"So I guess we know where Finn has been running off to every lunch..." Monty spoke, swallowing hard as they all watched Finn kiss another woman right in front of Clarke's eyes.

"I'm going to kill him!" Octavia growled as she she stood up, her chair screeching against the ground before hitting the polished tile with a bang.

"No-" Clarke protested, jumping up to block her friends path. "Let me- I... I need to do this." Clarke swallowed hard, keeping in the anxiety and tears deep inside her.

Octavia stopped, looking at her friend closely, trying to read her best friends face. Despite the crack in her heart forming, Clarke gave her a big smile in an attempt to convince her, mentally slapping herself as it faltered. "Really Octavia, im fine."

"If you say so... I'm right here if you need me." Octavia told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Both the girls knew she could see right through her lie.

"Kick his ass." Jasper told her, jaw clenched but his lips sending her a comforting smile.

Clarke nodded slowly, turning from her friends to make her way towards the couple, finally breaking free for some air. The closer she got, the more Clarke felt like she was going to through up. Her insides twisted and her heart clenched, she could feel tears coming but refusing to leave her eyes. Finally only a few strides away, Clarke stopped, swallowing hard before brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Wait... What is she doing?" Monty spoke allowed, speaking everyone's mind.

Turning sharply, Clarke pushed the door of the women's bathroom open and pushed it shut as fast as she could. She soon found herself in the stall, pressing her hands firmly against the sides as she gasped for air. She's never had a panic attack in years, not since the accident.

After calming her breathing down, she found herself unsurprised that she wasn't hysterically sobbing. Since she was a kid she trained to keep her tears locked inside, never wanting to disappoint her mother.

She never cried since him...

Have you ever balled up your fists so tight for so long that your knuckles got all white, your nails started digging into your palms, and you were afraid you might be drawing blood? When letting your hands slowly open up feels almost unnatural after having them so tightly wound for so long? It kind of feels like that. It's a pain which is at once deeply frustrating and oddly self-sustaining. You feed into the anger because it comforts you, in a strange way. Because to stop being angry, to stop clenching your fists, to loosen up for a minute and let go, would mean you have to feel the actual undercurrent of your anger: your pain.

Finding out, of course, is most accurately described as an unexpected punch to the stomach. There are some people who have been taken aside and told with composure and elegance that they have been betrayed in the most profound way they could be. "I made a mistake," the culprit might say, or, "I found someone else." Depending on the intensity of the illicit relationship, the confession could range from the deeply apologetic to the coldly indifferent. But for those who find out because they stumbled across the evidence, or found it after frantic hours of terrified searching, the punch is strong enough to force the air entirely out of the lungs.

But after finding out when you didn't even have a leading suspicion... Clarke felt stupid, used, and... shame?

What did she do wrong? What does the other person do better? Do they smell better? Taste better? Have more interesting things to say at parties which don't involve sarcastic, ill-timed jokes? Suddenly, Clarke knows that everything she is, is wrong, every aspect of herself is something you want to peel off and throw on the floor behind you. She was blissfully unaware of all that was happening behind a turned back, is suddenly both laughable and enviable. Clarke cringes imagining all of the things that were happening when she wasn't looking, but wishes that she could return to a moment where not knowing was a possibility. But that person — the ignorant-yet-blissful person who was only so happy to be unwittingly cheating — was ultimately not good enough to keep her love.

Taking a seat, Bellamy stretched his body out while placing his dirty shoes on top of the expensive desk.

"Feet. Off." The angry man growled as he tapped his pen impatiently on his desk.

"Dax, come on, lighten up." Bellamy attempted, shrugging as he removed his feet, sunglasses hiding his playful eyes.

"Lighten up? Do you know how much shit the tabloids have on you?" Dax cursed has he stood up, fists clenching tight into his skin. "And take those stupid sunglasses off, you look like a douche."

Hesitantly, Bellamy slowly reached up and removed his sunglasses, closing his eyes as he waited for his old friends reaction. Dax let out a loud groan, falling into his seat as he pressed his hand on his forehead.

"You fucking idiot."

"Well can't you help make it... disappear?" Bellamy tried, attempting to sound sorry.

"Not this time Bells..." Dax sighed, placing his elbows on the table.

"Wait- what do you mean?" Bellamy asked, beginning to panic at what he knew was coming.

"You're too reckless, you pick fights with everyone, and when you aren't doing that you are getting drunk and high at strip clubs... This kind of stuff doesn't help you get fans, and sure doesn't help our image." Dax watched Bellamy's face fall, before continuing. "I want to help you Bellamy, but you need to make a few changes..."

"Anything- ill do anything! Tell me what it is, and done."

"First off, get rid of that disgusting shoebox apartment, it smells like shit. Lay low for a while, quit it with the drugs- and for crying out loud, get a girlfriend!"

"-I have a girlfriend!" Bellamy lied, biting the inside of his lip afterwards.

"What's her name?" Dax asked after a couple seconds of silence.

"Clarke... Clarke Griffin."

So this is just a quick chapter I thought I would put out quickly, help get the story along. The next chapters definitely wont be out as fast as the first two, especially because of school.

I only expect myself to write during the weekends and even then I might be out living my life.

So, enjoy, favourite, follow, and review and I might actually write this story more.