"I don't understand why you don't just talk to him, you clearly want to!" Octavia said with an exasperated sigh as she flopped backwards onto the bed.
"Because there's nothing to talk about, O!" Clarke retorted as she picked at a loose thread on the pink duvet cover. Octavia slapped her hand away.
"Oi, that's my bedding you're pulling apart," She complained lightly but then she fixed her eyes on Clarke's. They were big and blue and rimmed with dark lashes. She was Clarke's best friend, but Clarke envied her to no end. Octavia was beautiful with her curtains of thick, dark hair, rosy lips and big, blue eyes. Clarke's eyes were blue too, but they seemed small and squinty in comparison to Octavia's shining irises. Wells used to tell her she was beautiful, but that was before. She flinched at the memory of him and Octavia sighed.
"Look Clarke, if it bothers you that much, I know for a fact that he'd get back together with you in an instant!"
"I don't want to get back together with him, I just want it to never have happened," Clarke said in a small voice and Octavia's annoyance disappeared as she pulled Clarke into her arms and stroked her blonde hair softly.
"I know, I know," She whispered into Clarke's hair as she rocked her slightly and Clarke sniffed before sitting up abruptly and wiping her nose.
"Thanks, O," She said more sharply than necessary. She loved Octavia, but she didn't like people to see her as weak, she never cried in front of people if she could manage it. It had earned her a representation as cold and heartless, but it was better than breaking down at every little thing, wasn't it?
Octavia had been her best friend since they had joined secondary school, the two tiny eleven year olds; the girl with the freckles and dark hair in a red bow, and the girl with the blonde hair and a scowl. Clarke wasn't good at making friends, even then, and a group of older girls had cornered in a bathroom stall, threatening to lock her in if she looked at them again. Clarke had scowled like always, telling them that they weren't the ones with the authority, the teachers were. That had earned her a few laughs, though not in a good way. Her smart, rule-following girl attitude had only spurred them on. Clarke might have ended up with her head down a toilet on her first day if the tiny, stick thin girl hadn't stormed into the bathroom then, threatening them with the age old proverb "I'll get my big brother on you," The mean girls had backed off then, frightened off the infamous Bellamy Blake, or maybe just lusting after him and knowing he wouldn't date a girl who had touched his little sister.
Clarke smiled at the memory. Octavia had been her fast friend ever since, the two getting into trouble more often than not. It was usually Octavia's doing, but Clarke always seemed to find herself caught up in it. With Clarke's smarts and Octavia's keen talent for mischief the two were quite a pair, the kind of friends that teachers warned each other about with a worried "whatever you do, don't let them sit next to each other!". Now they were in the first year of sixth-form college, and though studying entirely different courses; Clarke was interested in Medical science, Octavia was a drama student of course, they still managed to spend most of their time together. Octavia was the only person who was allowed past Clarke's walls. Her and Wells.
Wells was the reason Clarke had come over after college to sit on Octavia's bed and pine. Wells had been her long-term boyfriend of five months; they had got together in Year eleven and managed to sustain their relationship over the summer, only for it to be ruined once they started college.
It was his fault that she was on the receiving end of dirty looks and snickers everywhere she went. It was his fault that teachers gave her sympathetic stares and students shouted cruel remarks. It was his fault that they yelled at her asking for drugs, calling her jail bird, calling her addict whenever she was irritable. She had trusted him with the truth, and he had betrayed her. It was an unforgivable act.
Her father had died two years ago, a tragic accident, or so people believed. When she had trusted Wells with the truth that her father had died of a drug overdose he had promised her that he didn't judge her, that he would never say a word. But he had to run and tell his father, head of the local police department, had to. Clarke too had a strong sense of right and wrong and tended to follow rules, but some things were too important.
It was Wells's fault that she and her mother had been subjected to a series of embarrassing drug tests and it was his fault that their house had been turned upside down in a search for any hidden substances. The tests and search had proven fruitless, her father's addiction had been his own, but they had still had to suffer humility in the midst of their grief.
A small part of her, the girl who was capable of forgiveness, of compassion, knew that it was her father's fault really and that she should forgive Wells, stop giving him such a hard time. But hating him was easier, and it wasn't as if he was innocent of blame.
Octavia had known and she had never said a word, Clarke supposed she was the only true friend she had left, even the other girls she hung out with sometimes cast her nervous glares, as if she might spike their drinks or drag them into a world of crime. So she let Octavia curl her hair and paint her nails, exercises that Clarke thought pointless, to make her happy. Octavia was an easy girl to please and after all of Clarke's shit that she had put up with, she certainly deserved it.
"Come on," Octavia elbowed Clarke gently with a grin on her pretty face, "Let's watch a chick flick to cheer you up,"
Bellamy cursed as a roll of thunder sounded overhead and droplets of rain started to fall. "Don't take your car everywhere Bellamy, walking is good for you!" His mother had chastised him before he left the house. When he had finally scraped together enough money for his own car he had jumped at the opportunity and drove everywhere he could. He loved driving; it was exhilarating when he drove fast and almost relaxing when he drove slow. It was convenient and warm and the girls loved it. Whatever way he looked at it, it seemed a win. But his mother worried he would get unfit if he drove all the time, or so she said, Bellamy was a member of the college's rugby team and visited the gym at least twice a week, more likely she was worried about the cost of petrol or her son getting a ticket.
Bellamy snorted at the idea. He was an excellent driver, yeah, he liked to go fast. But it didn't mean he was unsafe. As for petrol money, he used his meagre wages from his part-time job at The Swan restaurant and hotel. Some of his friends mocked him for his job as a waiter, but hey, at least he had a job, unlike the lazy sods he hung out with.
His family weren't well off, so he knew why his mother worried, but he made sure that he paid it all himself. It was why he had rushed to get a job as soon as he turned sixteen. He believed in working hard for what you want, and he loved his mother and sister more than anything else in the world, so he did all he could to keep them well and happy. Which was why he had ended up walking home from his match in the pouring rain.
They had won, but it was a hollow win, everyone knew King's college sports department was awful. Still, he enjoyed the cheers of the few people who had made the effort to come and watch. There was only a handful of supporters because it was early in the season and the game wasn't particularly important, coupled with the overcast sky, but it was nice to hear the people there shouting his name.
He knew he was a favourite amongst the team's supporters, mainly due to his looks. Bellamy knew he was good-looking and he wore it like armour so that people wouldn't really have to get to know him. He acted up as the typical arrogant eighteen year old, it scared some people away, and enthralled others. But he didn't care what most people thought, there were very few people in the world that he actually cared for.
By the time he reached his house his jacket was soaked through and his dark hair stuck to his forehead, he was cold and irritated, glad to be home. As he unlocked the door and stepped through it he nearly barged into the girl stood there in his haste to get inside.
"Sorry," he muttered before he looked up to see who it was. Her eyes were rimmed with pink, suggesting she had been crying again, she came over to cry often these days. Her golden hair was curled, Octavia's doing for sure, Bellamy thought wryly.
"Ah, sorry, Princess. Didn't know you were over," He apologised again, using his pet name for her. He had called her Princess ever since she had made friends with his sister all those years ago for her family was very wealthy and she lived in a huge house. She made a face at the name, but it had to be better than what the other kids called her.
Clarke was in the year below him, his sister's year, but it didn't mean that he wasn't aware of the gossip that revolved around her. Octavia had known all along of course, but she was a stubborn girl and had kept her word of secrecy. It was someone else who had let it slip. The girl's own boyfriend apparently, no wonder she was pissed. Personally he didn't know why it was such a big deal, so what her dad had shot a little junk; it wasn't like everyone else was so innocent and pure. The guy was dead for Christ's sake! They should've left her to her grief and be done with it; nothing would come from talking about it now. It wouldn't bring him back, and it wouldn't take back what he'd done.
Bellamy tried not to involve himself in the gossip of the other kids, especially not when it was to do with his little sister's best friend. He had known her for years, but he never really knew her. All he knew was she was tough, she was smart, and she was loyal to Octavia. That was all he needed to know. He teased her from time to time, calling her Princess to grate on her nerves and nudging her with a grin when she was over, but she was Octavia's friend, not his.
"Bellamy," She greeted him quietly and ducked her head, pressing herself against the wall to let him pass. It wasn't enough, the hallway was tiny and his shoulder brushed up against her as he went and he caught the sweet scent of her hair. It wasn't the stuff Octavia put on, it was something of Clarke's own, sweet and pure and delicious. He ignored it and headed straight upstairs to his room, pretending he hadn't noticed how pretty she had become.