Thanks for all the love everyone! I'm so glad y'all are enjoying the story! So, without further ado…. I present Chapter 3! :D
Chapter 3
Clarke sat on the couch, a book open on her lap. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the heater, the lamp casting a soft glow in the dark living room. Outside the city was beginning to awaken, the sun banishing the bleary grey of early morning with its cheery golden rays.
She was unaccustomed to this, the peace of daybreak. However today she was the early bird for the first time in the three weeks since Bellamy had moved in. In that time she'd learned a few things about her roommate, the first being that he was coldly polite until he warmed up to his surroundings, which took all of one week.
After that he started making himself at home, grouching about the wrinkle in their newspaper while cooking her eggs in the mornings. He was an amazing cook, and was singlehandedly trying to break her of the bad habit of leaving the house with nothing but a granola bar and a to-go cup of coffee.
"It's not healthy," he'd lectured one morning, waving his spatula around while he tried to make his point.
"Fine, no more granola bars. Are you happy? Will that make you stop," Clarke begged, grinning when he huffed and mumbled something about her fixing her own breakfast.
She looked down at her book, cringing when his door banged open. She could already tell that this was going to be one of his bad days, and she dreaded it. He'd gotten little sleep last night, and she knew because she hadn't either.
Her past had come back to haunt her, flitting through her dreams like some kind of ghost. She'd relived the terrible time surrounding her father's death, waking to her own choking sobs that she quickly tried to muffle.
Clarke watched as he rounded the corner shirtless, sweat pants slung low on his hips- one pants leg hiked up to his knee. His hair was wild, curls sticking out at odd angles all over his head, and dark purple smudges beneath his eyes.
He made his way to the coffee pot, kicking the cabinet when he found it empty.
"Can you not make coffee," he practically yelled, roughly scooping out the black grounds and filling the glass pot with water.
"Yep, but not with that thing. Last time I checked coffee was your job," Clarke snapped, not in the mood for his temper.
They argued a lot, both of them filled to the brim with anger and needing a release. They'd quickly discovered that their roommate could take the barbed insults and throw them right back.
"You'd starve without me! You know that," Bellamy groused, already grabbing for a skillet and the carton of eggs out of the fridge.
"Would not," Clarke retorted, "Granola bars-"
"Don't even say it," Bellamy hissed, "Those things are going to clog up your arteries! Whoever decided to cover them in chocolate and peanut butter should be ashamed! They're supposed to be healthy, not an oat filled candy bar!"
"I never knew you cared," Clarke said mockingly, one hand over her heart as she feigned surprise.
"Ha-ha-ha," Bellamy taunted, turning back to the stove with a huff.
"You gotta work tonight," Clarke called, tired of arguing for the moment.
"No, do you," Bellamy asked, his voice calm once more.
"I start teaching the art course at the gallery today, and then I've got to work at Grounder's until six," she told him, setting aside her book.
"I'll be sure to wait up then," Bellamy said flippantly.
"You do that, stud," Clarke laughed, coming to lean against the counter near where Bellamy worked at the stove.
"Yeah, and don't you forget it," Bellamy said with a wink, causing Clarke to roll her eyes.
"Sure," Clarke said, swiping a pinch from a bowl of freshly shredded cheese, "I'm gonna take a shower."
"I wanted you out of my kitchen anyway," Bellamy said snootily, "It's impossible to get anything done with you harping in my ear."
Clarke laughed at this, flicking his ear as she walked away.
To many people their relationship would probably be deemed unhealthy, or strange, and to be honest it was probably both. They fought like cats and dogs, and when they weren't fighting they were curled up on their respective sides of the couch, he watching one of his beloved history documentaries and she with her beloved sketchbook.
True they'd only known each other for all of three weeks, but to Clarke it felt like a lot longer. She wasn't ready to say they were best friends, but they were definitely something.
She'd told him about her family just the other night over a plate of his marvelous spaghetti. She didn't tell him all of the sordid details, just about her growing up years and her parents. She didn't mention how it all fell apart.
Clarke didn't take long in the shower, knowing Bellamy would want to take a super hot one after she was done. Some days she wondered if the man even used any cold water.
She toweled off when she was done, braiding her blonde hair down her back after dressing simply in a pair of light wash jeans and her black Grounder's t-shirt. When she made it back to the kitchen she found a plate of eggs and toast complete with a mug of coffee sitting on the table for her.
Clarke shook her head, hoping Bellamy had a good day- he deserved one. She was out the door before he was, glaring at Earl as she passed where the man leaned casually against the door of his apartment.
"Morning Larkey," Earl said, far too chipper.
"Morning," Clarke groused, passing him by without a second glance.
She walked to the bus stop, knowing Bellamy would probably be out in a few moments. Sure enough, five minutes later he was stalking down the steps hat under his arm and his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.
He looked handsome in his uniform, the deep blue material doing nothing to hide his musculature. His curls were tamed somewhat, blowing this way and that in the cold breeze.
"This thing runs later and later every day," Bellamy grumbled as he came to stand beside her.
"No, it runs the same time every day. Indra's never late," Clarke said, rubbing her hands together in a desperate move to warm them.
Bellamy simply grunted, his gaze scanning the busy street in search of the big blue and white bus. He gave a relieved sigh when the bus pulled up, patiently waiting for her to board first before following.
"Thank goodness," he said as they took a seat, "Kane'll have my head if I'm late."
"You late," Clarke said with a gasp, "That's unimaginable!"
And in truth it was. Bellamy's military background made him perfectly punctual. That was one perk, Clarke was never late because he had them both up and moving at a decent hour every morning mainly because she'd found she couldn't sleep through his grumbling and clanging in the kitchen.
They sat in comfortable silence until Clarke's stop came up.
"I'll see you tonight," she said, getting up to disembark.
"I'll drop by at lunch with Miller," Bellamy called after her.
"Sounds good! See you then," Clarke had to yell back, already standing on the sidewalk.
Indra gave her a dirty look, to which the little blonde simply shrugged with a guilty grin, waving as the bus pulled away.
The little gallery had been the only place where she'd been able to sell any of her pieces. The owner, Lincoln, was a nice guy and he offered fair prices. He'd asked her to give an art class, and since she and Bellamy needed the money she'd agreed.
"Hello," Clarke called, stepping into the brightly lit entry.
Lincoln stuck his head out of his office, smiling brightly, "Good morning, Clarke. Thanks again for doing this."
"I really don't mind, and the money doesn't hurt," she chuckled.
"I remember those days," Lincoln smiled, "Starving artist is never fun."
"Well my roommate won't let me starve, but he hates our apartment so the sooner we can get out the better," Clarke shrugged.
"Well let's get you started then," Lincoln said as he led her back to a small studio, "You'll have a group of adults in the morning two days a week."
"I can handle that," she nodded, glancing around the tidy space. There were chairs and easels set up, supplies lining the shelves along one wall. She could definitely do this.
"If you need anything just yell," Lincoln grinned, "They'll be here in about an hour." He left her with a wave, leaving her to wait for her students.
She walked to the front of the room, taking a seat on the worn stool that sat before an easel set with a large drawing pad. She racked her brain, trying to decide on a starting point. She wanted something simple, but nothing that would bore them.
Of their own accord Clarke's fingers reached for the graphite pencil lying on the easel ledge. She allowed her mind to work out her plan of attack while her hands created soft strokes that slowly began to take shape.
Thirty minutes later a face stared back at her from the stiff paper- soft, dark curls framing an angular face, soulful eyes, and a small smirk she wished would appear more often. He was beautiful, artistically speaking- the perfect model.
Clarke had no time to ponder on her choice of subject as her students began to arrive. As the room filled, she found herself slightly astonished. She didn't know what she'd expected, but it definitely wasn't this.
At the front, giggling like a pair of school girls, were two older women who had to be in their eighties. Their hair had a blue tint, eyes crinkling with their smiles, and bony, wrinkled hands. They both gave her bright smiles as she passed, introducing themselves as Hazel and Trish.
Next Clarke shook hands with an elderly man, his tweed golf cap tipped back as he grinned at her.
"Chuck Williams," he held out his hand.
"Clarke Griffin," she said, surprised at his grip.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Griffin," Chuck nodded with a wink, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
Clarke gave him a soft smile, moving on to her last row of students. Two middle-aged women whispered back and forth, makeup caked on their faces. It looked like they'd applied their eye shadow with a butter knife, and she didn't see how they held their eyes open.
"Ladies," she greeted as she passed.
"I thought the owner would be teaching this class."
Clarke fought the urge to laugh out loud, "No, Lincoln's busy with gallery business so I offered to take over the course."
"Oh, well then I don't think I'm interested," one huffed, grabbing her purse and marching to the door as the other woman followed in her wake.
Clarke shrugged, finishing her introductions with a young woman who looked to be about her age.
"Hi, I'm Clarke," she said with a warm smile.
The woman looked skittish, her light brown eyes filled with uncertainty as her hands twisted anxiously in her lap. She had a soft face, her reddish brown curls brushing her cheeks. She looked young, and afraid.
"Charlotte," the woman replied with a tiny smile.
"I'm happy you're here, Charlotte," Clarke said before making her way back up to her easel, "Alright everyone, I thought today we could begin with shading."
She turned her easel around so they could easily see the portrait she'd drawn of Bellamy. She grinned at the mystified gazes of her female students; even Charlotte seemed a bit awed.
For the next hour she taught them different shading techniques and how to properly use them. She had them draw different shapes, then use the things she'd just taught them to create different affects.
Clarke circled the room, giving advice and offering praise. This was more fun than she ever could have dreamed. Already she was attached to them, her fledgling artists. Hazel was all bold lines and dramatic plunges, Chuck used a classic approach, Trish was the very essence of a perfectionist, and Charlotte had a quiet talent that she couldn't wait to develop.
She was sad to see the time pass, waving goodbye as the group exited with waves and promises to see her on Friday. She cleaned up, straightening the supplies before grabbing her things and making her way to the lobby.
"Well how was the first day," Lincoln asked from the doorway of his office.
"It was amazing," Clarke sighed, "Way more fun than I'd expected."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I would've done it, but I thought you could use the outlet," Lincoln said, a knowing look in his dark eyes.
"Well I think you called this one Coach," Clarke winked, "I'll see you Friday, if not before, I have to get to work."
"Bye, Clarke, and thanks again," Lincoln called after her.
Thankfully Grounder's was a short walk from the gallery, which made both places handy for Clarke. She pushed the old door, the jangle of the bell above announcing her arrival.
Clarke hung her coat on the metal rack Wick had made several months ago in anticipation of the winter months. She could hear Raven muttering to herself in the office, probably grouching about one of her suppliers again.
"Hey Rae," Clarke called, slipping on her apron and grabbing a rag to clean tables.
"Hey," Raven answered, her words garbled by the pencil that was probably clenched between her teeth.
The bell jingled alerting Clarke to her first customer of the day. She looked up, her gaze connecting with that of a handsome guy probably a little older than Bellamy.
He was rugged, five o'clock shadow shading his chiseled jaw. His eyes were a grayish blue, sharp and missing nothing. He was broad shouldered, and basically the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.
"Can I get a large black coffee please," he asked, a barely there smile gracing his lips.
"Sure, one black coffee coming up. It'll be $3.50," Clarke said before pouring him a steaming Styrofoam cup of dark liquid.
"Thanks-," the guy said, obviously looking for her name.
"Clarke," she supplied, "With an 'e'."
"Well, it was nice to meet you Clarke with an 'e'," he said with a flirtatious wink.
Clarke just smiled, and jumped when Raven came up behind her, "Who was that?"
"Gosh Rae! Don't do that," Clarke hissed.
"Sorry," Raven said without one note of apology, "Who was that?"
Clarke answered with a roll of her eyes, "He's no one."
"That didn't sound like 'no one'. You two sounded pretty chummy," Raven said crossing her arms over her chest.
"He's just a guy who likes to flirt," Clarke said with a shrug, "and I like the attention, so I don't really see the problem."
"What's your roommate going to think," Raven asked dryly.
Clarke scoffed, "Bellamy won't care."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Raven muttered under her breath.
"What did you say," Clarke glowered.
"Nothing," Raven said innocently, "So, is a certain cop coming in for coffee today?"
"Miller? Yeah he's coming," Clarke said cheekily.
"You know who I'm talking about," Raven said in exasperation.
"You really need help, Reyes. You're married, that means you don't get to look anymore," Clarke said with a raised brow.
"I'm married, Clarke," Raven replied, "I'm not dead."
Clarke laughed, "True that, and yes he said that he and Miller might drop by for lunch."
"They're good people Clarke, I like good people," Raven shrugged.
"Yeah, especially when they're as pretty as Bell," Clarke smirked.
"Aha! I knew it," Raven blurted.
"You're making something out of nothing," Clarke said, scrubbing at a stain on her counter, "We're just close."
"Yeah right, and I'm the Queen of Sheba," Raven groused, "Get your act together sweetie, men like that don't come along every day."
"We're friends, Rae! Nothing more," Clarke yelled after her friend as the other woman disappeared back into the office.
However, as the day wore on Clarke found herself watching the door. After every jingle, she would look up- some part of her hoping that Bellamy would be walking in.
When one o'clock rolled around and Bellamy still hadn't appeared, Clarke was beginning to get worried. She tried to show it, but as the hours dragged on she became more afraid.
She knew his job was dangerous, and everyday she feared that something would happen. The logical part of her said it was just because she didn't want to go through the hassle of finding a new roommate, but another part of her knew that she cared for the infuriating man more than she cared to admit.
It felt like six would never roll around, as Clarke split her time from staring at the door and staring at the clock. On her lunch break she'd nearly called the precinct to check on him but then thought better of it.
She didn't want to embarrass him, and she kept telling herself that if something had happened then she would have been notified. She'd become his emergency contact ten minutes after he moved in because "he didn't have anyone else."
Raven took pity on her at five-thirty and let her go early.
"Get out of here. You're depressing the customers," Raven said with a shake of her head.
"Thanks Rae," Clarke said, hugging her friend tight before grabbing her coat and running to the bus stop.
That was the longest ride home she'd ever experienced. Her mind seemed to conjure every possible worst-case scenario. She saw Bellamy bleeding, his skin pale, a gaping hole in his chest.
By the time the bus stopped she was a nervous wreck, scrambling down the steps and running down the sidewalk to Mount Weather. Her fingers shook as she opened the door, her footfalls echoing loudly as she raced up the steps.
She didn't think she'd ever get the door to the apartment open, and when the silly thing did budge she was plunged into darkness. Not a single light was on, the blinds closed, and nothing but inky silence greeted her.
"Bellamy," Clarke called softly, flipping on a light.
When she saw him, it took her breath away. He sat on the couch, his uniform rumpled. His shirt was un-tucked and unbuttoned, his white shirt a stark contrast against his tan skin.
"Are you ok," she asked softly, watching as he turned his tortured gaze upon her.
"I'm fine," Bellamy said, his voice stiff and unfeeling.
"Are you sure, you don't look-"
"What do you think, Clarke," Bellamy exploded, "Do I look sure?"
"No, you look terrible," Clarke said concerned, ignoring his flare of temper.
"Well I've had a terrible day," Bellamy replied darkly.
"Tell me, maybe I can help," Clarke said, stepping closer.
He seemed to think about it for a moment, "No, you wouldn't understand."
"I don't know, I might," Clarke inched closer.
Bellamy gave a mirthless laugh, "What would a princess like you know about it, huh?"
The venom in his tone made Clarke feel like she'd been slapped, "A princess like me?"
"Yeah," Bellamy growled, warming to his subject, "You don't have to slum it, Princess. You could call Daddy, and he'd come and pull you out of this dump. But this… This dump is my life! I didn't grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I had to work for what I've got."
Clarke stared at him in shock, "Is that what you think of me?! That I'm some privileged brat slumming it to prove a point?!"
"That's the truth isn't it," Bellamy snarled, "Mommy and Daddy wouldn't do what you wanted so you're trying to teach them a lesson."
Clarke felt a scorching anger rise up within her, causing her hands to fist at her sides as she glared at the man before her.
"That's not true," she said, refusing to let her hurt show.
"Oh it's true, Clarke. I know you," Bellamy hissed, "So why don't you just call Daddy and tell him to come and get you. You've proved your point, now it's time for the princess to return to her tower."
Clarke felt something shatter within her, his words piercing her heart like jagged pieces of glass. For a moment she was sure she must be bleeding, the ache in her chest intensifying at the thought that this was how he viewed her- this was how he'd seen her all along.
At first she was going to walk away, but then she turned back to face him.
"You know what, Bellamy. I can't call Daddy," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Because Daddy's dead and Mommy's to blame."
The look of shock that bloomed on his features brought her some satisfaction, an apology on the tip of his tongue before she cut him off.
"Yeah, you heard right. My mother got my dad killed. So, if you consider my leaving that situation trying to prove a point, then you're right Bellamy. I'm trying to prove that I don't need that woman. I don't need her trying to run my life and telling me that what happened wasn't her fault," Clarke gave a shuddering sob, sighing as she closed her eyes, "Don't pretend to know me, Bellamy. I let you have your secrets, so don't pretend to know mine."
She left him standing alone in the living room, the hollow echo of her slamming door making the apartment feel empty and cold. She fell onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. She heard him come to her door several times, but he never knocked- never said a word. Finally she cried herself to sleep, troubled and light.
Clarke didn't know what time it was, or even where she was when the first scream split the air. She fumbled for her phone, scared and disoriented. The screen read two forty-five, and she wanted to yell for Bellamy but she reminded herself that she was still angry with him.
By the second scream she felt a painful dread because she recognized it, terrified and tortured though it was. She scrambled from her bed, racing into the living room.
Clarke found him writhing, tangled in a blanket on the couch. His eyes were closed, a look of agony marring his features.
She didn't think she just wanted his suffering to end. She ran to him, laying a hand on his shoulder as she tried to shake him awake- all the while calling his name.
One minute she was upright, the next she was beneath him with his hands around her neck as he tried to choke the life out of her. She gasped his name, trying to pull at his hands as her vision became rimmed in darkness.
Suddenly his grip loosened, his eyes clearing. He crawled away from her, curling up into a sad little ball in the far corner of the sofa. Looking at him, Clarke felt some of her anger drain away.
"I'm so sorry, Clarke," he croaked.
He looked so small as he pressed himself into the cushions at the far end of the couch. His bronze skin was sallow, and his eyes were shut tight as he rocked back and forth probably trying to rid his mind of the images that haunted him.
"Bellamy, I-" Clarke reached out, laying a hand on his arm.
Bellamy started violently, shrinking away from her, "No, Clarke! I don't want to hurt you anymore. Those things I said, I had no right to speak to you that way."
"You're right, you didn't," she said softly, "You sounded like you really hated me."
She watched as his head fell back, a tortured sigh rattling his chest, "Right now you're all I have, and I don't want to lose you even if I don't deserve you. So, I could never hate you Clarke. I hate myself. I'm a monster."
Clarke felt an overwhelming need to touch him. She gently placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were wild with fear, but she had to make him understand.
"I've done some terrible things. I've killed people, Clarke," he sobbed, breaking her heart.
"Stop," Clarke shushed him, "If you need forgiveness, I'll give that to you. You're forgiven, Bellamy."
She wasn't sure how long they sat like that, Bellamy sobbing- his hot tears rolling down her neck. She held him tight- held him together when she knew he was falling apart. She didn't let go even when her back started to ache and her eyes burned with exhaustion.
When his tears were spent, she moved to go but his hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist.
"Stay," his dark eyes begged her.
"Ok," Clarke nodded, laying down beside him.
She'd meant to stay only until he fell asleep, but he was warm and she was too tired to walk back to bed. So, she allowed sleep to drag her under- cuddling into Bellamy's side as her eyes drifted shut.
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