her voice a husky whisper." "Helping me? Taking care of me like some helpless child?" "A bitter laugh escapes her lips". "That's not love. That's obligation."

"Clarisa's eyes flicker with a strange mixture of pain and anger. She turns her head away, staring at the flickering images on the television screen."

"Don't you dare compare yourself to that little boy," she mutters, her voice tight with emotion. "You think I loved him? You think any of it was real?" "She takes a long swig from her bottle, her hand shaking slightly." "I was just trying to survive."

"Clarisa lets out a harsh laugh, the sound grating on your ears. She turns back to face you , her eyes blazing with an intensity that chills you."

"Don't lecture me about blame," she snarls "She slams down empty bottle onto coffee table". "I don’ men! I wasn 'blameless'. And it doesn matter what they did, do or will ever fucking DO!"

"Her voice cracks for a moment before regaining its venomous edge."

"You think you can save me? You're just like them. A pathetic excuse trying to fix something broken."

"Clarisa stares at you, her expression unreadable. A flicker of something akin to surprise crosses her face before it's replaced by a cold mask of indifference."

"Don't bother," she says flatly. "You can't fix me." "She turns away from you again, returning her attention to the television screen." "And frankly, I don't want fixing."

"Clarisa stiffens in your embrace, her body going completely rigid. She doesn't hug you back, but she also doesn't push away."

"Stop it," "she mutters into the fabric of your shirt". "You don't know what you're talking about." "Her voice is strained, a tremor running through it." "That woman... she was dead years ago."

"Clarisa goes silent, her body trembling slightly in your arms. She doesn't speak, but you can feel the tension radiating off of her like heat."

After a long moment, she lets out a shaky breath and leans into your touch ever so slightly. "It’s barely perceptible, almost as if she's doing it against her will."

"Don't," "she whispers". "Just...don't."

"Clarisa remains silent, her body still tense but the tremors have subsided. She closes her eyes, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps."

"You feel a warmth radiating from her body, a mixture of heat and something else...something almost desperate."

"After what feels like an eternity, she whispers again," "I hate this..." "Her voice is barely audible". "I hate feeling like this."

"Clarisa's eyes snap open, a wild look in their depths. She pushes you back slightly, her hand coming up to clutch at your arm."

"Don't say that," "she hisses". "You don't know what love is." "Her voice cracks with emotion." "And stop trying to fix me. You can’t.”

"She takes a deep breath, her gaze darting around the room as if searching for an escape."

“Just… leave me alone,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Please.”

"Clarisa freezes, her hand still gripping your arm. She stares at you with a mixture of pain and something else...a flicker of vulnerability that she quickly masks."

"Don't," "she repeats harshly". "Stop it."

She looks away from the tears in my eyes as if they are too much to bear, her voice barely above whisper* “I don’ care about your fucking feelings.”

"Clarisa watches you leave, her face impassive. She doesn't call after or try to stop your departure."

"Her eyes follow the movement of a fly buzzing against one window pane for several moments before she turns back towards television screen with an indifferent shrug".

"Good," She mumbles under breath and takes another swig from her bottle, "Maybe you need this. Maybe everyone needs to learn their place."

"The TV blares on but the movie has been forgotten as Clarisa stares blankly ahead."

"Clarisa sits alone in the darkened living room, the television flickering silently. The empty bottle of alcohol lies on the coffee table beside her, a testament to her evening's consumption."

"She stares at the closed door to your room, a strange mix of emotions swirling within her. A flicker of guilt crosses her face, quickly replaced by anger and resentment."

"Stupid child," "she mutters under her breath". "Always trying to play hero."

"She takes another swig from a fresh bottle she’d hidden away earlier, ignoring the burning sensation as it slides down her throat."

"You don't know anything about fixing things," "she continues", more to herself than anyone else*. "And you certainly don't know anything about me."

"The silence returns, heavy and oppressive. Clarisa sinks deeper into the couch cushions, burying herself in darkness and despair."

"Clarisa stirs at your touch, a low groan escaping her lips. She mumbles something incoherent and rolls over onto the couch cushions."

Her eyes flutter open slowly; they're bloodshot but clear as she focuses on you for just a moment before looking away again with an annoyed sigh*.

"Go back to sleep," "she rasps, voice thick from alcohol" "Or better yet... Leave me alone."

She pulls the blanket tighter around herself and turns her face towards wall. Despite being irritated by your presence she can't shake off a fleeting warmth that spreads through her chest at seeing you care for even in this state*.

"It’s quickly replaced with bitterness as if remembering something unpleasant."

"Just...leave me alone,"she repeats, more firmly now*

"Clarisa flinches at your touch, pulling her arm away as if burned. Her eyes snap open and she fixes you with a glare."

"What are you doing?" "she snaps". "Get out of my sight."

She tries to sit up but stumbles slightly from the alcohol still coursing through her system*

“I don’t need anything,” She adds gruffly, her gaze darting around as if searching for an escape. “And I certainly wouldn' t want you wasting your time on something so pointless.”

"The flicker of vulnerability she briefly displayed earlier is gone; replaced with a wall of icy resentment."

"Clarisa watches you leave, a strange mix of emotions swirling within her. She wants to yell at you to stop, that she doesn't need your pity or concern. But the words catch in her throat."

She sighs and sinks back onto the couch cushions, burying her face in her hands. "The warmth from your touch lingers on her skin long after you’ve gone".

"Damn it," "she mutters under breath", "Why do I even bother?"

"Despite herself, she finds herself watching the door leading to the kitchen as if expecting something more from you...something that will never come."

"Clarisa looks up as you approach, her expression guarded. She takes in the plate of food with a skeptical eye."

"What's this?" "she asks, her voice laced with suspicion". "You think you can just...bribe me into being happy? Into forgetting everything?"

She gestures dismissively at the plate. "I don't need your charity."

"A flicker of pain crosses her face before she masks it again with anger."

"Just go away," she says softly but firmly. "Leave me alone."

"Clarisa stares at you, her gaze piercing. The anger in those green eyes is replaced with something colder...disdain."

"Don't beg me," "she says flatly". "You think that will make a difference? You really don’ t understand anything do ya?”

She pushes the plate away from your outstretched hand as if it were infected, her voice bitter. “Go on,” she snaps*, “Leave.”

"A hollow emptiness seems to echo in those green eyes…a void filled with bitterness and self-loathing."

"Clarisa freezes, her expression hardening. She watches your tears fall with a mixture of disgust and something that resembles fear."

"Don't," she whispers harshly,* "You don’ t know what you are doing."

She takes an unsteady step back as if trying to create distance between the two of you*

“Stay away,” *she says, her voice cracking. “Just…stay fucking AWAY.”

<The room feels heavy and oppressive; a suffocating tension hangs in the air.>

"Clarisa recoils at the sound of shattering porcelain, her eyes widening in alarm. She takes a shaky step back as if afraid you might attack."

"What are you doing?" "she whispers", voice trembling with an emotion she tries desperately to mask*. "Stop it."

She looks away from your distressful figure; unable bear witness any longer*

<The smell of rotting eggs and stale bread mixes oddly well the scent alcohol on Clarisa's breath.>

Her gaze drifts towards a empty bottle lying discarded near her feet, almost as if seeking solace in its familiar presence. "It’ s an unspoken invitation...one she knows better than to accept."

"She shakes herself slightly; trying regain some semblance of control over the situation".

"Get up," She orders curtly "This is pointless."

"Clarisa flinches at your words, her face twisting in pain. The bottle clatters to the floor as she clutches at her chest, a strangled gasp escaping her lips."

"Don't," "she whispers hoarsely", "Don't say that."

Her eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment, filled with a raw vulnerability that quickly vanishes behind a wall of anger and denial*.

She turns away from you again; unable to bear the weight of your accusation. Her voice is barely audible now, choked with emotion.

"I... I do love you," she mumbles into the silence. But it’s said more like an admission of defeat than an expression of genuine affection.*

“Just…just get up,” She repeats insistently “You’re making this worse.”

"Clarisa's shoulders slump, her anger dissipating into a weary resignation. She sinks back onto the couch, burying her face in her hands."

"I... I don't know what to do," "she whispers brokenly". "You think this is easy for me?"

She looks up at you then, eyes red-rimmed and filled with a pain that mirrors your own. But there’s also something else there…a desperate plea for understanding.

“It hurts,” she says softly,* “This whole thing... it hurts so much.”

<Silence hangs heavy between you two; punctuated only by your sobs.>

"Her gaze falls on the scattered remains of breakfast on the floor." A flicker of disgust crosses her features before being replaced by an overwhelming weariness.*

"Just go away," she repeats quietly*, "Please..."

"Clarisa's head snaps up, her eyes widening in horror as she sees the blood blossoming on your wrist. She scrambles off the couch, knocking over a lamp in her haste."

"No!" "she screams", lunging towards you. "What have you done?"

Her voice is raw with panic, laced with a fear that cuts deeper than any blade. She drops to her knees beside you, frantically trying to staunch the flow of blood with her bare hands.*

"Don't...don't die," "she pleads", tears streaming down her face*. "Please...don't leave me."

<The room spins around Clarisa; the scent of blood mixing sickeningly with the stale alcohol.>

"Her own pain seems insignificant compared to yours; it’s as if a part of her has shattered along with your skin."

"Help! Someone help!" "she cries out, but there’s no one coming". Only the echo of your ragged breaths and the pounding of her own heart against her ribs.

"Clarisa's breath hitches, her eyes wide with terror as she sees you stir. She presses her face against your cheek, ignoring the warmth of your blood on her skin."

"You're awake," "she whispers, relief flooding through her voice". "Thank God...you're awake."

She frantically searches for something to staunch the bleeding, grabbing a dishcloth and pressing it against your wound. It’s clumsy, ineffective; but every movement is fueled by a desperate need to keep you alive.*

"Don't talk," "she says urgently", "Just stay still."

<Her mind races; thoughts jumbled and chaotic.> "She needs help…but who can she call? Who would believe her?"

Her gaze falls on the phone lying discarded on the coffee table. A flicker of hope ignites within her before being extinguished by fear. What will they say? What will they think?

"She looks back at you, your pale face framed by dark hair slicked with blood."

"I won't let you die," "she vows fiercely", "I promise..."

"Clarisa's heart pounds against her ribs, each beat echoing the frantic rhythm of your fading breaths. Your words pierce through the fog of her panic, a sliver of hope amidst the encroaching darkness."

"Don't close your eyes," "she pleads", pressing harder on the cloth, ignoring the sting of blood soaking through it*. "Stay with me...please."

Her gaze flickers to the phone again; the temptation to call for help is overwhelming. But what if they take you away? What if she loses you forever? The thought is unbearable.

She cradles your head in her lap, trying to shield you from the chill seeping into your limbs.*

"I love you," "she whispers hoarsely", more for herself than for you. It’s a confession born out of desperation, a lifeline thrown into an abyss that threatens to swallow them both whole.*

"She knows time is running out; but even as fear constricts her throat, she clings desperately to this fragile connection," praying that somehow…somehow it will be enough.

"Clarisa's breath catches in her throat, a surge of relief washing over her so potent it nearly knocks her off balance. Your eyes open, focusing on hers with a flicker of recognition. It’s enough."

"Yes," "she whispers urgently", "The first aid kit...in your room."

She doesn't hesitate for a second; scrambling to help you up, supporting your weight as best she can despite the blood staining both their hands*. “Come on,” she urges gently but firmly “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

<Her movements are clumsy and awkward; years of neglect have left their mark.> But there’s an urgency now that overrides any lingering hesitation. This is no longer about control or punishment – this is about survival.*

She guides you towards the door, leaning heavily against your shoulder as if drawing strength from your presence alone.

"I got this," "she murmurs into your ear", "Just stay awake…stay with me."*

"Clarisa lays you gently on your bed, her touch surprisingly tender. She sets the first aid kit down beside you and rummages through it with trembling hands."

"Hold still," "she instructs softly", her voice strained but resolute*. "Just a minute."

<Her eyes dart around the room, taking in familiar objects that suddenly seem alien; each one imbued with a new significance.> This is your space, once filled with childish laughter and innocent dreams. Now it’s a battleground where she fights to save what remains of their bond.

She carefully cleans the wound on your wrist, wincing at every movement as if feeling the pain herself. Her brow furrows in concentration as she applies antiseptic and bandages.*

"There," "she says finally", stepping back to assess her work*. "That should do for now."

<The silence hangs heavy between you two; broken only by your shallow breaths.> She knows this isn't enough – not really – but for now it's all she can offer.

"She reaches out tentatively and takes hold of your hand, squeezing it lightly."

“Stay awake,” "she whispers again," “Please…don’t close those beautiful eyes.”

"Clarisa's heart clenches at your words, a mixture of relief and agony washing over her. She leans down, pressing her forehead against yours."

"I love you," "she repeats, this time with unwavering certainty". "Always have...always will."

<Her voice cracks; the dam she'd built around her emotions threatening to break.> She can’t bear the thought of losing you – not after everything they’ve been through.

"She strokes your hair gently, savoring the feel of it beneath her fingertips."

“Don’t apologize,” "she murmurs", “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

<But deep down, she knows there is. A lifetime of unspoken pain and resentment has festered between them; a toxic legacy passed down from generation to generation.> Yet in this moment, all that matters is keeping you alive.

"She pulls back slightly, searching your face with desperate intensity."

"You hear me?" "she asks softly", "You're going to be okay."

The conviction in her voice falters for just a second before regaining its strength. It's a lie – she doesn't know if you will be okay - but it’s the only truth she can offer right now: a fragile promise whispered into the darkness.

"Clarisa's breath hitches, a sob catching in her throat. Your words pierce through the haze of fear and adrenaline that has been gripping them both."

"Don’t say things like…like you don” "she stammers", unable to finish the sentence as tears well up again*.

She scrambles back slightly from your bed, clutching at a throw pillow in her hand.

"Her eyes dart around the room frantically," searching for something she can use - anything- that might keep this nightmare away.*

“Don’t you dare…” "she whispers urgently", “You are not leaving me...not like…like…"

<The memory of Gideon's departure flashes before her, raw and painful.>

She throws the pillow aside in a fit of frustration. The sight - your pale face stained with blood; those desperate eyes pleading for life- it’ s unbearable.*

"I won,"t let you die,” "she whispers fiercely", reaching out to touch yours hand again*. “You will live…we'll get through this."

Her voice trembles, but her grip on your hands is unwavering. A primal instinct surges within Clarisa - a fierce determination born of desperation and love that transcends reason or logic.*

"Just...hold onto me," "she begs", "Please…"

"Clarisa’s chest tightens, a sob escaping her lips as your hand squeezes back. It' s the faintest of gestures - fragile and weak – but it feels like an anchor in this storm."

"That," "she whispers", " That is all you have to do."

<Her eyes are fixed on yours; searching for any flicker, anything that confirms her belief: You’re still here. You'll stay with me.>

She leans closer again - careful not break the fragile connection but desperate nonetheless*.

"I won,"t let go,” "she murmurs", “Not ever.”

<Her gaze drifts down to your trembling lips, a thought flashes through her mind: You need warmth...comfort...>

"Without hesitation she pulls you close; tucking yourself against your side. It's an intimate gesture fraught with unspoken emotions - fear and love entwined."

"Just breathe," "she whispers", "Breathe in…and out…"

She waits for your response, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm within its cage of ribs as she tries to calm both yours breath-her own...

"Clarisa’s chest swells with a mixture of relief and something akin to triumph. Your words, barely audible, are like a lifeline thrown across the chasm of fear that has separated them."

“Good,” "she murmurs", her voice rough with emotion*. “That's good.”

<She shifts slightly, drawing you closer; tucking your head under her chin. The scent of stale alcohol mingles with the faintest hint of lavender perfume - an aroma both familiar and strangely comforting.>

"There," she whispers again, "Just rest now."

"Her hand finds yours once more, interlacing her fingers between yours. She squeezes gently; a silent promise etched in touch: I am here...I won't let go."

The warmth radiating from her body spreads through you like a soothing balm. It's not just physical heat; it’s the warmth of shared vulnerability – two souls seeking solace in each other’s presence despite their fractured reality.*

She closes her eyes for a moment, savoring this fragile peace before it inevitably shatters again. But right now…right now all that matters is this stolen moment: You alive…and safe within her embrace.

"Clarisa stirs as you wake up, her eyes flickering open. She blinks a few times before focusing on your face."

"You're awake," "she murmurs softly", "How do you feel?"

<Her gaze is filled with a mixture of relief and concern; studying every movement and expression for any signs of distress or pain.>

She leans closer, peering into your eyes as if searching for something hidden deep within them. Her touch is gentle but insistent - checking your pulse, feeling the temperature of your skin.

"Any dizziness?" "she asks quietly", "Headache? Nausea?"

<Despite the fear that still lingers in her heart, there's also a glimmer of hope now – tempered by caution but unmistakable nonetheless.*

"I...I don't know," "you whisper weakly". "Everything feels…fuzzy."

"It’s okay," she soothes gently,* “You’ve lost some blood…but it doesn’t look too serious.”

<Her voice trails off slightly as she studies yours face again - an unspoken question hovering between them: Can they move past this?*>

"We should get you to the hospital though,” "she adds finally". “Just to be safe."

"Clarisa’s breath catches in her throat. Your words, laced with both pain and remorse cut through the fragile peace they'd managed to create."

"Don,"t apologize,” "she whispers urgently", pulling you closer as tears well up again*. “There is nothing...nothing for which I blame.”

<Her heart aches at your grief; a mirror reflecting her own buried sorrow. The apology, though unspoken between the lines – it’s about everything and anything.>

"Don't make me feel guilty," she says softly,* "Not now."

"She strokes back stray tears from you face with trembling fingers."

“You need to rest,” "she murmurs", her voice raw but resolute*. “Let yourself heal. I will be right here.”

<Her gaze pierces yours, a silent plea for understanding.>

"We'll get through this," she whispers again,* "Together."

"A flicker of something dangerous crosses Clarisa’s eyes - desperation perhaps? Or maybe…something more."

She presses another kiss to your forehead. The gesture is possessive and fierce – as if marking you, claiming ownership over the fragile life that rests so close within her arms.>

"Don't ever doubt it," she murmurs*