staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer

She's happy. Claire has to convince herself of that much.

Ever since arriving on the island, things have shifted back to normal. The people around her are friendly, don't expect to be given any more than they share in turn, don't ask about the lives that everyone left behind and that don't really matter anymore. It's everything that she asked for, could have hoped for, and so Claire is happy. She's starting to make friends again, takes interest in the lives of others, and it's all so great that really, Claire's heart should be bursting from it all. The only problems she has are things like hurricanes, easily solved by staying close to shelter, or keeping a wary eye directed at the sky above. Everything is...

So why is it that she finds herself standing at the edge of a cliff she's come across, hiking up high in the mountains, staring down at the sharp drop-off under her feet? Back home, she would ask Zach to come along, for him to wait underneath and keep his camera pointed right at her. But Zach isn't there, and dad isn't there, and all she can cling to in that very instant is the deep familiarity that standing there gives her. Dirt sifts under her shoes as Claire peers on over to where the canopies of jungle stretch far below her feet.

It's so peaceful out there. Maybe no one has to know, if she does take a jump. Just one jump. She has been so careful up to that point, not even letting herself scrape a hand on tree bark. Never mentioning what she once was to people.

Claire's toes draw closer to the edge of the cliff as she bends over, trying to imagine the wind rushing in her hair and the pain she'll find at the bottom, the only thing she can cling to anymore as proof that she's still human at all.

It's tempting.

but the sun does shine in this place some days

It's been several weeks now since Claire first stumbled around to the island, and in some strange way, it's all starting to feel like a home. Claire's not really sure what it is. The people, perhaps, kinder and more accepting than any high schoolers back in Odessa had really been— which isn't something that she's bitter about anymore, looking at it in retrospect. High schoolers are supposed to be growing up, and they're bound to be dumb and make mistakes, convinced that they've seen it all when their world views are more often narrow than not. Of course, Tabula Rasa still lacks so many of the things that really make a house a home, like a room that Claire can decorate to her satisfaction, a mountain of teddy bears piled on her bed. And of course, her family isn't there, perhaps the biggest detail that leaves Claire scrambling for purchase on her sheets every morning. But sometimes, the island can be home, and maybe that's enough.

The kitchen is probably where Claire finds that calm the most, a place she visits every day to find a hot meal and to help clean up afterward, the least she can do in return for finding a sense of community that appeals to her. Every now and again, she finds the energy to bake a large batch of cupcakes, her own way of giving back to the kitchen all that she takes from it. Besides, there isn't all that much else for her to do these days, between not having classes and not having to really prepare her own meals at all. There's an idle desire to find a job that always simmers in the back of Claire's mind, but until she manages to find that, baking will just have to do.

She's right in the middle of mixing the batter when someone steps into the kitchen, a face vaguely familiar from the recent newbie mixer. Keeping her arm firmly clamped around the bowl so as not to drop it, Claire smiles in greeting, tilting her head in lieu of a wave.

"Hey there," she grins. "You wouldn't happen to like cupcakes, would you?"