:O


Bellamy was losing hope now, god he wished he'd actually been someone who did do relationships because perhaps then he would have been able to deal with this thing with Clarke properly. He can't even think of the proper word to describe it just 'thing'. He really was a lost cause, an idiot who had spent so long sticking to what he knew that when he actually met someone who was worth it, worth everything, he had no clue how to deal with it. He'd messed up.

Finishing his cigarette he stubbed it out underneath his toe, before he took a large gulp of his bottled water, time to get back to work. Walking back into the building he combed his fingers through his windswept tresses, a huff of discontent escaping his lips far too easily for an early Wednesday evening. Tonight was going to be a long night of nothing much but the same old customers; same old drunken arguments and fights; followed by the same old clean up routine. Prior to Clarke's absence from his life work had never seemed much of a chore, if anything it became something he bizarrely looked forward to. He got to see her and that was something he didn't ever anticipate wanting, but there he had been slowly and gradually falling for her every minute she was there.

The month without her had been painful, not only because he had broken a few knuckles against that wall, but also he'd... liked her, he liked her a lot actually. That evening when she'd left for her date it had finally hit him how much he did like her, she was witty, charming, intelligent, interesting, beautiful and just an adorable dork. With a damaged ego that felt incredibly bitter over the fact she'd rather go on a date with someone else than spend time with him at the bar, that night whilst cleaning up he'd done what he does best. Fucked. Harper was a good friend, and in all honesty she fully understood the purpose of his pursuit of her and she wanted some stress relief as much as he did. Falling against the cupboard door his hands grasping at every inch of her soft ivory skin, he tried not to compare how the blonde locks that cascaded down her back were not as curly as Clarke's. Harper's tresses lacked the warm golden colour and luscious shine that Clarke's possessed, but that wasn't important then and so he had blocked her from his mind as he lavished Harper's neck with hungry and impatient kisses. Initially he'd though it was his sick mind playing games on him when he'd heard her voice shout out his name, but his intrigue and desperation to know meant he'd stumbled out just to check. There she was. The intelligence he admired in her so much came into its own painful purpose as she observed his state of undress and Harper's too, before she left without so much as a word. What a fuck up.

Not long after his revelation over the feelings he felt for Clarke he'd gone through the contacts in his phone, deleting the many women he cared not one ounce for unless it was an offer of an evening of fun:

Brunette Chloe

Blonde Chloe

Charlotte

Charlotte's Mum

Hot waitress

The shameful list continued on and on, and it made him resent himself so much more over the fact that he once prided himself over the number of women he had in his phone. All those numbers of women he didn't actually want to know he deleted, knowing that if he was to give himself even a fighting chance of proving his worth to Clarke he'd have to sort himself out. This was a start.

Trudging through the back staff entrance he came through out into the bar, internally he pulled himself together trying in earnest to forget all the shit that had happened. God he missed her. He missed the fact she always sat in the same spot; he missed the way she'd swivel and complain about the dodgy barstool; he missed how she'd critique all the random pieces of art in the bar; and he missed the god awful puns and jokes he actually found hilarious. To put it plainly he missed her in her entirety, hell he even missed those horrific sweatpants.

Walking over to the paperwork he had recently printed off, he assessed the details of a recent enquiry over the possibility of the bar hosting a party. As his eyes skimmed over the words he felt his brain couldn't really hold any information right now, his mind distracted and pulled into the chasm of despair he seemed to wallow in nowadays. It had at one time become a persistent habit to glance in the direction of Clarke's spot, but he had managed to train himself to avoid looking there altogether. Right now however the presence of someone there meant he had no choice but to look. Did that person really need to sit there? What was so unappealing about all the other places in the bar? It was an early weekday evening and so fairly quiet, it wasn't as if there were limited options, although everything changed as soon as he placed his attention on the special spots current occupant. It was her.