Year One
The people here are different.
That's the first thing you notice. When the door to your dorm closes behind your mom and aunt, the second thing you notice is how unlike them you are.
You sit on your bed and browse aimlessly on your laptop, searching for some sort of familiarity because everything has been so new and different today, and if you think again about how you don't know a single person here the heavy feeling of loneliness in your stomach might just overflow.
Your roommate (you've already forgotten her name) is saying goodbye to her parents and you look up with a polite smile when her mom wishes you both good luck.
The door slams shut again and the silence of being in such a small space with a stranger makes your heart pound, but she (you really do need to find out her name) seems oblivious as she bounces around her side of the room.
"You're coming to the party tonight right? The one for the freshman?"
She's speaking to you, and it takes a minute for the question to register. You bite your lip, and she immediately sees your hesitation.
"Come on, you have to! It'll be our first thing as roommates. You can't skip out on the first event of college!"
You want to say no, but you suppose she has a point. College was far away from the misery of high school; nobody knew who you were here. A fresh start did sound nice.
"Sure. You're right."
Two hours later you're walking to one of the auditoriums next to your roommate (Emma, you heard her say) and the girl who lives in the room across the hall from you. Emma had let you borrow a dress and it felt awkward and not at all like you but you went along with it, reminding yourself that you were actually going to try this year.
The three of you walk into the party and your stomach clenches nervously at the amount of people there. You follow Emma to a table and sit down, not knowing what to do with your hands. A loud, bass heavy song comes on and Emma and the other girl scream in excitement. They leave to go dance but you stay where you are. No matter how different you were going to try to be, you still wanted to preserve your dignity.
Before that heavy feeling can fill up too high, a girl sits down next to you and smiles when you look up.
"Hey! I'm Clarke."
It takes only a week until you and Clarke are eating dinner every night together in the dining hall. You often go over to her room after classes to watch movies or play cards (because her roommate is always out and you never quite managed to get past the polite acquaintance phase with yours).
You are surprised how little time it takes for you to warm up to her, but less surprised when you find that you can be yourself around her more than you have with anyone else. She's completely different from you, light and happy and charismatic, and it's a refreshing change from being, well, you all day.
As you enter the cafeteria you pull out your headphones and glance around the various food lines, searching until you see her familiar blonde head and then walk over, warmth filling your stomach once she sees you approach.
"Hey," she grins, "How's it going?"
You smile back, then give a noncommittal shrug. "Alright. I'm already getting sick of my classes."
"Yeah. I hate general eds. What did you have today?"
You answer and she watches you expressively. It's one of the things you like about Clarke, that she always seems to take a genuine interest in you and what you have to say.
After dinner you both head to your room because there's a movie you want to show Clarke, and you are relieved that your roommate seems to be out when you arrive.
"I always forget how clean your room is," she says, hopping onto your bed.
"It's not that clean. You are just messy."
"I'm not messy," she insists, and gives you a light shove as you sit down next to her. "I'm just…uniquely organized."
You raise your eyebrows and give her a look. She laughs and you don't know why it makes your heart beat a little faster but before you can think too much about it she leans against you and rests her head on your shoulder and you definitely can't ignore how fast that makes your heart start beating.
But she is waiting for you to start the movie and so you do.
At the end of the year you get drunk with her for the first time. It's the day after finals and also your birthday, so Clarke invites you over and surprises you with a bottle of cheap vodka. You don't drink much and neither does she, so it only takes a few shots before you both are giggling and swaying where you sit on the floor.
"Want to play a drinking game?"
You laugh at how excited she is and nod yes. She leans forward to refill your glass and you catch yourself staring a second too late but she doesn't seem to notice.
"You've played Never Have I Ever before, right?"
You groan. "Unfortunately."
"Come onnnn," she pleads, "It'll be fun!"
"Fiiiine," you imitate, and hold up ten fingers. "I get to go first then."
She does a half-hearted victory dance and holds up her own fingers. "Bring it."
"Never have I ever…um…gotten a fake ID?"
She scoffs and wiggles her fingers, but doesn't put any down. "I think you underestimate my cool factor Lexa. I wouldn't even know how to get one. Also, that was boring."
"So what happens now?
"Uhh…we both drink?"
You give her a skeptical look, but follow her lead anyways and drain your shot. "Did you just make that rule up?"
"I don't remember."
"Oh my god. Just go."
Ok, hmm…never have I ever had sex!"
"Really?" you ask, surprised.
"Ah, ah. No questions, you're supposed to drink first." You oblige, wincing only slightly as the alcohol burns down your throat. "And yes, really. Why? Does that surprise you?"
You feel like this topic should make you nervous, but your cheeks are pleasantly warm and the filter between your brain and mouth has deteriorated significantly.
"No, it's just that you are, well, you know…not unattractive."
"I think that's the least flattering way someone has ever told me I'm pretty."
She grins and you blush. "You know what I mean."
"So, tell me."
"What?"
"The sex! Who was it with? When? How many times? How many people? Why did I not know this before?"
"Okay, calm down," you laugh. "I dunno. You never asked. It was my last year of high school. Two different, uh, girls."
You realize as the words leave your mouth that this is the first time you've discussed your sexuality with Clarke. You are nervous for a moment, but Clarke only shows a brief second of surprise before she is smiling again, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
"Look at you, dropping bombs left and right! Gotta step up my game tonight," she teases. But then she reaches over and gives your hand a quick squeeze and you suddenly feel happier than you did all night. "Alright, your turn again."
You think as she pours out more vodka, and this time you let yourself notice the way she bites her lip, the slight flush that appears on her cheeks as she gets closer to you.
"Never have I ever…" And because that barely defined urge you are usually able to push to the back of your mind seems so much more insistent, the one where you want to know what it would be like to kiss her, you decide to see where it takes you. "…had, like, a really good kiss."
You wince a little internally, because although the vodka has given you liquid courage, it has also taken your usually impressive vocabulary down a few notches.
Clarke looks confused. "So you've had sex…but not a good kiss?"
"They are very different things. And you have yet to put a finger down."
"Because I'm not entirely sure I've had one. What exactly constitutes a good kiss?"
"Um, I don't know. I guess it mostly depends on your relationship to the person you are kissing. What have your other kisses been like?"
"The occasional random guy at a party. I dated this guy, Wells, for two months but it was nothing special."
You nod, your mind suddenly racing as you debate what to say. She is staring at you and when you shift your legs there's a definite dampness you can't ignore. "So…I guess that means we both drink then?"
You barely finish swallowing before Clarke is refilling the glasses again. She shifts closer when she's done and there's a look in her eyes that you haven't seen before.
"My turn," she says, and you swear that her voice sounds raspier than it had a few seconds ago. "Never have I ever kissed a girl."
And there it is. A part of you knew it was coming, but that doesn't change the way it makes your heart pound against your chest. You're able to not break eye contact as you put another one of your fingers down, and even manage a smirk before you throw back your shot.
"Have you ever wanted to?" you ask, trying to sound casual but not able to help the way your eyes flick to her lips. You catch yourself a moment later and when you look back up she is nodding and you lean forward.
You put a hand on the back of her neck and press your fingers lightly against her skin, letting her make the final decision to close the distance. She does and you respond with barely restrained eagerness, forcing yourself to keep the kiss chaste in case she decides she doesn't like it. But now she's opening her mouth and you let yourself follow her lead, exhaling hard through your nose when she sucks your bottom lip into her mouth. You feel one of her hands touch your leg and she slides her palm up your thigh at the same time her teeth scrape back across your lip; then she pulls away but only slightly, and you are both thankful and extremely disappointed that you decided to wear jeans tonight.
You open your eyes slowly, your brain still in a fog, to see the same hooded expression on Clarke's face.
"Your lips are so soft," she breathes, and you are immediately aware that there are still only inches between the two of you, and Clarke is making no effort to change that.
"Thanks. You—uh—you're—" You pause, stopping yourself from gushing about how perfect and beautiful you think she is because, for better or worse, her kiss managed to break through some of the haze the vodka had given you. "So, was that…okay?"
Her fingers squeeze your thigh and you flinch in surprise, for a moment forgetting that she was still touching you.
She smiles, and looks down at your lips again. "It was—"
"Freshman year is OVERRRRRR!"
You jump away from Clarke, whipping your head around to see Clarke's roommate stumbling through the door, completely oblivious to the moment she just ruined.
"Octavia, what—"
"Shit, sorry!" her roommate yells, finally noticing your presence. "Did I interrupt something? I can totally leave. I just needed to get a jacket."
You look at Clarke, hoping she'll say yes because god did you want to keep kissing her, and hell yes did you want to do more, but she isn't looking at you and is instead shaking her head, pulling her knees to her chest like she is trying to increase the distance between the two of you.
"No, of course not. It's Lexa. We were just hanging out."
And you know you should have expected it, but her words still hurt all the same.
Year Two
Summer comes and you go back home, to the opposite side of the country from Clarke. You text every now and then, although neither of you mention your last night together. She seems distant and short, but you tell yourself you are just reading too much into it and try to distract yourself with thoughts of anything but how nice it felt to have her lips pressed against yours. The repressed urge of wanting to kiss her is now replaced with the repressed urge of wanting to fuck her and you tell yourself that it doesn't mean anything.
When school starts again you are both excited and nervous as you walk to the dining hall to meet Clarke for dinner. She asked you first and the relief you felt was so immense that it hurt to think about for too long.
You spot her almost immediately and her smile takes your breath away. She walks quickly towards you and when you hug her you can almost forget about the doubt and sadness you felt all summer.
But it doesn't take long for you to notice that Clarke has changed.
She seems more guarded towards you, and now when you meet her for dinner she is always accompanied by more than a few friends. You really don't want to be jealous, so when she asks you to go with her to a party you jump at the chance. Pretty soon one party turns into another that turns into another, and before you know it you are following Clarke to a party nearly every weekend. You should have noticed how often Clarke was getting black out drunk and the reasons that could have been behind it, but then again you were trying to ignore your feelings by drinking more than you should too, so who were you to judge?
And, secretly, you found yourself starting to look forward to your drunken evenings with Clarke, because it was the only time she let her guard down and wasn't afraid to touch you, and your drunk self was more than willing to ignore the long term consequences in favor of the immediate satisfaction of getting to hold Clarke's hand, or getting to fall asleep with your head on her chest.
The weekend after midterms come and you are playing beer pong against Clarke at the apartment of someone you don't care enough to remember. She misses terribly again and when you sink your ball in one of her cups the second time in a row she pouts, looking down at her cup of beer in apprehension.
"Why are you so good at this Lexa?" she groans. "I'm on my fourth cup and you haven't even drinken one yet."
You walk over to her side of the table, grinning. "First of all," you start, taking the cup out of her hand. "I'm pretty sure 'drinken' isn't a word. And second of all, it is because you Clarke, have terrible form." You drain the beer out of her cup in one gulp and move behind her, your body humming pleasantly with alcohol. "But you're cute so I'll give you some tips."
She grins at you, and a part of you hates that you both have to be drunk to do this.
"So, you have to aim with your elbow," you say, and pull her hips back against yours. She leans into you, and you try not to think about how good her body feels pressed against yours. "Okay, bend your knees." And she does, pushing her ass against your stomach as she moves. You suck in a breath and Clarke turns just enough so you can see the knowing smirk on her face.
"You alright back there?"
"I hate you sometimes," you grit and she tilts her head back, eyebrows raised.
"Right, so I bend my knees…"
"Yeah. And then it's all in the wrist. Just, you know, flick."
She does and still misses fantastically. You laugh and she pulls away, shoving at you in mock irritation.
"I think you need a new teaching method."
"Hmm. Or maybe just a better student."
She backs you playfully against the wall, stopping her forward movement only when her face is inches from your own. That sudden sober feeling overtakes you like it always does when Clarke is this close. You lick your lips, then swallow nervously as her gaze drops to your mouth.
"Wanna go make out in the bedroom?"
Her smile is lazy and her eyes are unfocused, but her arms are around your neck and her forehead is lightly brushing against yours. You breathe out a groan and wrap your arms around her waist; these are the moments you live for, and you know that it's not healthy, that she is using you without even trying to be subtle, but you want her so bad that your heart is beginning to thump painfully in your chest and you nod because, yes.
Yes, you want to make out with her, and yes, you want more. You want her body underneath yours and you want to know what her skin tastes like. You want to know what she tastes like and how she'd feel around your fingers and if her breasts were as soft and as round as they looked and you wanted your mouth on her, your tongue in her, and—
"Clarke, let's go! Party's moving!"
She turns away from you for a second and when she looks back she's smiling like nothing happened and grabbing your hand, pulling you with her to the next house.
And because that now almost recognizable urge has yet to be sated, you do.
It's the Sunday after a particularly rowdy Saturday night and you are at the movie theater, waiting in line with Clarke for popcorn. You are quieter than usual, staring absentmindedly at the posters lining the walls, the events of last night still playing on repeat in your mind. Clarke is texting someone on her phone so she doesn't notice, but you can't seem to shake the way it felt to fall asleep with your head tucked under her chin, her hand rubbing lazy circles across your back and occasionally moving lower to graze lightly against the sliver of exposed skin above the waistband of your jeans. You didn't say anything because you didn't want her to stop and neither did she but you weren't quite as sure what that meant.
As you walk to the theater Clarke suddenly stops and because you have your eyes fixed to the floor it takes you a minute to notice. When you do you turn to see her standing several feet away, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"What's going on?" she asks. She walks forward, and you have to repress the urge to take several steps back.
"Nothing," you shrug. "Why?"
"You've barely said two words since we left."
"I don't know. I just don't feel like saying much."
You can tell she doesn't believe you but she's worried all the same. She flashes you a smile and grabs your hand, tugging lightly.
"Come on, Lexa. You know you can tell me."
You sigh and try to nonchalantly pull your fingers out of her grasp under the guise of scratching a spot on the back of your head, but you see the hurt flash across her face and know you failed miserably.
"It's nothing Clarke, really. I feel a little off today, that's all."
"Is it because of what I told you about Finn?"
Your heart clenches tight in your chest and you have to suppress the sudden urge to yell at her because was it actually possible for someone to be this oblivious?
"Why would I have a problem with Finn?" you ask tightly and when you finally look up at her it's just in time to see her suck in a short breath.
"I don't…I don't know," she mumbles, and then, "Just thought I'd ask."
She's avoiding your eyes now and it's painfully obvious that you both are lying because Finn had asked her to be his girlfriend and she had said yes and you think right now you are the farthest from okay that you have ever been.
Year 3
You drink a lot that summer. Sometimes with old friends from high school but mostly by yourself.
Clarke texts you more than you text her, even tries calling you once in awhile, but you never answer. Partly because you can't stand to hear about her summer with whatever the fuck his name is (it's Finn, you know it's Finn because he has been the subject of many violent daydreams) and partly because it's so much easier to pretend she doesn't exist.
Halfway through the summer she finally breaks you down, threatening to call your phone nonstop until you answer. You are able to endure 20 minutes of constant buzzing until you give in and accept her call.
You hate how quickly the walls you built against her crumble. You hate how happy you feel to hear her voice. You hate the bubble of hope that rises in your stomach when she tells you she broke up with Finn even more.
You know it's stupid and probably wishful thinking, but you feel like your relationship goes back to normal now that Clarke is single again. You talk to her almost every night, and by the time school starts you are as excited as you always are to see her at the end of the day.
She hugs you and her embrace feels so familiar and safe. As you follow her back to her room you think maybe just this can be ok.
Winter break comes and goes and you are waiting outside Clarke's apartment door with a bottle of wine in each hand. She had invited you over earlier that day, voice excited and a little breathless as she told you she had something "big" to tell you. You figured she had gotten the job she had so eagerly applied for a month earlier, so you offered to bring drinks over to celebrate.
She opens the door and you try not to stare for too long because she's dressed in an oversized t-shirt you had given her and basketball shorts that barely reached the middle of her thighs. You love when she looks like this, casual and relaxed and always so, so beautiful.
"Had a nice break?" she asks, grabbing a bottle from one of your hands. You follow her inside and it is only a few seconds after you set the wine on the counter that she is throwing her arms around your neck, hugging you warm and tight and familiar again.
"I missed you."
Her breath against your ear tickles and you shiver, but hold her closer. "I missed you too."
When you are sitting on the couch next to her, sides brushing and face flushed from the half empty bottle of wine, you ask.
"So what's this big news you wanted to tell me about?"
Clarke ducks her head, and if you didn't know any better you think she might be embarrassed.
"Right, well…something uh, happened over break." She takes another drink before continuing. "I think I met someone."
The blood rushes to your ears so fast you almost don't hear her next words. And then you wish you hadn't.
"Her name is Raven."
"A girl?"
She twists a strand of hair around her finger and smiles at you nervously. "Coincidence, huh?"
You clench your jaw but say nothing because you know that this is anything but a coincidence, and you are pretty sure that she does too. Instead you smile and give her a half-hearted congratulations, turning your focus to draining your glass and opening the next bottle of wine.
"Congratulations? That's all you have to say?"
You can feel her eyes on you as you pull out the cork, and she shifts slightly when you pour yourself another glass. When you lean back against the couch she is still staring, and you feel a small spark of anger as you meet her gaze.
"Is there something you would like me to say, Clarke?"
She sighs. "I just want you to talk to me." She refills her glass and you suddenly notice how tired she looks. You think maybe you are being unfair.
"I'm sorry," you say softly. "Can we start over? I just want to have fun with you tonight. I really did miss you," you add, and are rewarded with a shy smile that makes your fingers tingle.
She holds up her glass and you clink yours against it, neither one of you breaking eye contact as you drink.
"Clarke…Clarke, that's not…oh my god."
You give up trying to steady her and fall back against the couch, laughing as Clarke glares up at you from the floor.
"Don't laugh at me Lexa," she pouts. "I could have died."
But it only makes you laugh more, because she tried to jump over the coffee table on her way to the bathroom but the amount of wine you both had drank did nothing to improve her depth perception.
"I'm sorry. You're right. It was a very close call."
"You're mocking me."
"Yes. I always liked how smart you were."
She chucks a pillow at you, but you don't think to react until it's too late and it hits you square in the face. You drop down on your back, groaning dramatically.
"Fuck…pillows hurt so much."
You hear her giggle from the floor and then there's a sudden weight on your hips and when you refocus your eyes she is hovering above you, the tips of her long blonde hair tickling your cheeks.
"Can I ask you something?" she whispers.
Your heart starts beating fast, and if you'd had more sense you would have said no. But this is Clarke, and you are drunk, and moments like this make you feel alive and constantly pretending that whatever this is between the two of you doesn't exist is so painful that you just want to be selfish.
"Of course," you whisper back.
"What's it like? To be with…a girl?"
You swallow (because this is definitely too on the nose), but when have you ever been able to deny Clarke anything?
"I don't know. I've only ever been with girls, so…it's just normal to me."
She nods, biting her lip in the way that makes you squirm. But you can't because she is still sitting on top of you, and you are close enough to doing something reckless as it is.
"Right. Sorry, that was probably a dumb question. I've only slept with Finn and I just don't want to seem…stupid."
There's a dull thud of pain in your chest at the thought of him touching her, but you force yourself to ignore it. "Why would you be stupid?"
"I don't know. This girl, Raven—" Your heart plummets, and you think Clarke knows (or maybe you just hope) because she quickly continues. "She's…experienced, you know? I don't want to be a disappointment."
The irony of it all, the fact that you think you might literally implode if Clarke ever wanted to be with you outside the influence of alcohol makes you almost want to cry but you blink back your feelings and focus on your friend, your best friend, (I love you, I'm in love with you. There should be a difference, right?) because she needs you.
"You could never be a disappointment," you confess, and you think it might have been too much because the way she looks at you is confusing and too intense all at once.
"I just mean…I could…give you, um, tips if you want."
It sounds fake, even to you, and you are sure she is going to see right through your efforts but to your surprise she nods, shifting slightly on top of you but not moving away.
"I think I'd like that."
Your heart is pounding harder than you think it ever has. Both of you are still whispering, and your brain is screaming at you to stop, but you ignore both and push yourself up on your elbows so you are leaning against the armrest of the couch.
"Tell me what you want," you whisper (again), and something dark flashes in her eyes.
"I've heard about what you do." She grins, and you don't know how you are going to survive this. "The trail of hearts you leave behind…"
You exhale slowly, because you know she's right. You've earned yourself a reputation, and the reason for that is currently sitting on top of you.
"Looks like my secret is out," you joke, because you honestly have no idea where this situation is going to take you and the possibilities are too enticing to entertain.
But she isn't laughing. "I want you to show me."
You swallow. "Why?"
She stares at you, opens her mouth to speak but then shuts it again. Her eyes flick to points all across your face, dropping to your lips over and over but she doesn't say it. You wonder if either of you will ever have the courage to be honest.
Instead she sits back on your hips and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Because I trust you."
You are slowly losing this battle between your brain and body but you force yourself to resist, those curves and unexplored softness becoming increasingly harder to ignore. So you try to deflect again, one last, half-hearted attempt.
"Just do what you like to do to yourself." It's hard not to choke on your words, images erupting unbidden in the forefront of your mind.
"Is that what you want?"
You think your heart might stop then. You push forward so your eyes are level with her chest. You don't bother to look away.
"No. It's not."
Your body is moving on desire alone as you slip your fingers under her shirt and pull upwards. When it is over her head and on the floor you reach out to touch, hardly believing this isn't another one of your recurring fantasies until you run your fingers up her stomach and feel her shiver against you. You look up to meet her eyes at the same moment her hips move and grind down against you, earning a moan from her and a hot surge of lust in you. Now you are moving without thinking and push your hand past the bottom edge of her bra, unable to quiet your loud exhale as the sharp jut of her nipple brushes the pad of your index finger.
You feel her fingers wrap around your wrist and squeeze, pushing your arm up and the palm of your hand to press against her breast. But you want to see her so you reach around and unhook her bra, watching with an overwhelming buzzing in your veins as she pulls it from her chest and tosses it haphazardly to the floor. She looks more perfect than you ever could have imagined and you surge forward, pressing an eager tongue against her nipple and sucking lightly until you are rewarded with hands fisting in your hair, Clarke's soft body suddenly rigid against yours.
"Touch me Lex, please…"
Something snaps inside of you, the sound of Clarke saying your name like that bringing you quite jarringly back to rational thought and you pull back, the soft pop of her breast leaving the warmth of your mouth echoing somewhere in the back of your mind. You feel suddenly empty, the newly found desire to leave far outweighing that which you feel for the girl still sitting, confused, on top of you.
"Get off."
"Lexa, what—?"
"I mean it Clarke. Right now."
She moves obediently backwards and you sit up, fixing your eyes to the floor as you stand and grab your jacket because you can see her eyes shining with tears and you refuse to let her break down your resolve again.
"I can't do this with you," you breathe. Your chest is tight and you press your fist against the wall because you can barely control the tumult of emotion that is erupting inside of you. "Not anymore. Find someone else."
"I'm sorry Lexa. I shouldn't have…" Her voice cracks and you flinch like you've been hit. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry."
You breathe out slowly through your nose, keeping your focus on the wall. "I know Clarke. But if I don't leave now then I never will."
You reach towards the door and pull it open, pausing for a moment, wanting more than anything for her to stop you.
But she says nothing, and so you leave and don't look back.
You don't talk to Clarke for the rest of the school year.
At first she tries to text you, but you are determined not to answer. Eventually she stops, and you are relieved and disappointed all at once.
You dream about her all the time. Of your last night together and what you wish could have happened. You miss her more than you thought you could ever miss anyone.
Summer comes and you spend most of it like you did your last- drinking until you forget about her soft blonde hair, about the way her skin felt against your lips and tongue.
She calls you one night, and you are too far gone to realize who it is before you answer.
"Hello?"
There's a pause, and then, "Lexa?"
You think your heart might drop straight through your stomach, because it has been so long since you've heard her voice and god damn it she still sounds so sexy it makes you reach out a hand to brace yourself on the wall beside you.
"Clarke…"
You hear her exhale, and her voice is soft when she speaks. "I miss you."
You sigh, and lean back against the wall. Your chest feels heavy and you hate that your self-imposed isolation has done nothing to lessen the effect she has on you.
"Please don't."
"Don't what?"
"Try to get me to come back to you."
The quiet sniffle you hear breaks your heart. You press the phone harder against your ear.
"Why not?"
You start to answer and then stop, because you realize you don't know what to say.
"Lexa, would you please just talk to me?" She's angry, and it brings you back to your senses faster than you would have liked. You can feel yourself turning soft so you switch tactics.
"Leave me alone Clarke. I have nothing to say to you."
But she's resilient. "Bullshit. You are being completely unfair Lexa. If you'd just—"
"I have nothing to say Clarke," you repeat, "What don't you understand about that?"
She's silent again, and you can just imagine her gripping the phone, jaw flexing in irritation. "Fine," she spits, "Fuck you Lexa."
The dial tone is jarring in your ear. But you tell yourself that one day it'll be worth it, because you are tired of being in love with someone who doesn't really want you.
Because this year, things are going to be different.
Year 4
School starts and you are dreading the hours leading to dinner.
You haven't tried to contact her and neither has she, but you know it is only a matter of time before you see her. When you walk into the dining hall you keep your eyes on the floor.
You sit at a table farthest from the door and shovel down your food, anything to get out of here and to the safety of your room. And you almost make it, but when you get up to throw away your trash you see her and nearly drop your food tray.
She turns her head a second after you spot her and her eyes skip briefly over yours. She does a double take and then stops, swallowing but making no attempt at looking away. A burst of sound from behind her draws your attention and you recognize her friends, their presence shaking you out of the trance you seem to always fall in when she looks at you.
But now you remember. These are the people that she wants, not you. You feel that familiar sense of inadequacy wash over you and use it to force yourself to turn away, walking determinedly towards the doors even as you feel her gaze upon your back.
This year is going to be different, you remind yourself. So you lower your eyes to the ground and leave, and (for the second time) you don't look back.
It's the Friday after the first week of classes and you find yourself pleasantly tipsy in the living room of someone's house you don't know. Music is pumping loud through the speakers around you and you take another long drink from your cup, the harsh burn of the whiskey now hardly noticeable as you scan the crowd, looking for someone to pass the night with.
It isn't long before you notice a girl looking at you, biting her lip and raking her eyes down your body and you move towards her without thinking, knowing only that you need to not feel that ever present sadness that sits low in your chest. You talk about nothing for a long while until you allow yourself to shift closer to her, reveling in the feeling of being wanted by a stranger.
"Want to go somewhere a bit…quieter?"
The breathiness in her voice makes something twitch low in your stomach but you move backwards, a cocky smirk on your lips.
"Are you trying to take advantage of me?"
You grin and watch the girl smile back at you with hooded eyes, counting the seconds until her eyes drop to your mouth like clockwork.
She says something but you don't really pay attention, instead tilting your head back and finishing your drink before scanning the crowd once again. When you spot a flash of blonde hair you do a double take, heart pounding erratically as you see a pair of familiar blue eyes.
"Lexa, are you alright?"
Her voice snaps you back to reality and you struggle to produce a forced smile, all thoughts and actions now focused on the blonde pushing at the edges of your vision.
"Yes, sorry, I just…thought I saw someone. Want another drink?"
She nods and gives you what you think is supposed to be a suggestive look but you are already turning away and heading out to the backyard. You hug the wall and keep your eyes to the ground, torn between excitement and apprehension at the possibility of talking to Clarke again tonight.
You fill up two cups with whiskey and coke, pausing to take a long drink as you prepare yourself to go back inside. When you feel like there's enough liquid courage buzzing through your system you take a steadying breath and turn only to come to an abrupt stop, cups nearly spilling over in your surprise.
"Of all the parties in all the world…what are the chances?"
You can't help but stare for a minute, too focused on trying to get your suddenly erratically beating heart under control. "Clarke. Hello."
She leans heavily against the table, and you can tell that you haven't been the only one indulging yourself tonight.
"So are you here with someone, or are those two drinks for you?"
Your brain is screaming at you to leave but then she smiles at you and you feel yourself grin back, and you know you are just as weak to her as ever.
"No, not- uh, not really. I'm just kind of seeing where it takes me, I guess."
You think you see her jaw clench but you're distracted when she takes another drink from the beer she's holding, the way her mouth wraps around the lip of the bottle igniting that usual warmth in the pit of your stomach.
"You've been ignoring me. For almost eight months."
"I know." You tilt your head away, distracting yourself with watching the other partygoers. "I'm sorry."
She scoffs, and you chance a sideways glance at her. "Please, Lexa. At least try to sound like you feel bad."
You exhale, irritated that she thinks she has the right to be mad at you for all this.
"Well I don't know what to tell you Clarke. You always did have a knack for seeing right through me," you deadpan.
She takes a half step back, and you feel momentarily guilty for the hurt that flashes across her face.
"That's not fair, Lexa."
"Isn't it?"
"Fine," she concedes. "You're right. I've been an ass."
She reaches out and lightly brushes her fingers against your knuckles, and you hate how all your anger seems to evaporate at her touch.
"I'm sorry," she says, softer this time and it draws you forward. "I didn't come over here to argue with you. I just…I miss talking to you, Lex."
You are reminded of when she called you over the summer, but it's harder this time because she's here, in front of you, standing closer than you thought was a good idea and staring at you with watery blue eyes and now she's biting her lip and you can't help but look down and when she smiles you think that she noticed but—
"Lex, there you are!"
You are startled out of your reverie by an arm being thrown around your shoulders, and when you see it belongs to the girl you were talking to earlier you can't help but be a little irritated. Because she hardly knows you and only people that know you can call you 'Lex' (people like Clarke).
"Yeah, I, um, ran into a friend. Clarke this is…" You stop, eyes widening as you realize you don't know this girl's name. Clarke looks at you and you can tell she's holding back a laugh.
But luckily the girl doesn't seem to notice, too focused on regaining your attention. "Come on, I want to dance with you."
She slips a hand around your waist and you have to remind yourself not to flinch away from her touch. But you nod, knowing that if you don't take the distraction now you'll never be able to pull yourself away. "Sorry Clarke. I did promise her a dance."
Clarke says nothing, only raises her eyebrows and takes another drink from her bottle before turning on her heel and walking away.
You spend the next two hours standing just near enough to be aware of Clarke's presence in your peripheral, but still far enough to know that she was making a deliberate effort to ignore you. You try to enjoy the company of the other girl, especially as she is becoming much more bold in her movements, touching your hand or running her fingers up your arm what seems to be every few minutes.
But you wouldn't really know because you can't help the way you keep glancing back at Clarke, heart twisting every time she happens to look over at the same time. And you definitely don't realize when the other girl leans in because the next thing you know she's kissing you and so you kiss her back, knowing that it should feel good but all you can think about is that she doesn't taste quite right, her mouth not moving against yours the way you want it to.
She pulls away and you manage to smile. When she asks you to meet her in the bathroom you nod without really wanting what you are agreeing to.
"I'll follow you."
You bob your head and move away from the crowd, passing within feet of Clarke and actively ignoring your body's urge to turn towards her. When you reach the bathroom you lock the door behind you. There's a knock only seconds later and you open it with a mix of dread and anticipation, wanting more than anything to get rid of this all too familiar longing that formed the minute you saw her.
But luck doesn't seem to be on your side tonight, because when you open the door Clarke is pushing inside and then suddenly she's closing the door with her foot, lock clicking loudly behind her.
"Clarke, what—"
The next thing you know her body is pressing yours against the wall and her hands are on either side of your face and then you aren't aware of anything because she is kissing you, and this is what you think a kiss should feel like because she tastes just like you remembered and that, you realize, is the problem.
"Clarke," you pant, and she chases your lips as you pull away. "Clarke, wait."
"I shouldn't have let you leave," she blurts, but it's hard to pay attention because she is still leaning heavily against you, one hand holding yours against the wall like she's afraid you'll run if she lets go.
You sigh. "You're drunk, Clarke."
"I'm not."
She drops her gaze, staring at your mouth and you have to remind yourself to breathe. She kisses you again and it's so soft that you can't help but sigh against her mouth.
"Tell me to leave," she whispers, and this time it's you who is chasing after her lips. "If you don't want this, just tell me and I'll go. But I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that night and…seeing someone else kiss you, I just…I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out."
She moves the hand that was holding yours against the wall and brushes her thumb across your cheek. The way she's looking at you is almost too much and you can only stare, thoughts still struggling to be coherent.
"Say something Lex," she says quietly, "Please. Tell me I'm not too late."
The worry in her voice snaps you out of it, and you decide to answer her in the way you know best. You grab her waist and spin her around so she's the one pressed against the wall and then you are kissing her hard and she is responding just as insistently, hands tugging at each other's shirts and hips pushing to find friction. She moves her thigh so it's between your legs and you grind against it without pretense, her soft, breathy moans sending waves of heat across your skin.
Her hips move with you as you continue to kiss, all biting lips and aggressive tongues. But soon it's not enough (you've never been able to get enough) and you drag your fingers along the waistband of her jeans, circling the button and following the line of the zipper down. Before you can ask permission she's thumbing the button open herself, shoving your hand down the front of her pants as soon as it's open.
"Clarke, are you su—"
But your question dies in your mouth because you can feel how wet she is through her underwear and when you trail your fingers down the fabric she grips your shoulders, arching into your hand.
"Yes," she pants, "Yes I'm sure, please just—"
You don't need to be told twice so you push two fingers inside her, groaning at how soft she feels. You can feel her muscles clenching around you and you can still hardly believe this is happening but you start to slowly move in and out of her and her hips match your pace almost instantly.
"Faster," she breathes, and you oblige, her sharp intake of breath every time you hit that one spot making you shiver. Her hands move up to tangle in your hair and you lean forward to bite gently at her neck, picking up the pace again after a few seconds. She gasps in surprise and you hear a light thump as her head falls back against the wall.
"Lex—mm, ah fuck—please don't stop…"
You bite harder, sucking what you know will be a brilliant hickey into her neck. "Do you know how long I've been wanting to do this?"
You are pumping into her so hard that her hips are hitting the wall with every thrust and you both are breathing heavily, her gasps getting steadily louder as she gets closer.
"I don't think…I'm entirely convinced…"
You grin, being reminded in the best way that Clarke is not only a girl you've been lusting after for almost four years, but also the person you've been best friends with for more than half of it. When you start to rub your thumb in circles against her clit she lets out a strangled kind of noise, trying to hold in her moan, and you don't think you've ever been so sure that you were in love with someone.
But then she tilts her head down at the same time you lean in and the way she kisses you when she comes makes your toes curl and suddenly you can't hold it in, all this love you feel for her so when she breaks the kiss to breathe you say it.
And so does she.
Any thoughts/feelings/comments would be immensely appreciated! I've been somewhat dissatisfied with my writing lately (I rewrote that last bit five times . ) so your feedback will greatly help me get back on track.
Part 2 is going to be Clarke's POV, revisting some of the events in this chapter and going a bit into the future.
In the meantime, feel free to check out Seconds my other multichapter Clexa fic, which I will go back to updating once this is done!