It has been a really long day and Clarke really needs to catch some rest. With her lectures at eight in the morning until about one o'clock and her job almost immediately after, she has no energy left to do anything else but lie on the couch and relax. Her feet hurt and her spine aches, so it's a relief she can lay down on the couch. A strawberry smoothie in one hand and the remote of her relatively small TV in the other, she closes her eyes for a brief second and lets her sore muscles relax. It takes a while before she has regained enough energy to open them again, reminding herself that an episode of her favourite show will start any moment. Clarke turns on the TV and zaps channels until she finds BBC. Clarke can watch exactly two minutes of the episode before the bell rings. A big moan escapes her mouth as she drags herself on her feet again, takes the last sip of her smoothie and walks towards the door. The bell rings again.
"Yeah, yeah," she sighs, even though the person outside won't be able to hear her at all. "I'm coming."
She straightens her shirt and walks through the hall, up tot he door.
Clarke opens it and-... there she is. The girl everybody has been warning her about.
From the moment she moved into this apartment complex, a week or two ago, my neighbours have told me the most ugly rumours about this 'weird' girl. The girl, apperiantely, never speaks. Doesn't ever say goodbye or hello, which is totally unacceptable, of course. Her clothes are mostly black, with only a few variations which include navy blue, crimson and dark green. Especially the make-up around her eyes is very present and as black as the dark pits of hell, which is scaring my naïve neighbours. Her voice is low and imminent and she uses to gaze at you like you're nothing more than dirt under her fancy black boots, her chin pointed up. The whole thing together gives them a reason to assume she's some sort of criminal. Otherwise she wouldn't look and act that way. Right?
"She always looks at me like she wants to eat me alive... Or at least harm me in a very illegal way!" Alison, the woman of three levels down once told Clarke. She knew it was a lie, since Alison had just told her how she never sees her leaving or entering the building a few minutes ago, let alone talk to her or catch her eyes. By the stories, Clarke doubted she would even look at Alison.
When she asked about the girl's name, Alison replied:
"I honestly don't know. And if you ask me, I don't even want to know! Just like every other decent person in this building. Listen to me, Clarke, darling, you should stay away from her, you must be crazy to even seek contact with her. It's for your own safety, sweetie."
Clarke had just nodded, to please her, but she obviously didn't agree. To be honest, she became more and more curious to meet this mysterious stranger, who seems to dissapear into thin air everytime somebody comes close. No wonder she has never seen her or noticed before.
But today, she's standing at Clarke's doorstep. And for a moment, she couldn't hide her amazement by this sudden surprise. Because this girl is nothing like Alison had described. The girl's gaze is soft and hard at the same time. Closed, Clarke thinks. Her eyes reflect no emotion but they are observing me already. She neither wears as much make-up as Alison said she did. There, actually, are no hints of beauty products to be seen on her face.
"Hello," she says. Her voice is higher and more pure than Clarke'd imagined it would be. But then again, she imagined she'd be some sort of punk-rock chick with a leather jacket, a motorcycle, a half shaven head and black eye-shadow smudged all over her face.
After a few seconds of staring, Clarke snaps back into reality, by the realisation she may would want an answer back. The girl tilts her head a little to the left and curls the corners of her mouth up but only slightly, just enough to for Clarke to make out a polite smile, even though it fades quickly. Her casual brown hair runs in loose ringlets over her shoulders and two green eyes, as green as grass, are watching all of her moves.
"Oh hi," Clarke says, leaning against the doorframe, but almost trips over her own feet as she tries to make sure to look cool and chill. Quickly, she grabs the doorknob to keep herself from falling. A little frown slowly appears on her face as she watches her, and Clarke wonders what she might think. Well... maybe she doesn't even want to know, since it's probably not very positive.
"I'm Clarke," she introduces herself, to keep the conversation going. "Clarke Griffin."
Clarke offers her her hand to shake, but the girl doesn't respond. Her arms stay stiffly by her side and she doesn't move or makes any effrot to acknowledge the gesture. She just looks at her, her full lips pressed together. Awkwardly, Clarke takes her hand back and buries it in the pocket of her jeans.
Suddenly, her eyes grow even harder. The grass turns into two emeralds, as untouchable and cold as the gem itself. Slowly, her observing look melts from her face ans she raises her chin. She straightens her back, so she suddenly becomes a bit taller than Clarke is. She noticed a hint of arrogance in her gaze. It isn't the polite or curious anymore. It feels like she is going to, and defenitely will, succeed in unravelling all of Clarke's darkest secrets and weaknesses by just staring at me. Or probably already has. No doubt she's trying to intimidate and scare her. And even though she doesn't want to, Clarke shivers, and finally realizes exactly how the other people in the building feel whever they cross her in the hall downstairs or the staircase.
Clarke tries to straighen her back as well, but it barely boosts her confidence. Even in a leather jacket and a whole gang to pretect her, she'd still be less impressive than her.
A cool wave pins her down to the ground. Clarke notices she can barely move, trapped in the stranger's hard eyes. It seems like the little smile she had just shown is rare and only a formality. She looks at Clarke like shew ill take none of my bullshit that is wasting her precious time. She wants to get to the point and handle the thing she came here for. There must be some sort of problem, right? Otherwise she would've never stopped by.
And Clarke is right.
"Your cat has invaded my apartment," the girl says, her voice as cold as her emerald eyes, saying the word 'invaded' disguested. As if little Jaha really has conqured her apartment. He probably just broke into it... Wait... Jaha broke into her apartment?
Clarke's cheeks turn bright red as soon as the realisation hits her face, and she places her hands in front of her mouth. Imagines of all the possible things that the stupid cat could have down flick in front of her eyes. Fuck...
"He has been there already quite a few times, but he won't leave this time," the brunette says, unforgivable.
That's when Clarke notices the dark red marks on her forearms, as well as in her neck. Her eyes widen. Immediately, she reaches out to her arm, instinctively wanting to take care of the injuries, like her mother would have. This time, it's her eye who widen, not Clarke's. Quickly, she steps back, protecting her neck by jerking her head away and staring at Clarke like she has just suggested to jump off a skyscraper together. Clarke blinks a few times and lets her tong run over her dry lips for a moment, realizing her mistake.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she murmers, not daring to meet the stranger's eyes. "It's just a habit.. to take care of injured people, you know?"
Her gaze idicates that she doesn't know and probably doesn't want to know, not really caring about her lousy excuse.
"I'm fine," she snaps at Clarke. "Now could you get your cat out of my apartment?"
Even though she expected it, the sudden change of her voice still scares Clarke. For a moment, she's afraid the other would lash out, but when she doesn't, she scrapes her throat and looks down, nodding quickly a few times.
"Yeah, yeah, okey. Fine," Clarke mumbles. "Where do you live?"
She turns around, with a little spin, and without speaking any more words, she leads me towards her apartment. Clarke doesn't dare to say anything to start up the conversation again and just follows her in silence, making sure she first locks her door - just in case - and puts the key the backpocket of her jeans. Her eyes focus on the soles of her boots, since the heels are ritmatically clicking against the wooden floor, the whole time in the same pace. It's calming, but the thought of what kind of tricks Jaha might've pulled out once he found his way into her apartment. Like all cats, he just does whatever pleases him at that moment and Clarke doubts he played the sweet-kitten-act on her. He must've ruined something.
They have to go up two stairs before we arrive at her apartment. She grabs a key and unlocks the door, first walking in herself and beckoning to Clarke when she notices she's waiting for her approval to come in. Without talking, she leads her to her living room. It takes a while to notice the brown cat though, since Clarke's way to intruged by the living room itself, which is an art piece of itself. And Clarke defentiely knows when to label something as art.
One of the four walls is bright green, as green as the girl's eyes, whereas another one is dark brown and the final two are white. A painting of the forest is hanging at one of the white walls and a stand, showing an impressive katana and dagger, is decorating the other. A white couch stands in the corner opposite of the large flat screen TV with a small coffee table in between. The floor is made of black marble which can almost reflect my face. A vase with white roses is standing on a table near a huge window, which provides a beautiful view over NYC. Tiny insects - or are those people? - craowl over the streets in one big mass and the huge skyscrapers arize at both sides of the window. The undergoing sun colours the sky bright orange and gives ther oom a calming expression.
Only when Jaha starts scraping its head at her shin bones, Clarke looks down. Immediately, she lifts him up and holds him in her arms before he can run off again and hide. In the mean time, the girl, who, Clarke has only just realized, hasn't even introduced herself, gets two ragged pieces of clothes behind the couch and hands them over to her. Clarke looks at the holes in the fabric, obviously done by cat's claws.
"Your cat has damaged my curtains," she says, with an unfogivable, hard look in her eyes. It reminds Clarke of iron, unbowable if not heated up, even though they have the colour of her living room's wall.
"Oh, that's pretty bad," she answers. "You know what? I'll give you a refund. I will give you the money for the curtains, with all my apologies. I promise Jaha will never sneak in again."
In response, the cat lays his ears flat in his neck and hisses at Clarke, like he's trying to say he will eventually find his way in if that's what he wants. The girl eyes both Clarke and the cat suspiciously and squints her eyes, trying to figure out of she's lying or not about the refund. A few seconds pass. Then, she nods approvingly and looks away. Clarke tilts her head a bit to the left. Jaha is moving in her arms, desperate to free himself from her hard grisp, but she won't let go. Clarke barely even notices, since she's captured in the soft features of the girl's face. Such a beauty, such a sweetness, and still she manages to scare the hell ouf ot her.
"You know what," Clarke starts. "I think I should go home and try to teach this ungrateful cat some manners."
Like he's ever going to listen, she thinks sarcastically. The brunette looks up at me and then nods, guiding me back to the front door. She opens it for her, a silent signal that Clarke should get out now, since they're obviously done. Clarke doesn't really dare to say anything else, afraid the other won't even reply or just gives her the cold glare like she did earlier. Why would you waste any breath on someone that doesn't want to talk or even look at you? Clarke softly shakes her head, disagreeing with herself, ereasing the thoughts from her head. Bellamy or Octavia would just turn around an dleave, it wouldn't be a hard decision from them. Raven would probably get a little annoyed as well and turn around as well, leaving without a goodbye. They can be ruthless if they want to be, but Clarke just can't do that. It's not like she isn't strong. She's a different kind of strong. Strong when she needs to be strong, like when she found out her mom was the reason her father died a few years ago, but soft and kind whenever she doesn't needs to be. She just can't leave with Jaha without saying anything. And it will make things even more awkward when she stops by the next time to drop off the money for the curtains. And she might, or might not be, kind of intrueged and fascinated by this mysterious stranger. This girl who can trap her with her emerald coloured eyes, even when she looks at her like she's nothing to her.
Clarke at least needs to know her name.
"Okey, then," the girl eventually adds as some sore of goodbye when Clarke stands in the opening of the front door, with the squirming cat in her arms. Her grip tightens around Jaha, which makes the cat hiss irritated at her. She doesnt'notices, because she caught her gaze again. But this time, she's the one to first look away, waiting for Clarke to leave her apartment. And Clarke almost does, but turns around at the very last moment.
"'Okey then', what's that?" Clarke asks her. She looks up, but doesn't look at me directly, avoiding my eyes. "Who are you anyway? People have been telling the most unreal stories about you since the moment I got here, but none of them seem to be true. I mean, sure you're mildly attractive and mysterious, but it gets kind of tiring after a while, you know."
For a moment, she gurls up the corners of her mouth into a little smile, and Clarke smiles back, relieved. This one isn't like the one at my door, fake and just politicies. Clarke thought she had really smiled back then, but that one seems stiff in comparement to the one she shows now. Sadly, it's leaving her face way too soon and her emotionless expression returns, shutting off all the emotion that Clarke's little joke might've caused. But her eyes twinkle, and that's new.
"Lexa," she says. "My name is Lexa."
"Well, nice to meet you, Lexa," Clarke replies, as a grin appears on her face. She sticks out her hand, like I did before, but this time, Lexa takes it and shakes.
Well, this is my first Clexa fic, so I hope you like it. This is going to be a multichaptered fanfiction, although it won't be really long.
This first chapter is based on this post:
post/114021130802/clexa-au-lexa-returns-clarkes-cat-after-it