Claire crossed the day off the calendar in their bedroom as soon as she slipped into her light blue dress and lace stockings.
She sat down in the small chair (bought and paid for with her own money) beside the window, closed her eyes, and swept all the clutter of her conscious thoughts from her mind. It was like sweeping a floor. Lift the rug of your subconscious and sweep the dirt under. Good-bye. She opened her eyes and looked out the window. A bumblebee flew towards her, and hit the glass. She giggled and wondering how it's tiny wings could carry it's fat little body. Her eyes followed Oliver standing by Caleb and Sara, then shut the curtains quickly.
When she saw Oliver it brought back memories of her years of therapy she had been in since she was twelve. She used to depend on narcotic drugs and her psychologist to take responsibility of her mental health, but now it felt like she had no one to depend on. She stopped going to therapy when she was in her twenties, and things began to fall apart in her mind. After death things were beginning to feel strange again, like little bridges of anxiety building inside of her, that her child's world was about to collapse
"Claire!" Jamie shouted. "I'm going out!"
Claire was silent. She crouched on the staircase, waiting for him to leave. After death, the sound of Jamie's voice was like ripping off a scab and feeling the blood rush to the surface again. She knew that when Jamie needed an escape he used Lillian. Dislike rose in her throat like a paper snake. She was sick of ghosts and strangers that couldn't hold her when she wanted the warmth of another being.