House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1) novel Chapter 2

It wasn’t as bad as not remembering the first ten years of her life, so she always said, “If I can handle not knowing, I can handle anything.”

She thought back to when her mother started rambling about how some time away from ‘London’s cold’ would be great. Just the thought of it stirred up her anger at how foolish she was for the lack of concern. Clare presumed her mother was blowing off steam, or some psychological bullshit after whatever happened to her. Fearing it was rape Flare could only hope not, because she’d seen the after effect, especially on people like her mother, who liked control. A shudder went through her at the vision of her mother ending up like her friend Stacy’s.

What Clare couldn’t understand about the whole ordeal was what was so damn important that she had to drop school and leave straight away, two weeks before her interview with Oxford University. That was what stayed on her mind, unsolved as she finally drifted off.

***

Clare open her sleep filled eyes. Her stiff neck begging to be stretched as her lower back felt like it was run over by a train, leaving her groaning in discomfort. Lifting her head, a wave of lead greeted her before the constant pound of drumming made her want to drill a nail in her skull and dig her brain out. Talk about an alcohol free hangover.

Side effects of awkward sleeping, ‘shit,’ she swore inwardly. She scrunched her face and slowly straightened her long legs.

Five minutes into stretching her body on the sofa she felt great. Well not that great but totally what she needed.

“Honey,”

Clare squealed before falling side first to the tiled floor, “Jesus, mom, just scare the sleep right outta me, don’t ya.”

Michelle’s only response was the quirk of her brow and the tilt of her lip. Comfortably leaning against the door jamb, she waited until Clare finally got up off the floor, no doubt frowning. Flagging a menu in her hand, Michelle shook her head on an exhale, “Just thought you were hungry.”

Clare looked at the woman who had supposedly given birth to her. And it wasn’t the first time that she had really looked at her mother. The light powder blue eyes so different to Clare’s green emeralds, yet almost identical to Phillip’s, Clare’s friend, looked back at her.

Now, the slacks were normal, but the straight black hair tied by Chinese forks on the top of her mother’s head could mean either two things- they were getting a visitor, or the visitor was her mother. Judging from the flushed freckles on Michelle’s cheeks and the slight frown to her brow, Clare figured neither. Her mother had already been the visitor. Which meant that she must’ve slept for hours, no wonder her body felt like hell all over.

Her mother straightened her stance; of course doing it in a timeless grace and elegance that was an innate part of her, something that Clare herself couldn’t even feign. It was somehow ingrained in her to wear boots and always choose practicality over fashion. Unfortunately there was no way of confirming how true that assessment of hers was, memory loss and all.

Michelle normally dressed for comfort herself, with loose slacks or chinos. She never showed too much skin even though she was five foot eleven and fit comfortably in a European eight. That night which changed everything was the exception. The one and only time Clare could remember seeing her mother in a slim black fitted figure-hugging dress, was that dreadful night.