Clarke couldn't understand what had gotten into Bellamy. It must have been some sort of joke; a cruel one at that.
Everyone at Ark High knew that Clarke Griffin didn't date. Most believed it was because of her negative demeanor—anyone that approached her was destined to face the wrath and sharp tongue of the Griffin girl. But that wasn't the true reason.
The real reason was because of Finn Collins. Freshmen year, right after Clarke's father passed away, Clarke was all alone. Only Finn talked to her in the hallways, in math class, sat with her at lunch.
He made Clarke feel special again, wanted again. That next month, Clarke was returning to herself. She laughed again, talked to Finn's friends, returned to a healthy weight. She started drawing again.
Then one unfortunate day, the tornado that is Raven Reyes transferred to Ark High School. She wanted to surprise Finn; they had dated in middle school, and never broke up when they decided on separate high schools. According to Raven, at least. Not according to Finn.
So there they were, making out by the bleachers one day after school, when Raven walked by.
"Finn?"
Finn had sprung off Clarke like she was a plague. The disbelieving look on his face was one Clarke would never forget.
"Rae? What are you doing here? You don't go to this school," he had said.
"Well, I do now. I wanted…" she didn't need to finish her sentence. "Finn, who is she?" she gestured at Clarke.
Clarke looked at Finn. "Finn, who is she?" she asked him.
Finn just looked at Raven, dumbfounded, forgetting all about Clarke. "Raven, I thought that we...that you…" he couldn't offer any explanation.
Raven walked up to him, jabbing his chest with finger. "How could you! You're my family, Finn! And then you go and fuck some random girl the second you feel like it?"
"Hey, I am not some random girl!" Clarke stood up for herself. Raven looked at her, angry, but Clarke could tell she was more hurt underneath.
Clarke, however, was on fire. And she wasn't going to hold anything back.
She turned to Finn, eyes blazing. "You, on the other hand, are the most disgusting, dishonest, deceiving and conceited douchebag I have ever known! I can't believe you. I thought I knew you!" she yelled. Clarke positioned herself away from Finn's arm, standing next to Raven. "This girl—Raven?" (Raven nodded) "Raven, seems amazing! And you just threw it all away, and for what?"
Finn looked at her, mouth agape.
Clarke stared him down. "Nothing. For nothing, that's what. We're over. Raven, you can have him, but I don't see why you would want to." And with that, Clarke started to walk away, forcing the tears back into her eyes. She wouldn't give Finn another thought.
Only about three yards away, Clarke could hear footsteps behind her. She yelled out, "Finn, don't even try," and she kept walking. Yet the footsteps pursued. She turned around. "Finn-"
"Hey there. Clarke, right?" It was Raven, leaving Finn at the bleachers, who still looked frozen in shock.
"Um… yeah?" Clarke said, unsure of the girl's emotions.
"I agree with you," she said, hooking her arm in Clarke's, dragging her back to the front of the school. She shook her head, making her ponytail whip back and forth. "I agree with what you just said. I don't even know what to feel. He was all I had, for the longest time, but I can't forgive him for this." She pulled out a necklace from inside her red jacket. It was a metal ravan, obviously made by hand. Clarke didn't know what to say.
"I'm mad at you, just so you know," Raven said, squeezing Clarke's arm a bit. "That rant was pretty badass though, if I must say."
"Oh. Thanks, I guess," Clarke said. They walked a bit in silence, reaching a bench. Raven unlatched herself from Clarke's arm, kicking some leaves that had fallen on the ground. "I want to say I'm-"
"Don't," Raven stopped her, holding up a hand. "None of this was your fault." She rested her hands in her lap. "You have nothing to be sorry for, and I don't want you to be sorry for me."
Clarke checked her watch. It was almost 4, and she had homework to do. She nodded at Raven, and was about to walk away when,
"Do you have a ride?"
Raven looked up. Looked down. "No, I took the bus here, and was planning on getting a ride back with Finn." She didn't offer more information. But Clarke didn't need her to say anything; she could just look at the girl and see everything for herself. Her tattered jeans, not by design, and worn shoes told a story of poverty. The grip Raven had had on Clarke's arm had shown her that Raven must either work out, or more likely, work, and be active doing so. Her hands were calloused, dirty, and her nails were chipped, unmaintained.
Her body language spoke of someone not very anxious to return home.
"My parents always cook too much food. Wanna get some school work done, and stay for dinner?" Clarke offered.
"I told you, I don't want your pity," Raven spat at her.
"It's not pity. I just thought it would be nice to shit-talk Finn to someone who understood," Clarke shrugged. That brought a genuine smile to Raven's face.
"You know what, that sounds like a shit ton of fun. Count me in."
Clarke smiled at the memory of the night as she scanned a display of sketch pads. While Finn still left a sour taste in her mouth, Raven always could cheer her up.
She finally spotted the perfect booklet. It had the best paper, was the right size, and fit Clarke's price range. After her purchase, she returned to her car. To see Bellamy Blake. His hair was grossly slicked back, as usual, and he was casually cleaning his nails as he rested against Clarke's beaten up old Mustang.
"Are you following me?" she questioned him, tossing her bag into the backseat.
Bellamy stood up. "Don't flatter yourself. I was just grabbing takeout across the street, and I saw your car. Nice vintage fenders, by the way."
Clarke rolled her eyes, crossing her arms, and raised an eyebrow.
"Not much of a talker today, huh, Griffin? You usually have so much to say to me," Bellamy chided.
"That's only when you're pissing me off, and you're getting awfully close," Clarke warned. She opened her car door, pushing Bellamy off. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but Octavia is where our similarities begin and end. So just do us both a favor, and leave me alone."
Bellamy raised his hands in defeat, walking away. He watched Clarke drive off, waving after her. She stuck a hand out the window, flicked it in farewell, and left with a puff of exhaust.
How was he supposed to convince her to go out with him? She was right, they had nothing in common. She came from old money, lived a completely different life than he. Bellamy only knew struggle until a couple of years ago.
So he called up Miller, phone in one hand, takeout in the other, a day later.
"Dude! I need your help," he said once Miller picked up. He was met with silence. "Nathan? You there?"
"Uh, yeah," Miller said. "What's up?"
"I know you won't approve, but Finn is paying me to take out Clarke. To mess with her."
"And?" Miller asked, relatively unphased.
"I need to know what Clarke likes."
"And you called me? Why would I be able to help?" Miller asked, skeptic. "You know Clarke better than I do," he pointed out.
"Barely. But I didn't mean you, exactly. Aren't you friends with Lincoln? The guy teaching my sister French?" Bellamy didn't exactly approve of Lincoln; he didn't even know why Octavia needed to learn French. It was a waste of money, in his opinion.
"Yeah, I guess I am. You know, you should get to know him too," Miller said. Bellamy cut him off.
"I'm good with just you as my friend, Miller. I don't need anyone else. But let's not get sidetracked. I need to you to have Lincoln ask Octavia about Clarke. She can't know that I'm... interested in Clarke."
"So how is he supposed to just casually mention Clarke?" Miller asked, dry.
Bellamy had an idea. "Have him tell her he wants to date Clarke. There! Perfect. Let me know if you get any intel. See ya." He hung up, feeling good about himself. He had his Chinese food and was planning on getting some gaming done that evening.
And that was exactly what he was doing until there was a knock at his door. His adrenaline shot up immediately; people didn't usually just drop by his house. What if it was the Feds, here to take him away again? Or maybe it was Abby, here to let him know that she wouldn't be covering for him anymore. Or worse. Maybe she was here to tell him something had happened to his baby sister.
He paused Assassin's Creed (Revelations), and crept up to the door. He peeked through the eye hole, and let out a deep breath once he saw Miller's trademark beanie. He yanked open the door.
"Hey Miller, what are you doing here?" Miller walked in, and that's when Bellamy noticed Lincoln behind him. He walked in without word, taking in Bellamy's living situation.
Bellamy's place was spotless. Kitchen scrubbed every other day, not a book out of place unless he was actually reading it, never laundry left in the machines. If anyone came over, they wouldn't be able to say Bellamy wasn't a capable adult.
"What is he doing here, Miller?"
Miller looked at Bellamy, made eye contact at Lincoln, nodded. Lincoln cleared his throat.
"I talked to Octavia like you asked," he said, hands still in his leather jacket pockets. Bellamy crossed his arms.
"Oh? And how did that go?"
"Perfectly. She really wants Clarke to find someone," he easily lied. He actually had told her everything; how he had successfully convinced Finn to pay Bellamy into wooing Clarke. Octavia was ecstatic, getting more hopeful that they might be able to date soon. "Octavia said she doesn't really understand Clarke, but she does know what she likes. And with Abby's overprotectiveness, knows where she is almost all the time. Here," Lincoln handed Bellamy some brochure. "One of Clarke's favorite artists is going to be at The Dropship tonight. You should go, the exhibit starts in an hour."
Bellamy took the ticket stub. "The Dropship? Oh, no, I can't be seen there," he said, thinking of the cheerleading squad once again.
"You have to, she has plans" Miller urged. "If you want this to work out, you gotta show her that you're human."
"Thanks," Bellamy grumbled, glaring at his best friend. Miller just shrugged.
"It's your choice."
Lincoln said, "She also likes Young Adult novels, John Donne poetry or other metaphysical poets."
That word meant nothing to Bellamy, and frankly, Clarke was just sounding more and more bland as he got to know her.
"She, um, also has black panties," Lincoln said, shifting his weight awkwardly. Bellamy looked blankly at him. "If that helps."
"Hell, it couldn't hurt!" Miller barked, clapping his hands. He walked to the couch, and picked up a box of takeout. "What's this? Chow mein? Don't mind if I do." He took a bite.
"What the fuck, man? I paid for that," Bellamy said, marching to the couch.
"From what I know, you have an influx of cash rolling in now. And I need brain food to help you decide on what to wear to The Dropship. Go get stuff from your closet, we don't have much time." Miller tossed Lincoln a fortune cookie.
Bellamy closed his eyes, counted to five, then walked to his room, making sure to slam the door.
Lincoln turned to Miller. "You know, I told you to not say anything to Bellamy. This is the complete opposite of that."
Miller shrugged, changing the TV input. A soccer game flickered on. "Why are you complaining? This will only help out your cause. Now eat your fortune cookie and sit down like good little French tutor."
Sighing, Lincoln did as asked, cracking open his cookie.
Clarke almost couldn't contain her excitement. She blasted Red Hot Chili Peppers as she pulled into the gallery parking lot, tapping on the wheel with her fingers to the beat. It was unreal, that actual Georgia O'Keeffe paintings would be exhibited in her small town. She didn't know how, or why, but she decided not to question it, either. And Clarke had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that she had to thank her mother for letting her know about this. Apparently it was on the hush-hush, so Clarke didn't even bring Raven with her. Raven would have hated it, but Clarke would have loved to drag her along just to torture the girl.
Slipping off her sandals and switching into many-inched heels, Clarke finally made her way to the masterpieces. She stopped many familiar faces from her mother's events, but Clarke avoided them, preferring to gaze at the artistry. Clarke did not like to consider herself a good artist, by her own standards, but she was self-assured enough to call herself okay. So as she scrutinized O'Keeffe's work, Clarke took mental notes, looking for any techniques she could use herself in some future works.
Clarke paused by one painting, titled "Blue and Green Music."
"Stunning, isn't it?" Clarke turned to see a tall blonde women next to her. How long had she been there? She wore a nametag: Ms. Byrne, Curator it read.
Clarke nodded. "Indeed it is."
The women kept her eyes on the painting. "Georgie was a very talented women, and even a pioneer in some sort. Many call her the mother of American modernism." Finally she turned to Clarke. "But those words must be lost on the likes of you. Teens don't understand anything these days. Now please, run along, and let the adults truly bask in the brilliance of artists that you may never fully see."
Red. A whole lot of red. That's all Clarke saw the split second Byrne stopped talking. But before Clarke could fully gather herself and begin to retort back, the women had slithered away to sweet talk some nicely dressed couple.
It would be childish to throw a fit, Clarke knew. So even though that's all she wanted to do, she stalked to the bar. She may be a child, but she knew well enough that at an event like this the bartender would serve her. And anyone be damned if they refused Clarke Griffin.
Still, once she got to the secluded corner, Clarke slammed a twenty as she demanded a drink.
"Of course Miss," the server said behind the counter, whisking away the cash. "What would you like?"
"Something strong," Clarke spat, and the women looked to taken aback she simply nodded and started mixing something.
"Well, well, what is this? Finally realized what a real artist looks like?"
What? Clarke zipped around, only to see none other than Bellamy Blake, dressed in black slacks and a nice, ironed button down. He even had a tie. Just the sight, even so out of place, forced a laugh out of Clarke.
Bellamy's mouth twisted, and Clarke had no idea if it was in humor or distaste. "Yes, I know, strange to see me here. But not for you, eh, Princess?"
Clarke shook her head. "Why the fuck are you here?" There was not a single possible reason she could come up with as to why Blake would be standing here, some sort of small drink in his hand.
"Come, now, princess shouldn't swear. But c'mon: why can't I appreciate art as much as the next guy?" Bellamy asked, his glass clinking as he gestured to himself.
"That's just it—not 'any guy' appreciates art like this," Clarke said, with air quotes. She looked for the curator, then glowered at her direction. "And according to some, not even some highly educated teenagers."
"Ah, so that's why you stomped over here? Because you were insulted by some know-it-all with a stick up her ass?"
"That about sums it up," Clarke grumbled, snatching the prepared drink from the bartender's hand. She smacked another twenty onto the countertop, walking up to another piece. Bellamy followed her.
"It just pisses me off so much," Clarke said, crossing her arms, making sure not to spill her drink. It tasted too good (and she spent too much on it). "Why do people automatically assume that I don't, or won't understand anything that a normal teenager may not be interested in? Which is total shit to begin with, teenagers are fully capable of having enthusiasm for remote subject areas."
"Very much so," Bellamy said, pushing his hair back.
"I mean, maybe it's not a classic thing for really anyone to be knowledgeable about, but I do know much about the modernism era!" Clarke exclaimed, raising her glass in air with excitement.
Then, without much thought to Bellamy's personal interest, Clarke began a rant on modernism, practically spitting out every fact and story that she knew.
Which lasted quite a while, because as Bellamy soon became to understand, Clarke really did know a lot about not only O'Keeffe, but other modernist artists.
They were at the bar again, filling up Clarke's drink (of which Clarke had taken out another twenty dollar bill to pay for, but the bartender had shook her head, insisting that this one was on the house), when Clarke seemed to finally run out of gas.
"...of which Picasso thought was a brilliant idea, so of course he took Braque's idea yet again, and boom: we have the invention of collages. Which I don't actually like, but think about it… all that time, kindergartners weren't cutting up newspapers and magazines to describe their favorite activities! Insane, right?" She sniffed her drink, took a sip, then placed it down, feeling suddenly better.
Bellamy smiled at her. "Totally insane. I feel bad for those poor children." Some of Bellamy's hair had fallen out of place, curling a bit at his hairline and neck. How odd, that Clarke had been able to have a full conversation (er, perhaps monologue) with Bellamy. She couldn't help but smile back.
"I'm so sorry," Clarke bursted, looking at the ground. "You really didn't need to know all of that."
"It's okay," Bellamy said, his voice low. "It's fun to see you rant. I've never seen you look more sexy."
The bartender, pouring a martini, snorted, covering her mouth.
Clarke stared at Bellamy, mouth agape. Had he really just said that? Finally, she laughed again, batting him on the shoulder. "What's gotten into you? You're acting terrifyingly unusual."
The intensity that Bellamy looked at her with stopped her train of thought. "Come to Wick's party with me."
That took Clarke out of her stupor. "What? Is he really throwing another one? Doesn't he have enough to do, especially with his shop?"
Bellamy one-shoulder shrugged. "Not my business. It's tomorrow night. See you at nine thirty, then?"
Clarke rolled her eyes. "You don't know when to quit, don't you?" She checked her watch. "I should get going." She headed for the door.
"So was that a yes?" Bellamy asked, following her.
"No," Clarke said, rolling her eyes.
"Was that a no?" Bellamy followed up, stopping at the descending stairs.
"No!" Clarke called back, then waved her hand as she lost sight of Bellamy.
What a weirdo. Just when you think you know someone.
This was new to Bellamy.
The being-nervous thing.
Why was he nervous?
He tried to convince himself that is was only because he was about to be within a ten-foot radius of Abby Griffin. But he knew that was bullshit.
At the front door of the Griffin Manor, Bellamy paused to tease his hair. He almost opted for his classic, slick-back look, but he had noticed Clarke starting at his hair a few times during her adorable art rant when it had fallen slightly out of place. Besides, it took a lot of work to keep it tame, it desired to be a curly mess anyways.
So with a shake of his head, Bellamy raised a hand to ring the bell, when the door swung open, to reveal Clarke, still in painting overalls, with a plain white T-shirt underneath. She looked just as surprised to see him standing there as he was to see her, even though it was her house.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, a sour look on her face.
"Who is that?" Clarke was pushed aside to reveal Octavia, who was in contrast dressed in a short black skirt and tight tank top. Bellamy could see Abby Griffin walk up the stairs, ignoring her daughters.
"Bellamy!" Octavia threw herself into Bellamy's arms. Bellamy closed his eyes, enjoying the embrace, and when he opened them, Clarke's demeanor seemed to have soften up.
"I said nine thirty," he reminded her, releasing Octavia.
Clarke rolled her eyes. She seemed to do that a lot, Bellamy noted. "Whatever, I'm driving. And don't blame me if Octavia steals the passenger seat from you."
Octavia shot up. "Shot gun!" she yelled, sprinting to the car.
As she ran away, Bellamy glared at Clarke. "Wait, she's going to the party too? And dressed like that?" Bellamy was about to go into full big-brother mode.
"Bellamy," Clarke put a hand on his shoulder. For some reason, that itself calmed him down. "Relax. She's not a baby anymore. She can take herself, and kick any guy's ass with her martial art skills."
Bellamy nodded. He new this was true. But still…
"Besides," Clarke said, "She's the only reason I'm going to this lame excuse of a party." She smirked at Bellamy, flicked her keys in the air, and walked to her car.
"Now you're just fooling yourself, Princess," Bellamy said, walking behind her.
True to her word, Octavia had taken control of the front seat, leaving Bellamy exiled to the back. He didn't mind. He got to witness a rare moment of Clarke Griffin and Octavia interacting without any inhibition. Around Abby, they had to be perfect. At school, Octavia insisted they don't acknowledge each other, in worry that anyone think she gets special privilege being connected to Abby Griffin, as Clarke gets accused of constantly.
In Clarke's car, the two argue on radio stations, batting at each other's hands. They comment on each other's clothes, ask about each other's day.
From what Octavia told him, and what he heard at school, Clarke was supposed to be this cold bitch that kept to herself, mostly, who only cared about her grades and her art.
But from what Bellamy saw in front of him, with his own two eyes, Clarke was a loving, warm-hearted girl who put on a show. Or just went about life, not caring what other people chose to see when she passed them in the hallway.
Bellamy saw a girl who impressed him, and might just be more than he previously thought.
A girl who didn't deserve to have someone need to be paid to date her.
Bellamy didn't have much time to ponder as everything was rather close in this small town. They reached Wick's before he knew it, and Clarke had to knock on his door to take him out of his thoughts.
"Party boy! We're here!" she yelled at him through the window.
Bellamy climbed out, a grin forming on his face as he was hit with a blast of music, and already a whiff of beer.
"Kyle really has style," he muttered, admiring the flashing winter lights decorating the trim of the house.
"God," Clarke groaned, "please don't repeat his catchphrase. I really don't want it to stick."
The music grew louder and louder, until it pounded in Bellamy's ears as they entered the house. There was already a cloud of smoke above the pack of students dancing to repetitive music, that at any other party Bellamy would have enjoyed. But as he looked around, he realized he already lost track of Clarke.
"Dude! You convinced her to come! Unbelievable!" Miller walked up to Bellamy, offering him a beer.
"I know. I can't believe it either. Do you know where she is now?" Bellamy asked, looking about the heads of those that surrounded them.
"Naw, I can't say. But I did see Raven locking lips with Wick, if you can believe that." Miller took a sip of his beer as Bellamy raised his eyebrows. "Yep. Listen, Bellamy, I have something to tell you…" he drifted off as Bellamy gave his best friend his full attention. Miller stared for a second, looking into the distance. "Wait! There's Clarke! Talking to Finn." Miller pointed across the way.
"What? Why?" Bellamy left Miller, pushing Miller's oddness to the back of his mind as he made his way to Clarke. He knew Finn wasn't stupid enough to mention their deal, but he still didn't like the guy. He was a total fuckwad, and should stay away from Clarke.
He stopped before he reached the two, overhearing their conversation.
"Insult me all you want, I know you like what you see," Finn said, licking his lips. Clarke looked at him blankly, eyes dead. No rolling for him.
"Trust me, you're deluding yourself."
"Maybe that's what you think," Finn said. "But I know Octavia digs it."
Clarke stood up straighter. "I know for a fact she does not. So stay away from my sister," she thrust a finger into Finn's chest.
Finn stepped closer to Clarke, looking down at her, dangerously in range of her mouth. He said something Clarke couldn't hear, then departed to the other room. Clarke stayed put for a while, biting her lip. A kid walked up to her, offering some glass, and Clarke snatched one, downing the drink in one go.
"Whoa! Clarke! What's going on?" Bellamy finally got next to her, removing the glassware from her hand.
"Leave me alone," she mumbled, pushing away from Bellamy. She disappeared into the crowd, melding into the pack perfectly with her short height. Bellamy groaned, running his hand through his hair. He made to follow her, or at least try to.
"No, sorry Octavia, I think he's working tonight," Bellamy heard Miller say. In the corner, Bellamy saw O and Miller sharing a beer.
"Darn, I was really hoping Lincoln would be here," she said, looking sad.
This was a development to Bellamy. Octavia definitely did not want to get extra tutoring in. Why was she so interested in Lincoln being here? He was about to shout at them, when Finn walked up to Octavia.
"Hey there, girlie," he said, putting on a winning smile. Octavia looked unimpressed, but then she put on a fake smile of her own.
"Hey," she responded, flicking back her hair. "What's up?"
Now Bellamy was charging towards them. Octavia loved attention, and he knew Finn was willing to give it to her. But not on his watch.
A flash of blonde hair caught his attention, and Bellamy swiveled his head to see Clarke high-tail it out of the main room.
"Clarke!" Bellamy yelled after her, shoving drunk kids out of the way. When he finally got to her, she was sipping on another drink. He tried to take it out of her hand. "What number is this, Clarke?"
She moved it out of his reach. "None of your business," she growled.
Bellamy let out an exasperated sigh. He looked behind him, towards where Octavia and Finn had been, but he didn't spot them. But he couldn't leave Clarke while she was inebriated like this.
"Oh, yeah yeah…"
The famous intro blasted throughout the room.
"Yeah yeah, I think I did it again. I made you believe, we're more than just friends."
Turning back around (really, all this turning was making Bellamy dizzy) Bellamy was dumbstruck. The corner of the room had been cleared, and there was Clarke, dancing on the pole for all she was worth. Why did Wick even have a pole? What the fuck?
"Oh baby, it might seem like a crush, but it doesn't mean, that I'm serious."
Clarke lifted herself in the air, unhooking one of her overall straps. She spun around, and the crowd cheered and whistled for her.
"Bellamy!" Someone punched him in the shoulder, hard, and Bellamy was prepared to kill someone. But it was only Finn, and that would be an unfair fight. "What'd ya do to her? Shit! Look at her go! Nice job!"
"I didn't-" Bellamy started, but Finn dashed off to cheer Clarke on.
"But to lose all of my senses… that is just so typically me!"
Completely upside down, Clarke's hair flowed beneath her, beautiful waves of gold. She lifted her hands out, holding herself up with her legs alone. Bellamy saw with horror that they were relaxing.
"Clarke-no!"
"Oops! I did it again!"
Clarke grabbed the pole with her hands, catching herself before she fell. She hit her head in the process, but she wouldn't show it. She looked at the crowd, basking in the applause. Then she looked dazed, and lost her grip. Bellamy rushed forward, catching her bridal style. The crowd boomed, thinking it was all planned. Bellamy looked at the girl in his arms, who looked like she was just taking an everyday nap. She looked angelic.
"I played with your heart, got lost in the game, oh baby baby. Oops! You think I'm in love, that I'm sent from abooooove… I'm not that innocent!"
Bellamy startled, suddenly remembering a conversation he had with the girl in his hands years ago. It was when Octavia had just started Krav Maga, and had been nailed in the head by a powerful blow. Bellamy wanted to let Octavia rest, but Clarke growled at him, saying that you shouldn't let a potentially concussed person sleep as you needed to monitor their symptoms.
Taking her outside, Bellamy placed her outside on the grass in the backyard. He pushed her hair out of her face. "Clarke, hey Clarke," he said softly. Fluttering her eyes open, she met his in a bit of a haze.
"Bell," she said, just as softly. Bellamy's heart pounded. She had never called him that, and it was doing crazy things to his mind. But he couldn't let himself get distracted.
"Let's sit you up," he said, helping her. She gripped onto his forearm as she followed his lead.
"Whoa, I dunno… I kinda want to lie back down," she said, trying to fall backwards. Bellamy didn't let her.
"Nope! Some annoying woman once told me to keep those with concussions awake," he said.
Clarke looked at him, both confusingly and accusingly. "And who was that?" He swore he heard some jealousy in her voice.
Laughing, he tucked a strand of gold behind her ear. He was so close to her know, able to see the flecks of green in her sparkling blue eyes. They were captivating.
"You," he said, one hand on the back of Clarke's head.
She leaned forward, dangerously close. Bellamy licked his lips. "Your hair is very curly tonight," she said, very serious.
Chuckling, Bellamy pulled away. "Oh, is that so, Princess?"
She nodded, face stoic. She looked in front of her. "Yes. I think I like it better that way. Free!" With that last word, she splayed her hands in front of her, arms outstretched. The force of the movement made her teeter backwards, and Bellamy had to catch her, once again. Back into a sitting position, Clarke clutched her stomach. "I don't…" she tilted her head away from Bellamy, to his relief, and barfed next to her.
When that episode was over with, Bellamy moved them away from the vomit-soaked region. And he finally let Clarke lay on the grass, curled up next to him. She nuzzled her nose in his thigh as he rubbed circles on her back.
Bellamy spotted a figure making its way up the grassy hill, and was pleased to see it was Miller. The boy plopped down next to Bellamy.
"So, about earlier."
"Oh, right," Bellamy said, remembering their conversation. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah, totally fine. It's just, you know how I haven't dated since the whole thing with Sam didn't work out?" Bellamy nodded. "Well, I… do you think it would be weird to date a junior? As a senior?"
Bellamy looked at Miller. "No, of course not. I say do what you want."
Miller smiled, relieved. "Thanks. That means a lot. It's just… he's also one of Octavia's friends. And, I don't know, but…"
"Miller," Bellamy placed a hand on his knee. "Octavia makes great choices with her friends. I am sure they would make a good partner too. Who is is?"
"His name is Monty," Miller said, blushing a bit. "He's also in AP Bio with me." Bellamy smirked, about to make some joke, when Clarke made a noise. She released his leg, only to reach up and grab his shirt in an attempt to pull him closer, which was impossible.
"Was taking care of a drunk girl part of the deal?" Miller asked, glancing at Clarke, who now had an arm wrapped around Bellamy's leg.
Bellamy looked at Clarke. "I'm beginning to think I don't care," he said.
Miller looked at him, stunned. "Bellamy. Don't tell me now you're getting a heart."
Bellamy frowned. "Why the hell not?"
Miller pointed at Clarke. "Because if she finds out, I am afraid of what she'll do to you. Stay safe. And don't worry about Octavia tonight, I'll drive her home." He patted Bellamy on the shoulder, then went to find this Monty he had mentioned.
Bellamy looked at Clarke. Damn. Miller was right. What was happening right now, to Clarke, wasn't orchestrated in her mind. To her, Bellamy was just a nice guy who had her best interests at heart. Which maybe was true, but it wasn't the whole truth.
He had to get her home before he made a bad decision.
In Clarke's old car, Bellamy played music to keep Clarke awake and talking. She knew every song that came on the radio, singing off-tune after shouting out the artist's names. Eventually, and Bellamy doesn't know when, he joined her, a bit embarrassed when she complimented him on his strong baritone.
They sang along to "Closer" by the Chainsmokers as Bellamy pulled up to Clarke's house.
"We ain't never getting older!" Clarke yelled, now completely disregarding any type of musicality in her voice. Bellamy was laughing hard as he fought to get the words out.
Finally, he pushed the off button on the radio. He looked to Clarke, who still seemed to be in her drunk haze. "This is your stop, highness."
She looked at him, a small smile on her face. "I think I like 'Princess' better," she said, closing her eyes and leaning forward.
Bellamy copied her, reaching out to hold her face—
If she finds out, I'm afraid of what she'll do.
Bellamy quickly pulled back, shaking his head. No. He couldn't. One, he was still being paid to take her out. Two, she was drunk. That was wrong on so many levels. But at least she wouldn't remember his rejection.
She won't remember any of this, Bellamy realized, upset.
But when Clarke opened her eyes, not feeling anything on her lips, Bellamy wasn't too sure about that anymore. Fire burned behind the ice, and any indication of alcohol was gone. She seemed scarily sober.
"Perhaps another time, Clarke," Bellamy said, feeling the need to fill the silence. She just stared at him. Then she shook her head, and stormed out of the car, slamming the door behind her.
Bellamy watched in agony as the girl who was nothing like he thought closed him out of her life.