Bellamy and Murphy walked the couple miles to the Gas Station/Convenience Store in search of their "dire necessities" (Cigarettes, cheetos and tequila). It was the kind of place that, at night, was lit only by street lights and sickly fluorescents. It was the kind of place that didn't ask for I.D and only sold knock of brands of junk food.
Their pockets were empty, but their hands most certainly were not.
Suddenly a red giant pulled into the vacant parking lot, roaring and humming over its massive wheels. It was the biggest and most pristine truck Bellamy had ever seen. And just the sight of it made him boil. The tinted windows, the shining chrome, whoever drove that thing probably had a couple of vintage Ford's in their garage worth more than Bellamy could ever make in his life.
Then a small blonde angel emerged from the driver's side, all sunglasses and designer flip flops. Bellamy hated angels. Especially rich angels. Whoever that girl was, she embodied everything Bellamy was not and everything Bellamy could never have.
He almost popped the bag of cheetos in his fist.
"Alright," he whispered towards Murphy behind the candy aisle, "Let's get to work."
Bellamy tried to ignore the girl (with her hair piled on her head and her overlarge sunglasses and shit was that a Rollex on her wrist?) as he approached the counter. Murphy continued prowling the distant aisles like a snake.
"Two Tequila's and a Marlboro," he sighed, adding with a hint of indifference, "Reds."
"27.30," the attendant replied without looking up.
The girl appeared behind him, holding a case of cheap beer twice her size.
Bellamy slid a silver credit card, the attendant slid the goods.
When the machine beeped rejection, Bellamy ran a hand through his curls and smiled, "Nice day isn't it?"
The cashier stared at him vacantly, "It's Kauai."
"And your card was denied."
"But not as much rain as usual," Bellamy replied before sending Murphy a suspicious glance.
Clarke was just about done with this guy, who was clearly stalling because he didn't have money. She found herself, a little more than subconsciously, tapping her flip-flops in agitation.
"Leg cramp?" Bellamy raised his eyebrows in her direction.
"Sure," Clarke rolled her eyes around the aisles of junk food and back to this guy's conceded glare.
"Have a little patience, Princess," he smirked, "You'll be speeding away in your Daddy's rental car soon enough-"
There was a crash. Then a laugh. Then a bang.
Murphy had tipped over an entire rack of chips.
"Hey!" The attendant shouted, but Bellamy was already out the door with his plastic bag of vices.
The attendant sighed, watching from the door as the two drifters ran down the street.
"Assholes," Clarke shook her head, leaning her pack of beer on the counter, "I'll pay."
Clarke drove by the two low lives on her way back to camp. They flipped her off (and also called her a bitch, but she couldn't hear over the roar of her speakers). She was okay with helping her fellow lost souls like Octavia, Jasper and Monty, who stole out of need, hunger, and were at least good at heart. These guys made her regret saving their asses by paying their bill at the Gas Station/Convenience Store.
Her newly adopted friends were waiting for her by their designated picnic table, the one at the very edge of the campgrounds, unseen and nestled in the trees. Clarke dropped the beer down with a huff.
"Tavia, you won't believe what just happened at the Gas Station."
"Oh! Did you meet some hot surfers?" Monty guessed.
"No, I bet it was something bad. Were there cops involved?" Jasper wagered from on the top of the table-goggles on his head and a conch shell in his hand.
"Close, but not exactly," Clarke sighed as she pushed back her sunglasses. Her sunburn had finally faded and she was beginning to look more like the average surfer everyday. Her smile wider, hair wavier, cares nonexistent.
"These two guys walked in and completely ransacked the place! They caused a scene so they could steal alcohol or whatever. And no the attendant lady didn't call the police because I paid for what they took… But what kind of assholes just go into a peaceful store like that and destroy it?"
The three of them shared a look across the picnic table. Clarke furrowed her brows above the mini grill.
"What?"
"Was tequila or Marlboro reds involved in this heist?" Asked Octavia.
"Yeah…" Clarke's eyebrows furrowed doubly, "Wait, how did you know that?"
Octavia put her face in her hands in reply.
"Bellamy and Murphy," Jasper laughed, shaking his head.
"Speak of the devils," Monty rolled his eyes at the sound of venomous laughter erupting through the trees.
Clarke wasn't one for dramatics, but her jaw nearly dropped.
It was the Convenience store asshole, aka the thief, aka Octavia's brother. The pale, snaky looking guy lingered behind him, along with another guy Clarke had never seen. They were the type of boys who only came out at night, the kind you crossed the street to get away from. How could someone as sweet as Octavia be sister to that? Well, sweet and strong willed. Now that Clarke thought about it, it almost made sense.
Clarke was having some trouble keeping all the foul words in her mouth. Bellamy on the other hand, was having difficulty picking which one to use.
"Well shit," laughed the pale one. His face was sharp and his laugh invoked no sense of merriment, "It's the Gas Station Queen."
"Princess, actually," Bellamy corrected, sending a wicked glare towards Clarke, "Didn't know people like you associated with people outside of their tax bracket? What are you trying to do? Adopt my sister for charity to ease some of your white guilt?"
At this point, even Octavia's jaw was dropping.
"Excuse me?" Clarke spat.
The tension in the air was almost tangible. Bellamy stood silent, returning Clarke's relentless glare with remarkably indifferent passion. The hotdogs were burning.
"Hey, I'll take over the grill," Monty said, grabbing the tongs and thoroughly avoiding conflict.
The other guy, all dark skin and big smiles, broke into that same venomous laughter from earlier. Clarke was seething.
"Bellamy you can't just talk to Clarke like that," Octavia stood, "You don't even know her!"
"Yeah man, she did buy us beer."
"Miller," Bellamy growled.
"I'm sorry Clarke," Octavia said with haunting disappointment (that made Bellamy question his actions, but only momentarily), "I knew my brother was a dick but I didn't expect him to do… well… whatever the hell this is."
"Octavia," Bellamy said, finally sounding like a big brother instead of some wasted youth character from a 90's movie, "If I had known you were hanging out with her-"
"You know you should really be thanking me right now!" Clarke interrupted. The sky was sanguine and orange and eerily tainted by all the rage Clarke was feeling. If it weren't for the asshole standing in front of her she would have thought it was a beautiful night.
"I paid for all of your shit so they wouldn't called the police! And speaking of…" Clarke continued as she marched toward Miller and Murphy who were watching the conflict from the edge of the picnic table, "I'm gonna have a drink right now."
Clarke grabbed the Tequila from Murphy, who let it go with a shrug, pulled of the cap and downed a shot with one swift movement. She then chased it down with an unclaimed beer and glared down the bottleneck at Bellamy, waiting for some sign of gratitude.
He just rolled his eyes.
"Well then I think that's settled," Murphy mediated, walking between the two to grab a beer, "We owe you one Princess."
"Don't call me Princess," Clarke spat.
"Hand me a beer, Murphy," Bellamy said.
"Me too," Jasper chimed. Then there was a me three and a me four.
Clarke sat in the sand by Octavia, the warm after-affects of tequila already settling in her stomach. With her back to Bellamy and his crew of criminals Clarke could almost pretend she was having a good time.
"Monty, hook me up with a hot dog-No, make that two," Clarke added, looking towards Octavia, "It's gonna be a long night."
And a long night it was. Because by 7, Miller had poured everyone two shots (minus Octavia, who had her drinking privileges revoked after one beer) and by 8 they were on their 5th round. Clarke stayed between Jasper and Monty and laughed with Octavia (and maybe glanced at Bellamy to make sure he was watching). By 9 she didn't care about the boys' insults anymore and by 10 they got bored of spitting them. By 10:30 all seven of the equally drunk and lost delinquents were dancing on the beach to no music at all besides their laughter and the roaring waves of the sea.
Who knew an impromptu barbecue with teenage convicts could be so genuinely enjoyable.
Clarke was singing and then she was spinning. Laughter knocked her to the ground and a hand pulled her up towards the stars. Another twirled her and she felt like joy. Even though the pillars of her life were crumbling she still had her youth. She still had happiness.
Even if it was only for a moment.
By now it could've been 11, but it also could've been 2. Miller, Monty and Jasper were swimming in the dark waves. Bellamy and Murphy were laughing over a cigarette. Clarke and Octavia laid side by side with their eyes on the sky, making constellations with stories of their past. Only good ones like Clarke's first kiss (platonically with Wells) and Octavia's first crush on her roommate (and when she first realized she was bi).
But then Octavia's voice lowered, her lips biting at a secret.
"Did I ever tell you I have a boyfriend?" She whispered.
"What!?" Clarke exclaimed, sitting up so fast it made her dizzy, "Please tell me you didn't leave him to come out here."
"Well it's kinda the opposite," she grinned, "His name is Lincoln."
"So is he here, on Kauai!?"
"He's from here," Octavia smiled inwardly. The kinda smile someone makes when they're thinking of funny memories or people they love. "I met him back home and he promised me a place if we ever came out here. And here we are," she smiled towards Clarke now, gesturing towards the beach and the sky and the sea.
Clarke laid her head back down beside Octavia's, "Does Bellamy know?"
"Of course. Lincoln is the sort of secret everyone knows, but no one talks about."
It sounded bitter but Octavia smiled on.
"Seventeen and in love?" Clarke reflected, "That's pretty dangerous."
"Tell me about it," O grinned, "But also pretty lucky. I mean he's the one who got us our camping permits, and tents, and food at first. But he's not much better off than we are."
"And once Bellamy figured out we were together he… well, let's just say he deterred Lincoln a little bit. So hungry I am. Man sometimes I hate my brother's pride."
"Tell me about it," Clarke laughed, "Why would Bellamy be mad though, if Lincoln was helping you guys out?"
"Because Bellamy's protective, and," Octavia added with a hint of reluctance, "Lincolns 22."
"WHAT!" Clarke screamed playfully.
"Goddamnit Clarke!" Octavia laughed, "Calm down!"
"He's 22 and you're 17! You could've mentioned that sooner!"
Octavia buried her face in her hands (she had a blush to match Clarke's, except hers was from embarrassment rather than alcohol).
"I'm sure he's an amazing guy," Clarke slurred.
And with a sudden shout, their drunken heart to heart came to an end. What used to be lighthearted voices was now shouting curses, and what once was starlight had now turned into harsh flashlight beams. Octavia and Clarke sat up to see a pair of cops screaming at none other than Bellamy Blake.
"Octavia, run," Clarke's voice dropped, "Go start the truck."
Another shout broke through the sound of rushing waves and Octavia was in a full sprint at the sight of her brother face to face with a police officer.
Fuck.
"It's a misdemeanor to be drinking on this campground," spat the cop, "And worse to be drinking underage."
"I'm 21," Bellamy said, taking a menacing step closer to the cop, "I can drink where I want."
"Can she?" The police officer asked, pointing to little Octavia who was now by her brother's side.
"Octavia," Bellamy pleaded, "Stay out of this."
"I want to know what's going on!"
"What's going on is these assholes over here think that just because they're in uniform they can take away our rights!" Murphy shouted, only slurring his words a little, but the sway in his stance made his state of intoxication more than clear to see.
"The hell did you just call me? I'm going to need to see your permits kid."
"Not only do they take away our rights." Bellamy exclaimed, voice full of unrelenting pride, "but they think they can control everything! This is public beach, this is for the people!"
"Unfortunately, this beach is not for disrespectful drunks, you're going to need to leave."
"Girl how old are you?" The other cop asked Octavia.
"Were not leaving."
"I haven't been drinking so it's none of your damn business."
"I don't want to have to use force."
"I am a police officer and I asked you a question!"
"Well if you want us to leave, you better make us."
It was a storm. An explosion of hands and curses and sand. One cop had Octavia's wrist. The other, Bellamy's hair.
Octavia was screaming and Bellamy was punching and when he went down Murphy and Miller took his place. They brought the cop to his knees in seconds and Clarke turned away before things got too brutal.
"Jasper, Monty!" Clarke yelled, "Get to the truck, now!"
Then she too was a storm.
"Get your hands off of her!" Clarke screamed, her heart raging as she pushed the cop away from Octavia. He was strong, but she was quick, even in her drunken state. And against her better lack of judgment Clarke drew her hand into a fist and punched the cop square in the jaw. But her rage didn't stop, she punched him in the throat, kneed him in the chest. It was against everything Clarke stood for, but what did she have to stand for anymore?
But then he was on top of her, and Clarke couldn't tell which stars were real and which were only her mind as he punched her not once, but twice. Blood fought its way down her cheek, down her throat, and in a drunken comparison of what her life was and what it had become Clarke found herself laughing at her very state of her existence.
Then the cop was gone. No, not gone, but tackled to the ground by Bellamy.
"The tazer!" Clarke managed to scream.
There was a spark, and then there was silence.
Then there was the wailing of a distant police car.
Clarke, Bellamy, Miller and Murphy were paralyzed, for one breathless moment, looking down at the unconscious cops. At least Clarke hoped they were unconscious.
"Get their guns," Clarke nodded at Miller and Murphy.
"I guess were even now," Bellamy said towards Clarke. His eyes met hers, still wild from the adrenaline of the fight. He had a bloody lip to match her nose.
Clarke nodded (she didn't really know what else to do).
"Now get your things and run."
They managed to make it out before back up arrived. The whole night had turned into some psychotic fever dream, full of smoke and laughter and blood.
Murphy was asleep against the backseat window. Miller was beside him looking stone and cold at nothing in particular. Monty sat somewhere between Jasper and Miller's lap and was trying not to act as uncomfortable as he felt.
"Where are we going," Bellamy said through the shirt he was using to treat his lip. He had finally asked the million dollar question. Octavia really did look small as she peered over the steering wheel, the road seeming ominous and wild in the wake of the night's events.
"Good question," Clarke said who was sitting between the Blakes and also using a towel to remedy her bloody nose.
Octavia took a right turn into nowhere. In fact, she had driven straight of the road and into the trees.
"Were going somewhere safe," Octavia said after a minute, "Lincoln showed it to me."
Both Clarke and Bellamy were to bruised and tired, and quite frankly, drunk, too care. By the time Octavia pulled into the clearing, even Clarke was asleep. Her head slumped to one side with bloodstains still on her chin. Octavia laid her head against the steering wheel and sighed.
The world had always worked spinelessly against them, but these kids knew how to fight back. And when they fought, they fought with a vengeance. So if the world wouldn't take them as they were, then Clarke and her band of delinquents were damn well going to make a world of their own.
