Hey guys! I'm back with a new chapter! Thanks again for all of those awesome comments/reviews! They literally give me life and also give me direction of how this story will continue to unfold. It's been so much fun going on this ride with you, and thanks again for those who have stuck by this story, and those who have joined along the way. Very grateful!
Onto the good stuff - packed chapter ahead. Enjoy. xo.
i.
Clarke presses her lips together, tapping her finger along the rim of her glass. She's screwed. They're screwed - and not in the way she likes. Not in the way that makes her legs tremble with every touch; but in that stupid, frustrating way that makes her fist clench at her sides and her mouth twitch in irritation.
Because they're screwed. Octavia and Raven know something and - oh fuck, they're screwed.
She sighs, leaning her elbows onto the bar. It isn't busy; which is a surprise since midterms have just finished, but she's glad, because she wants to stress alone, wants to curse her friends for being curious bastards with only vodka cranberries as her therapists.
But then a man settles onto the stool beside her, and she slumps further in her seat.
"Midterms are over, Blondie. What's the trouble?"
Clarke turns to him, prepared to tell him to find another girl to piss off. But she hesitates, his eyes a familiar brown and his voice a tone she's heard before. She tilts her head, pointing a finger at him.
"I know you," she mumbles. And she snaps her fingers when he grins. "Miller, right?"
He nods. "Yeah. Clarke. I've seen you at the house before."
"That's right. I'm the idiot who used to date Finn."
Miller narrows his eyes. "Or you mean he's the idiot who cheated on you."
Clarke laughs. It feels nice to know that other people have realized what a soul-suffocating bastard Finn is. She exhales and brings the glass to her lips, taking a sip before turning to him again.
"Was that a compliment?" she muses. "I didn't know nice guys existed in frat houses."
"Not nice. Just gay," he tells her.
She squints her eyes at him. "You're gay? That's - " she gasps, slamming her palm on the counter. "I knew I saw you hooking up with Monty that one night! That was totally you, wasn't it?"
He chuckles. "Yeah, but that's still a secret."
"Oh, right." She nods, tilting the glass to her mouth. "I'm guessing that's why you're here."
"Sam as you. You know, since you're the one that's been boning Blake for months."
Clarke coughs, cursing into her drink, and he shrugs.
"His room is next to mine," he explains. "I hear you guys argue more than I hear you bang."
She presses her mouth together, because - God damn it, they're not as careful as she thought. He looks at her, an amusement grin stretched on his features, and she bites on her bottom lip.
"Nobody knows," she tells him.
He nods. "Yeah. I get why." Whistling low, he shakes his head. "That's one hell of an awkward situation."
"I know, right? I'm glad you understand."
"I do. But - " The bartender walks towards them, and he waves him for a drink. "It's worth it, isn't it? Sex is great."
Clarke hums in agreement. "I love sex."
"And the sneaking around? So much hotter."
Her eyes widen. "It does make it interesting."
Miller chuckles, reaching for his glass as the bartender places it in front of him. He runs his finger along the rim and lifts it from the counter, turning to Clarke and tipping it towards her.
"To forbidden sex," he announces.
She smiles, tapping her glass against his. "To forbidden sex."
And when she takes the drink, she forgets, just for a moment, how completely screwed she still is.
ii.
Clarke groans when she enters her room, and she peels off her sweater, collapsing on her bed.
It's late, quiet, and her body is sore from maximum stress and minimum sleep. She lifts her head, swearing when she feels an ache in her skull, and she curses Miller for his insistence on drinking more vodka cranberries while sharing terrifying sex stories.
She remembers having the second drink after he told her about almost being caught in the laundry room, pants down and Monty's shirt off, but then after that - well, yeah, she's not exactly sure.
God damn it, Miller.
She sighs, pushing herself off the bed (she almost falls, but - that's not important) and stumbling towards her dresser. Her fingers tug at the hem of her top and she peels it from her body, laying it on the top -
There's a movement in the corner of her room, and Clarke screams, clutching the sweater to her chest. She hears cursing, ruffling, and then Raven stands from behind her desk, hands raised above her head.
"Clarke it's - ow, you hit me!" Raven steps forward, grabbing her wrist. "I said calm down, Tiny Tank."
Clarke pulls her arm from her grasp. "Calm down? You calm down," she hisses, and oh God, her heart feels like it's exploding, and she's fainting - is she fainting? "What the fuck are you doing in here?"
Raven shrugs. "Stakeout. What are you doing home so late?" She squints her gaze, and she leans forward, sniffing her sweater. "Oh, my God. Are you drunk?"
"Sh. Too many questions," she grumbles. "I just want to eat chips and get some God damn sleep."
"Sleep? You sure that's all your doing?"
Clarke groans, pressing her forehead against the dresser.
"O! You can come out now," Raven calls. "Clarke's lover isn't here. And she's drunk."
"I'm not drunk."
There's a rustle of movement, and Octavia stumbles from the closet, her hair tangled in the hangers. A loose skirt hangs on the length of her arm, and she drags it from her shoulder, dropping it onto the floor.
"Thank God," she gasps. "Those clothes were suffocating me."
Clarke stares at her. "O, why the - " She closes her mouth, breathing deeply and rubbing her fingers against her temples. "You guys are insane. Did you know that? You're insane."
"And you're clearly drunk," Octavia concludes.
"I'm not - "
"Griffin," Raven groans. "Just tell us who you're sleeping with."
"No one!"
"It's totally that guy from those parties," Octavia says, dismissing her. "That one with the blonde hair. We went to high school with him, I think."
Raven scoffs. "Dax? No way." She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the dresser. Octavia taps her finger against her chin. "I think it's the guy from the bar. Remember him? He was so cute."
Clarke grunts, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her head still hurts, and she curses Miller and those vodka cranberries, curses Raven and Octavia for being so God damn nosy; hates Bellamy for making it so damn difficult to sneak around with him when all she wants to do is rip his clothes off every chance she gets.
So, yeah, they're still completely screwed.
iii.
Clarke curses as she enters Bellamy's truck, shutting the passenger's door closed behind her.
"Remind me again why you texted me at three in the morning, and not even for a booty call."
She huffs, avoiding his question as she pulls the sweater tighter around her body. She scrambles onto the seat, groaning as the seatbelt wraps around her shoulder, and Bellamy watches her from behind the steering wheel, his eyebrows raised in amusement.
"You drunk, Griffin?" he teases.
"I'm not - " she presses her lips together and settles her hands against the dashboard. "Okay. Can you just - do you mind getting this seatbelt off me? I don't know where it unplugs."
He laughs and reaches forward, untangling the seatbelt from her chest.
"Thank you," she mumbles, and she breathes deeply, leaning into the leather. "Now hear me out. I texted you for a very, very important reason."
"Get to it."
Clarke raises an eyebrow. "Grumpy, are you?"
"Not grumpy," he whispers, tilting his head against the seat. "Just tired."
"I'll be quick. Just - Okay, remember when I told you that Gina knew about us?"
Bellamy rolls his eyes. "Not true, but yes."
"Well, that might be the least of our worries."
He looks at her, gaze narrowing in the dimness of his truck. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Clarke sighs, because she doesn't even God damn know either. She leans forward and adjusts in the seat, her legs folding over the leather as she turns towards him. He watches her, entertained, and she glances at the window, eyes widening when -
"Clarke?"
She surges forward and places her hands on his shoulders, shoving him below the seat.
"Are you - " he groans, and she looks at him, their faces hovering at the armrest. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Improvising," she tells him.
"Improvising? Clarke. You're making it difficult to keep up, here."
She chews on her bottom lip. She peeks her head above the rim of the window, squinting into the darkness. There's a movement, and she curses when she notices the outline of a shadow behind the bushes, rustling against the leaves.
She drops her forehead against the armrest.
"They follow me everywhere," she grumbles.
Bellamy leans further up his seat. "Who - "
"No! Don't move." She wraps her hand around the back of his head, stilling him. "It's Raven, and your damn sister; they think I'm sleeping with someone and they've been," she sighs heavily, "investigating."
He presses his lips together. "Well. They're not wrong."
"Exactly. Which is why we need to be careful."
He breathes longingly, looking at her in the darkness of his truck. His face is close to hers, and she can see the freckles that tint his skin, can see the twitch of his mouth. He leans back, peeling her fingers from the skin on his neck and shifting upwards on the seat.
"Bell," she hisses. "They'll see you."
He waves her off. "Relax your drunk ass, Griffin."
He lifts himself onto the leather, settling behind the steering wheel of the car. His eyes narrow out the window, and there's a low curse, his tone rough, and he shakes his head in bewilderment.
"For God's sakes."
Clarke bites on her bottom lip. "What?"
"It's a damn cat."
She raises her eyebrows, her fingers digging into the leather as she climbs onto the seat. She leans over him, her hand clasping his shoulder as she stares out the window; searching, searching, searching and - oh. She see's it now.
"Oops," she murmurs. He drops his forehead on her shoulder. "I mean it's got a long tail, could totally resemble Octavia's hair."
Bellamy blows low against her ear. "Nice try."
She exhales, shifting to settle her elbows on the armrest. He watches her in disbelief, gaze bright and weary, but she can see the hint of a grin on his lips, can see how hard he's trying to hide it.
She tightens her mouth together. "This is still a problem, you know."
"I know," he mumbles, glancing at the ceiling of his truck. "But we can't do anything about it tonight. So, how about you get your drunk ass to bed? And I'll get my tired ass to bed. And we can deal with it when we can."
"I'm not drunk," she sighs, and he chuckles. She looks at him. "You're not even going to try and sex me up? That's new."
Bellamy shrugs. "Midterms are finally over. I'll get back to sexing you up once I catch up on some sleep."
She hums, her gaze brightening the darkness of his truck. She reaches forward, taking the hem of his shirt between her hands and rubbing the material along her fingers. She glances up at him, watching him watch her, his eyes dark.
"I'm not too sure," she whispers, slipping her palm against the heat of his toned stomach. "This may be the last time you have your chance if Raven and your sister are going to be following me everywhere."
He groans. "Clarke."
"I'm just saying," she mumbles, and she shrugs. "My window's always open."
(He crawls through her window seven minutes later, and - oh, Miller's so right. It's worth it).
iv.
"What about Sterling? It could be Sterling."
Clarke breathes deeply, dipping the stirring stick into her latte and mixing it amongst the overflowing foam. Raven leans into her chair, arms crossed over her chest as she consider's Octavia's theory.
She purses her lips. "Not Sterling," she concludes, and she glances at Clarke. "Griffin's lover clearly has the skills to sexually satisfy her. Sterling can't do that. I hear he has a small dick."
Octavia raises an eyebrow. "Who told you that?"
"Echo."
"Echo's full of shit," Octavia tells her.
Raven shrugs. "Maybe. You have to talk to her when she's drinking beer, not wine." She taps her fingers along the table in the coffee shop, scrunching her nose. "Plus, Harper told me the exact same thing."
"Poor kid. Maybe he has nice hands," Octavia offers.
"That's not good enough. Clarke's hard to please."
Octavia sighs. "Very true." She looks at Clarke and shakes her head in amusement. "You're a walking bundle of nerves, impossible to unwind. The guy you're sleeping with must have the - "
Clarke's eyes widen, and she claps her hands together; smiling tightly.
"How about we talk about something else, yeah?" She leans her elbows on the table and wiggles her eyebrows. "Let's educate ourselves. Discuss the weather. Say what we love about each other."
Raven rolls her eyes. Octavia feigns a yawn.
"You're just panicking because we're getting close to figuring it out," Raven murmurs.
Octavia nods. "Very close."
Clarke chews on her bottom lip. God damn nosy bastards. She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes; listening to the distant murmur of their voices as they continue to expand on their theories. She's pissed, completely ticked off, because - fuck, now her latte is cold.
It's disastrous, and she tells Bellamy about it later, after he pushes her against the wall of an abandoned supply closet.
His hair is ruffled, and her lips are swollen, but she tells him everything; tells him what she should have told him that night in his truck, or later in her bedroom, when he snuck through her window and made her bite down on his shoulder to keep from waking up the entire fucking campus.
She's breathless when she finishes, and he zips up his pants, looking at her.
"They're aware of how sexually fulfilled you are and the first person they suspect isn't me?"
Clarke drops her head against the door. "Bellamy."
He grins. "Yeah, yeah, be serious." He lifts her shirt from the ground and gives it to her, ruffling a hand through his hair. "Guess it's too late to teach my sister about boundaries, huh?"
"I would assume so," she mumbles. "Hiding in my closet and waiting to catch me in the act might be a little irreversible."
Bellamy sighs. "Children, these days."
She shakes her head and pulls on her sweater, watching as he does the same, covering his tanned skin with his navy blue button-up. She exhales when she notices the indent in his collar, and she steps towards him, smoothing it over.
He looks down at her. "So this really is something to be cautious about."
"I've already told you this," she mumbles, adjusting his shirt. "You don't listen."
"Oh, I listen. I just found it hard to believe anything you were saying since, you know, your breath smelled like vodka cranberries and you couldn't untangle yourself from a seat belt."
She scoffs. "That did not - "
"And let's not forget about the cat," he reminds her.
"It was very easily mistaken for a person."
Bellamy raises an eyebrow. "It was a cat, Clarke."
She huffs, flattening the collar against his shoulders. God damn vodka cranberries. They're her weakness; her kryptonite. Vodka cranberries and Bellamy's ruffled hair. The deadliest combination.
He grins at her scowl, poking at her mouth. "Listen, it's not the end of the world," he tells her, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "We'll just have to be more careful."
She looks at him. "Right. So, for the last God damn time, that means no hickeys."
"I'm aware."
She raises her eyebrows and lifts the hem of her shirt, exposing the hickeys that cover her chest.
Bellamy shrugs. "I get distracted."
"I'm aware," she grumbles.
He smirks, that trademark Blake grin; the same one Octavia had when she suspected Clarke's been sleeping with someone. He steps towards her and places her hands on his shoulders, lowering his head to her height.
"Okay, fine. No hickeys. You got it." He sighs and shakes her form slightly, eyes hardening at the sight of her frown. "But that means no more worrying. We got this in the bag, Griffin."
He continues to shake her shoulders, harder and harder until she rolls her eyes, her lips turning up at the corners. He grins and releases her, muttering about seeing her at his party on the weekend before opening the door of the supply closet, and walking into the empty hallway.
She follows him out eight minutes later.
(She blames it on their attempts to be more careful; not the fact that she needed to calm her racing heart).
v.
Clarke stands in front of her mirror, adjusting the straps on her tank top. A cold wind breezes through the open window, and she brushes her curls over her shoulders, humming the lyrics to the Drake song blasting through her speakers.
The door to her bedroom opens, and Clarke claps her hands together, turning towards the people at the doorframe.
"Finally! I was worried O got lost in the wine section again. I hope you got the tequila. You know I can't be in the same room with Finn without the - "
She stops; eyes widening when she notices the third person standing behind Raven and Octavia. Her mouth tightens.
"Gina," she mutters. "I didn't know you were coming."
Raven shrugs. "We found her at the beer store, figured she'd want to get ready with us." She steps forward and places the bag of alcohol on the bed. "You should have seen her - she was like a little puppy. So we decided to adopt her for the night."
Gina laughs. Clarke smiles tightly. Yay.
"I hope you don't mind," Gina says, and Clarke frowns, because her kindness is unnerving. "I bought a case of beer. O told me you liked beer."
Octavia nods. "Clarke loves beer."
"I do." She crosses her arms over her chest and purses her lips. "Thank you."
Gina smiles, and she peels the coat from her shoulders, hanging it on the door. Her arms are bare with the low cut shirt she's wearing, and her jeans are low-waisted, trimmed off at the ankles.
Clarke sighs heavily. She's gorgeous.
Raven turns to her. "Is that what you're wearing, Griffin?"
Clarke looks down at her white tank top. "Yeah," she mumbles, fidgeting with the hem. "I think so."
"Good. Your tits look great in it."
"They really do," Gina adds, and Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes.
Octavia exhales deeply. "Seriously. I wish I had tits like that." She pulls down the end of her crop top and grabs a beer from her case. "If I did, maybe Lincoln wouldn't be so damn afraid to ask me out."
Gina raises an eyebrow. "That guy still hasn't made a move yet?"
"Nope. He's in Bell's frat, keeps talking about how he'd break the bro code, and all that shit."
Clarke looks at her and places her hand on her shoulder. She's been into Lincoln for months, and he's been into her, but Bellamy has a thing for being the overprotective big brother. Always loving too much, the freckled bastard.
"I mean, he does have a point," Gina mumbles. "I would freak out if one of my friends was hooking up with my brother."
Clarke presses her lips together. "Why? It's just sex."
"It's never just sex with O," Raven says from the desk chair, and she points an accusing finger at her. "It's dinner dates, and breakfast in the morning - taking care of each other when one of them is sick."
"Oh, so you mean like you and Wick?" Clarke teases.
"Fuck off."
Octavia huffs. "Excuse me for wanting to be appreciated."
"Have you seen his body?" Raven waves a hand in front of her face. "He'd appreciate you just by letting you touch him."
"Don't remind me."
Gina laughs, her tone matching the lightness in the room. She takes a sip of her beer and sits on the bed, her fingers running along the softness of her comforter. Clarke narrows her eyes, remembering what other hands have been on her mattress.
"I'm not really into the abs," Gina claims, crossing her legs. "Arms are the turn on for me."
Octavia shrugs. "Lincoln has nice arms."
"Your brother has nice arms."
Clarke clutches her beer. Octavia makes a face.
"Gross," she mumbles.
Clarke nods, lips pressed together. "So gross."
Gina giggles, tilting the bottle to her mouth again. She takes a gulp, and Clarke glances at the beer in her hand, realizing how bad it tastes and how much she hates it, hates the beer that Gina brought.
She hates it now, and she tells herself it doesn't have to do with Gina, not at all; tells herself she hates it even though she's been drinking that beer ever since Bellamy introduced it to her years ago.
vi.
Clarke lifts her curls from the back of her neck, warmth spreading across her skin as she stands in the living room. She clutches her wine cooler into her side and leans towards Raven, who wraps herself around Wick as she presses her lips against her ear.
"I'm grabbing some water," she shouts, because the music is loud and her ears are ringing. "You want any?"
Raven shakes her head and huddles closer into Wick's chest. Clarke looks at him, and he shrugs, smiling at her as he holds Raven closer against him, his hair ruffled by the previous action of her roaming hands.
Clarke shakes her head. The damn idiots are in love.
She grins and enters the crowd herded in the hallway, the staircase occupied by college girls experimenting with each other as freshmen douchebags stare at them in amazement. She spots Octavia and Gina talking to unfamiliar people in the corner, and she rolls her eyes, shoving one of the boys to the side as she squeezes from the group.
The boy steps away, and she stumbles into the kitchen, her unbalanced body colliding into a solid chest.
"Clarke. Long time no see, sugar."
She frowns. She knows that voice. She hates that voice.
She huffs, her eyes hardening as she looks up at the face in front of hers. He doesn't look any different, his hair still stupid and shaggy, his smile still so smug she wants to punch it off his face. Her fists clench at her sides. She can't afford to ruin Bellamy's rug again.
"Finn," she hisses, and she leans away from him. "Long time no see, asshole."
He scrunches his nose. "Asshole? Come on, I thought we were friends."
Clarke almost laughs. "I guess so," she mutters, and she crosses her arms over her chest, tilting the cup of tequila to her mouth. "I mean, it's common to dream about punching friends in the face, right?"
"That sounds problematic. You should get that checked," he tells her.
"You should get checked."
He chuckles, and she clenches her hands tighter. "Come on, Tiny Tank, don't be so - "
There's a feeling of instant dampness as water suddenly collides with her body, cold and clinging to her shirt. She gasps, glancing from Finn's wide glare to the tanned face behind her, those familiar brown eyes clouded with mischievousness.
She presses her lips together. "Blake."
Bellamy smirks. "Oh. Griffin." He loosens the water bottle in his hand, pulling it away from her. "Didn't see you there."
She stares at him, the corners of her mouth twitching. She crosses her arms over her chest, not missing his hungry glare as he glances at her white tank top, his fingers tightening on her shoulder.
"You just spilled water on me."
"I know," he tells her.
"And now I'm soaked."
"I'm aware."
She raises an eyebrow. "Really soaked."
Finn shakes her head and steps towards her. "Are you crazy? You're not soaked," he says, but she doesn't look at him, her eyes remaining on Bellamy's smirk. "I can't even see a stain. You have to - "
Clarke covers her hand over his mouth. "You owe me a shirt."
Bellamy clears his throat. "Fine," he grunts, and he glances at Finn as she peels her hand from his face. "So very sorry to interrupt your conversation, Collins, but Clarke's very wet, and I need to take care of it."
Finn narrows his eyes, and Clarke sneers at him, following Bellamy out of the kitchen. They rush up the stairs, where the music is quieter and the hallway is empty, and she turns to him, a laugh on her lips, when he pushes her against the door of his bedroom.
Clarke sighs and threads her hands through his hair.
"Spilling water down my shirt?" she questions, rubbing the damp material against him. "Not your best method."
Bellamy shrugs. "It got you away from him, didn't it?"
"It did."
"So you're welcome," he murmurs, and then his lips are on hers.
She laughs into his mouth. He swallows the sound, the taste of beer and lime on his tongue. His hands wrap around her thighs, lifting her against the wood, and she gasps; fingers reaching for the doorknob as he -
There's another male voice, cursing, and Bellamy stills against her.
"Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't - "
Clarke turns to him. "Miller?"
Miller smiles. "Clarke. Hey."
"What's up?"
"I had to make a new playlist, Jasper's been playing too much Taylor Swift since Maya broke up with him," he tells her. Clarke hovers a hand over her heart. "You coming back down after?"
"I think so," she says.
"Good. You owe me a vodka cranberry."
Clarke rolls her eyes, and he winks at her before disappearing down the hallway. She huffs and turns back to Bellamy.
"What the hell just happened?"
"Oh, Miller?" She shrugs, running her palms under the hem of his shirt. "Don't worry, he already knows."
He raises an eyebrow. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
Clarke presses her lips together and shakes her head. "Probably not," she whispers, and her hand hovers his belt buckle, finger curling into the loops. "But I have a few ideas what would."
He smiles and curses under his breath, leaning forward to capture her lips in his. She trails her hand beneath the rim of his pants as he pushes the door open, kicking it closed behind him and lowering her onto the bed.
He does feel better after that. Obviously.
vii.
He's asleep when she rolls off the mattress a couple hours later.
She winces as her feet touch the floor, a low squeak sounding at the pressure in the quiet room. Her toes spread out against the wood, and she lifts herself from the bed, stepping over their thrown clothes to gather her tank top and pants.
She pulls them on quickly and glances at the clock on his bedside table. 4:09 am. Good enough.
Clarke sighs. She glances at Bellamy, his tanned body motionless under the covers. Her bottom lip is raw from his teeth, and she stares at him, observing the places of skin where her mouth has been, the places she's yet to explore, places she craves to -
She shakes her head. Shut up, shut up. Shut. Up.
She huffs, pulling open his bedroom door. The hallway is empty, and she enters it, feet light on the floorboards as she crosses the line of bedrooms towards the stairs. The house is quiet, the previous hum of music fading, and she steps into the kitchen to walk towards the front door across the -
She collides into a warm body. There's a low squeak, and a curse, and Clarke glances at the person in front of her.
Her eyes widen. Octavia.
"Clarke?"
She shakes her head. "O?"
Octavia stares at her, her arms crossed over her chest. Her hair is ruffled, messy, and she squints into the darkness of the kitchen, rubbing her palms against her flushed cheeks.
"What are you doing here?" she demands.
Clarke gapes at her. "What are you doing - " she hesitates, noticing a small shadow on her collarbone, and she smacks her shoulder. Octavia mutters under her breath. "Shit. You totally slept with Lincoln."
"I did not sleep with Lincoln," Octavia hisses.
"Fine. Kissed him. Hooked up with him. Whatever."
Octavia scoffs. "Piss off. Who's bed did you come from? Murphy's? Connor's?" She scrunches her nose and places her hands on her hips. "I didn't even see you the entire damn party, not after I saw you and Bellamy go upstairs to - "
Her eyes widen. Pupils blown. Clarke slams her hand against her forehead.
Fuck.
She feels dizzy - is she fainting? Her heart stops. Octavia stares at her.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
Okay folks! That's chapter six - what'd you think? Liked it? LOVED it? Can't wait to hear your thoughts below. It's been so fun writing this chapter, and I'm looking forward to writing the next one. How much do you think Octavia will freak out? (I'll give you a hint, Bellamy will freak out a lot more).
Anyways, I really do hope you like this chapter, because it might be a while before I post the next one. My semester is coming to an end and I'm suffocating with assignments. Hopefully I'll find some time to write, but no guarantees. You can follow me twitter Bellarke95 for updates.
I hope you all had a great week and an even better Easter. Looking forward to interacting again with you soon.
Cheers. xoxo.
