When Clarke walked onto the Stanford campus, her first thought was I wish Bellamy was here. She felt a hitch in her breath and shoved the feeling to the back of her mind. Stupid, stupid. She needed to get over him, she needed to move on with her life. She was going to Stanford, for god's sake. But now it just didn't seem as exciting. Nothing did.

She'd left the day after, just up and packed her things and hopped the soonest bus to California. Her mom had been worried, but she knew what it would be like. Living in a small town was hell when it came to gossip. Clarke had a few friends in the Stanford area, but ended up grabbing a room in a motel and getting a waitressing job for the few months over the summer. She couldn't be around anyone that she knew right now, couldn't stand to put on her 'together' face all the time. Most days she came home from work and just curled up and cried.

Being in a big city was nice, though. No one cared if you'd broken up with your boyfriend of six years, or if you were struggling to get up every morning, or if you just didn't have the energy to smile and chat about all the newest gossip. You could get lost in a place like this, and although Clarke surmised that in another time it might've been lonely, right now it was just a relief.

At this point, lonely was an old friend.

So now here she is, staring at the doors to the University and praying that she can get through the day. She kept her crappy little motel room, with its chipping white paint and dusty floorboards and bars on the windows, although she really doesn't know why, and right now she's dying to get back to it. This is what Bellamy wanted you to do, she reminds herself. It's been three months, it shouldn't hurt this much to think his name. This is what you want to do.

So she takes a breath, thinking, fuck it, and walks through the doors.

The day would've been amazing, before, but now it's tolerable - she even smiles at one point, and her mouth feels like it's breaking. How long has it been since she's done that?

She takes the bus back to the motel (can she call it her motel now? it's the closest thing she has to a home) and fiddles with the half-broken door lock before falling into bed and closing her eyes. (she can't do this, she can't, she can't)

(she has to, this is all she has left)

(she misses him like he's a piece of herself, like she's only half a person without him)

Her phone rings, and she almost leaves it, but it might be her mom and she hasn't talked to her in weeks and she'll be worried, so she picks it up at the last second.

"Hello?" (her voice sounds rusty, like she hasn't spoken in weeks, which isn't true. days, maybe.)

"Clarke?"

There's a beat, where Clarke takes in a breath because this was not the voice she was expecting.

"V?"

"Oh my god, Clarke." And she can hear Octavia trying not to cry on the other side of the phone and suddenly she's crying too because she doesn't have the strength to pretend she isn't.

"Hey, V. I miss you." Present tense, she thinks, because even though her best friend's voice is in her ear she's a million miles away and she misses her, misses that stupid town, and her mother, and of course she misses him.

"Jesus, Clarke. Would it have killed you to call?"

"I."

(make your lips form words, make yourself find something to say)

"I couldn't."

...

"How's Stanford?"

"It's...good. It'll be good for me, I think." (he was right about that, right about her needing something more)

...

"He misses you too, you know."

There's a catch in her throat.

"Not enough."

"I guess not."

And when she hangs up she's feeling nostalgic and it's a hundred times worse than the numbness, like something's tearing at her from the inside.

God, she's a wreck.

She doesn't even bother pulling a blanket onto the couch, just falls asleep with crusty tears tightening the skin in tracks along her face.

She doesn't go home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, (if she does she knows she won't be able to leave again) so Octavia and a few friends make a road trip down to California, and she is able to beg a dorm room from a classmate who's going home for the holidays, so she doesn't have to tell them that she's living in that shitty motel.

"How is he?"

(she doesn't really want to know the answer, doesn't know why she asked)

"He's dealing with it in the best way he can." Octavia answers. They're curled up on the couch with their feet twisted together, and all Clarke can think is that the last person she was this close to was him.

(she doesn't say good, doesn't think she can lie well enough to make it sound believable)

"How are you? Really."

"I'm coping."

"No, you aren't. Clarke, I know you. This isn't you coping, this is you running."

"Maybe that's all I can do right now."

"Clarke..."

And then she's crying and Octavia's holding her and she's a terrible friend because all she's thinking is how much she wishes it was him.

"I miss him so much, V."

(she's not good with grief)