[A/N: You all are so amazing. Thanks for loving this story as much as I do. This story is going to be around twenty chapters (maybe a bit less) so we're halfway done! I loved writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy it as well. Let me know what you think! You can also find me on Tumblr!: bellarkeymia]

All mistakes are mine

Music Inspired: Home / Will Hanson

She couldn't get the shade of green right.

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she brought the paintbrush across the white canvas once more. She smeared in more white but only continued to scowl as she compared what was on her canvas to the tree a few feet away from her.

The sun was on her face and she didn't need a mirror to know that her cheeks were probably rosy and her forehead sweaty due to the heat.

She had woken up and had a sudden itch to paint the tree she had planted so many years ago with her father and Wells. She could hear her own soft young giggle as her father placed the small tree into the ground.

It was strange to her how the tree continued to grow strong and happily when the person who planted it was long gone.

She focused on the paint; she didn't want to think about things like that. She couldn't get out of her own head recently but painting helped. Painting caused her fingers to become colored and her heart to feel lighter. It took her mind off of everything, at least for a little while.

"You're pretty good."

She turned her head and squinted up at the figure beside her. She forced a small smile as she focused back onto her canvas.

It was becoming a regular routine to have Marcus Kane around her house. At first it unsettled her, made her mad even. But now she found herself somewhat grateful for the empty space he took up. How dinner with her mother was no longer silent. How she could look out the window and see him grilling on her father's grill. How she would see him make her mother laugh.

She didn't like it but she did all the same.

"I'm alright." She finally muttered out as she pressed the paintbrush to the canvas. She sighed as she tried to match the leaves up, only to fail once again.

"Better than anything I could draw." Marcus held out his hands and moved his fingers as he spoke. He stood still for a few minutes before he plopped down next to her. She casted him a sideways glance but continued to paint. "You seem passionate about it."

She shrugged. She loved it. "I guess." She turned her head. "If I could-." She paused and bit at her lip. "If I could I'd probably major in it."

His eyes narrowed. "Why couldn't you?"

She almost laughed out aloud. She turned her head back toward the tree and stared at the thick branches. The silence must have answered his question because he didn't press her on it. She was grateful for that.

"My wife used to paint." She sat still as his voice broke through her thoughts. "She would set up in our backyard, just like this, and she would paint for hours." He cleared his throat. She turned toward him, intrigued. "She didn't even stop once she got sick. I would tell her to lay in bed but at the end of the day I'd find her painting out in our rose garden."

She didn't know he had a wife. She didn't know he was a widower. She didn't really know anything about him except how he took his steak and how he preferred white wine to red.

"She was the love of my life." He continued. She tried not to notice the crack in his voice. "But I know she'd be happy for me."

She stared at him. She took in his dark complexion. "Happy that you're with my mom?"

He stared back at her before he nodded and looked away. "Yeah." He brought a hand to his mouth and rubbed something that wasn't even there. "I think she'd be happy that I found a reason to keep going. Keep breathing."

She thought about her mother's face when her father's casket was being lowered into the ground. How her perfect tan face was wet and how she stared at the ground so blankly. How her hands shook clutching hers as priest read the lines from the poem, Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep.

She cleared her throat. "Do you miss her?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Everyday." His voice was soothing; the kind of voice that would put her to sleep if she had to listen to it for a lecture at school. It was comforting and tense all in one.

"I miss him." She spoke the words aloud and felt her throat close at the end. Her eyes burned a bit and she felt the burns on her sides start to flame up at the thought. "He's supposed to be here." Not me.

Her paintbrush has fallen to the side; she didn't bothering picking it back up. She felt Kane's eyes on her for a brief second before he turned to look at the backyard her father had planted.

They sat in silence for a few more moments. To be honest, she didn't even know how long. It wasn't until her mother's voice rang out calling for him did she realize he was standing up; not without giving her a smile and holding out her paintbrush to her.

She nodded in thanks as she grasped the light stick between her fingers. She watched him disappear into the house before she turned back toward the tree.

She still couldn't get the green right.

…

She shook her head as she walked across the open spaced quad.

Wells was grinning at her as they walked across the green grass of The University of North Carolina. He was meeting with some professor and he had dragged her along. (Not necessarily dragged because she was more than willing to leave her house for a day.)

They had laughed in the car and he had talked all about his classes for next semester. Sure, he repeated things that she's already heard but the animation in his voice was enough for her to keep that fact to herself.

He also pointed out all the places he met (and kissed, must to her distaste) Harper. It was kind of sweet.

She mostly rolled her eyes at his antics but took in the beautiful campus. Sure, Yale was definitely a beautiful place but she felt so much better standing where she was now. It might have been just because of Wells but she felt her fingers tingle when they walked past the art building. She stopped and stared at it openly. From the large columns to the windows, she was struck with how beautiful it was.

Wells elbowed her side as he checked his watch. "We have some time." He gestured toward the building. "Wanna check it out?"

She didn't think twice as she walked quickly toward the door. She didn't even feel the brush of cold air as she walked into the building. The open layout showed the second floor where paintings were hung. All the windows casted a beautiful light onto everything and anything; she felt like she was in a fairytale.

Wells didn't even mind (if he did, he didn't show it) as she walked up the stairs to take in all the art on the walls. She must have stood before each piece for five minutes. When she reached the last one, Wells grabbed her elbow and pulled her down the hallway.

She had a small laugh on her tongue; this was a familiar sight. "Where are we going?"

Wells hushed her as he turned a corner and pulled her into the first room on the left. Her eyes grew wide and slight panic rushed into her. "Wells-." The harsh whisper died on her lips as he tugged her into an empty studio. The large window casted an impressive shadow off the easels. There were fifteen easels circled up with a set up for a still life in the middle. The tingling sensation came back into her fingers.

"Great, isn't it?"

She nodded her head; she didn't think she could even speak. It was better than great. It was beautiful – inspiring even. She took in the art covered walls and sighed. She loved everything about it.

"You should hang here." She turned toward him with a raised eyebrow. "My meeting will be super boring and I don't think they have a class today. So, why not?" His easy going smile made her grin.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'll just be a bit."

She nodded before she tugged open her messenger bag, already pulling out her sketchbook that she doodled with in the car, and a pencil. She plopped down onto an easel and narrowed her eyes.

She barely heard the door close as she started drawing the still life before her.

Her fingers were blackened as she smudged the charcoal across the page. Her tongue licked at her lips but she felt so, happy. She felt so much at peace just sitting here. She thought about a lot of things and nothing at once. It took some of the pain away from her chest. It made her brain forget about the past few weeks. It was freeing.

By the time she had finished, the room was noticeably darker, as were her fingers. Her eyes widened and as she turned around she saw Wells propped up against the wall with a book. She hadn't even heard him come back in. She sheepishly put her stuff away and glanced at him.

His smile was that Wells smile that was made only for her. "Finished?"

She nodded and glanced around the room once more. "I think so."

He offered her his arm. With one final look, she looped her arm through his and walked out the door.

…

She pushed around the shrimp on her plate.

She hated shrimp. She hated the taste. She hated the smell. She hated everything about it.

When she looked up, she heard her mother talking with Henry Collins, her laughter stuck in her ears. She hadn't heard her mother laugh in such a long time but now it seemed to be constant.

She glanced down at her plate and continued to push the shrimp around. She was tired. From the small road-trip with Wells, to having to get ready for dinner, she felt her eyes droop.

She dropped her fork and tugged on the sleeves of her cardigan as she watched the waiter's door open. She let out a breath when she saw a pale girl walk through.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting. The last time she even saw Bellamy she was bailing him out of jail. (Thank whoever was above that her mother didn't question why she had pulled seven hundred dollars out of her account.) He barely looked at her. It ate away at her.

She sighed a bit at the thought as she glanced back down at the shrimp that still sat alongside her plate. It took Finn jabbing her in the side for the realization that the table's attention was drawn on her.

She glanced up and saw her mother shooting her a familiar glance. "Sorry." She sat up straighter. "What was that?"

Henry smiled at her as he finished eating a piece of shrimp. Gross. "When are you going back to Yale?"

Her stomach fell at the thought. To be honest, she didn't know. She hadn't thought about Yale, especially after earlier today. All she could think about was the beautiful campus she had wondered on and the beautiful art studio that inspired her even more on the drive home.

She shrugged and offered up a strange smile. "I'm not sure."

Henry Collins laughed. Her mother did not.

"You don't know when you go back?" Her mother had that tone. The one that sounded amused to others but down right mean to her.

She felt her eyes narrow. She glanced at Marcus and noticed that he was watching her in a way that wasn't mean but not friendly. She glanced around the table.

She didn't really think before she spoke. "I don't know if I want to go back." The words came out and everything around her suddenly turned silent. She swallowed and watched Henry give her a perplexed glance. Finn was staring at her and her mother's face was bright red.

It would be funny if it wasn't so sad.

She offered up a weak glance and tried to explain. "I just-."

Her mother stood up from the table. "Please excuse us." She offered a smile to the Collins and Marcus before looking at her. "Clarke, outside."

She watched her mother walk toward the back deck. She placed her napkin onto the table and locked eyes with Marcus. He gave her a strange look of approval (at least that's what she thought it was).

She made her way outside and saw her mother's back before she saw anything else. She let out a breath and made her way toward her mother. "Mom-."

Her mother spun around quickly. The lines around her mouth visible along with the harsh lines of her narrowed eyes. "What were you thinking? Saying something like that in front of them?"

She crossed her arms as she felt a light breeze come across her bones. "I guess I wasn't but-."

"You sure as hell weren't!" Her mother's voice sounded pained. "Do you know how embarrassed I feel?"

She lowered her eyes toward the ground. She kicked at the wood under her feet. She thought about all those nights she spent alone in her dorm room. She thought about how she felt. How she wasn't enjoying a second of her time at Yale or the major she was in. She thought about crying over a B minus in Organic Chemistry. She didn't want a life like that.

She wanted a life her father would be proud of. She wanted to not be afraid anymore. She wanted to choose her own life because she could.

She lifted up her eyes and stared openly at her mother. "I don't want to go back."

Her mother forced out a hard laugh. "You're going back."

"No, I'm not." She stood up taller. "I was miserable, mom." Her voice cracked.

There was silence between them. She could hear someone laugh from the dinning room a few feet away. She could hear the soft roar of thunder ways away from where she stood.

Her mother cleared her throat, smoothed out her dress and nodded toward the doors. "This conversation is over." She gave her a hard look. "Come back inside when you're ready to act like an adult."

She stood still as she felt her mother brush past her. A dry sob escaped her throat as she glanced to see her mother step back inside. Her hands shook at her sides as she glanced off of the deck toward the trees.

She counted in her head. One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred.

When she reached three hundred and forty-three, she glanced back at the door of the dining room before turning and walking in the opposite direction.

…

She wasn't really sure where she was going.

She hadn't changed once she walked home but once she made it to her room, she realized she didn't want to be there, either. She chewed on her nails as she debated her options. Wells was with Harper and she really didn't want to stumble into that again.

It made her chew harder on her nails when she realized that Wells was really her only option.

She took a deep breath and decided to drive around. She settled behind the wheel and drove through the familiar streets as she hummed along to the radio. Her phone sat in the cup-holder, unmoving. She tried not to think about that as well.

She was in the middle of singing along to Sam Smith when a car started to swerve toward her. She quickly swerved the opposite way with her hands clutching the wheel so tightly they were white.

She ran into the side railing until she came to a complete stop. She watched the car continue to drive down the road.

She was shaking all over and her brain couldn't stop bringing up the last time that had happened. Get out of the car, Clarke. His voice was so clear in her head. I'm right behind you.

She couldn't breathe.

She reached quickly for the handle and stumbled out of the car, gasping.

The dark night surrounded her along with the smallest of raindrops. She couldn't feel any of it though. I'm right behind you.

Her mind swarmed from images of flames to dark images blood. She saw herself stuck in the car. She saw her father trying to get her out before himself. She saw her father smiling at her as she started to crawl out of the burning car. I'm right behind you.

He wasn't though. She had stumbled away and he was still there. Still stuck. Still alive. Only to be gone in a matter of seconds.

She brought her hand to her forehead and tried to regulate her breathing. She couldn't even make it past ten in her head as she tried to count. She was crying. She was shaking. She walked toward the car and quickly pulled out her phone.

She couldn't call her mom.

She couldn't call Wells.

Her hands shook at the last unknown number to call her. She didn't think as she pressed call. It rang twice before someone answered with a soft laugh.

"Hello?"

She clutched the phone to her ear. "O-Octavia?" She closed her eyes. What was she even doing? She didn't know Octavia.

"Clarke?"

She nodded and continued to clutch the phone to her ear. She thought about how Octavia had called her a few days ago, a cry on her lips as she explained about her brother. She thought about that compared to what she was doing now. Even though that feeling in the pit of her stomach hurt when she thought about it, it was a lot better than focusing on what was still eating away at her brain.

She tried to steady her breathing as she talked in the phone. "I need-" Her voice shook. She cried more. "I need help."

There was a bit of silence. "Where are you?"

She cried as she explained where she was on the side of the road. Octavia was patient and didn't try to push her to talk faster but she could hear her moving around through the phone along with a few side mumbles.

When she finished, she heard a car start. "We're on our way but stay on the phone with me, okay?"

Her eyes grew big as she gripped the phone. "We're?"

"My-Lincoln and I are on our way."

She wasn't sure if she was happy or disappointed in this fact. She didn't focus on it as she heard Octavia direct whoever was driving as she stayed on the phone with her. Octavia made her talk about random things. Like how she felt about Harry Potter or if she preferred pizza to Chinese food. Things that kept her mind busy. Things that kept her mind off of other things.

It was raining heavier but she continued to stand outside her car with her phone pressed against her ear. Octavia was telling her that everything would be okay but everything wasn't okay. Her dad, her hero, her person was dead.

He was gone and he wasn't ever coming back.

"Clarke?"

She looked into the green eyes of Octavia Blake. She hadn't even heard them pull up to her. Her chest hurt. Her breathing was harsh and the look on Octavia's face was so calm.

Octavia placed two hands on her cheeks. "Hey." She forced her to look at her. "Hey. You have to breathe, alright?" Octavia smiled slightly as she blinked the rain away from her eyes.

All she could think about was her dad. She felt a sob escape her lips.

"Clarke, can you hear me?" She focused on the pair of green eyes. She nodded and Octavia's smile grew wider. "Good. Just focus on my voice, alright?"

Clarke nodded again and continued to shake. Octavia wrapped her arms around her and started to hum something that she never heard before. It took her awhile until she let the hum go in beat with her heart. She clutched the back of Octavia's jacket. Someone she didn't even know was calming her down in the middle of a storm.

She clutched onto the Octavia's jacket harder. "I'm so-."

"Shh." Octavia mumbled as she continued to hum into her ears. She turned her head and saw a tall dark skinned man holding an umbrella a few steps away. He probably thought she was crazy. Maybe she was.

It took what seemed like a lifetime before Octavia pulled away. The rain was still constant. She felt better at the same time that she felt awful and embarrassed. She tucked a wet piece of hair behind her ear as she glanced to see Octavia pull her phone out and walk toward the boy under the umbrella. She talked to him for a few seconds, handed him her phone and walked back toward her.

"We're going to go in Lincoln's car and wait for Bellamy to make sure your car is okay."

She swallowed, feeling so awful for dragging so many people into this mess. Dragging him into this mess. "Octavia." Her voice was hoarse. "I can't ask you to do that – I."

"You didn't ask." Octavia said in such a strong voice that she blinked a few times in response. "We all get knocked down." Octavia's voice was a whisper almost. "But we have to get back up, right?"

She nodded and followed Octavia as they walked toward the SUV. She almost sighed at the warmth. She sat in the backseat and watched as the boy with the umbrella walked around her car.

She didn't even know these people and here they were, helping her like she was their family. It almost made her cry when she thought about her own dysfunctional one. She looked down at her lap.

She could feel Octavia glance at her every few seconds but she kept her gaze down. She just wanted to sleep and have her brain be off.

She started to count, almost rejoicing in the fact that she got higher than ten this time. She reached two hundred and seventeen when she saw a pair of headlights shine through the window. She glanced up and saw a car park in front of her car.

Her eyes widened as she watched him quickly get out of his car. He didn't even glance at it as he walked toward the SUV. She watched as he walked toward the back door, yanking it open.

The rain was still falling and she was certain that her face was covered in run-off mascara but she didn't even care.

She watched him take a deep breath before he jumped into the back seat with her. He wrapped his arm around her and she sat still for a moment before she placed her face into his neck. She had so many things she wanted to say but her brain wasn't functioning on one solid thing.

All she could do was feel the warmth beneath his wet t-shirt, the racing beat of his heart and the harsh sound of his breathing or maybe that was hers.

He pulled away and she glanced to see that Octavia was no longer in the car. She wasn't being very receptive. She turned to Bellamy. "I'm-." She stopped. She didn't know what to say.

He glanced at her with so much concern that she wanted to cry again. Maybe she did start crying again, she didn't know. Her vision was going in and out. I'm right behind you.

"Clarke." He reached for her again and rested his head on top of hers. "You're alright." He was whispering the words and she didn't know if he was talking to her or himself. "You're alright."

She thought about his voice and then it all got dark.

…

She woke up on her back.

She blinked a few times as she took in the familiar room. Her head was pounding.

She glanced at the clock and saw it was a little after two in the morning. She bit at her lip and tried to ignore the pain in her head as she sat up. She glanced down and saw that she was in a pair of pajama's that weren't hers. Her heart rate jumped as she pushed up her long sleeves to see the marks on her arms.

She grew self-conscious. She grew more insecure. What was she doing here? Bellamy Blake wanted nothing to do with her and the first thing she does when she's in trouble is calls out for his sibling.

She shook her head at herself as she grasped the doorknob in her hand. She yanked the door open but froze when she heard voices from down the hall.

"You really care about her, don't you?" It was Octavia. There was silence. She stopped breathing. She wanted to see his face. See his reaction. Wonder if he thought she was more hideous than before. She clutched at her arms.

"She's doesn't need a guy like me." His voice was low.

"That's not what I asked." Octavia's voice was similar to her brothers but more feminine. She thought it was soothing.

More silence.

She was about to turn back into the room when she finally heard it. "Yes."

She froze and shut the door softly behind her. Why was he with that other girl if he cared about her? Why was he acting the way he was if he cared about her? She made her way back toward his bed and lay on her side, facing the window.

She clutched the pillow under her head and sighed at the familiar feeling. She felt safe despite whatever else was going on in her head.

She was just about to fall under sleeps spell when she heard the door slowly crack open. He shuffled around in the dark. She bit at her lip as she rolled over, acting like she hadn't been awake. He froze and looked at her as she sat up. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before she glanced at him. She could barely see him but she knew he was there.

She wanted to ask so many questions and tell him so many things but the words died on her tongue. Nothing sounded right, nothing sounded good enough.

He spoke before she could think further. "I'm sorry." His voice was low again, like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"For what?" Her voice was hoarse still. She coughed and cleared her throat as she asked the same question.

He sat at the end of the bed and she could see more of him from the moonlight. "For waking you up." He took a breath. "For a lot of things."

She thought about the girl she had seen him with a week ago. She nodded despite the mental image in her head. "It's alright."

They were silent for a while as they stared at another.

He let out a shaky breath. "I'm not a good guy, Clarke. I'm fucked up. Everything about me is fucked up." He brought a hand through his hair.

The words were familiar as they moved around her brain. She had heard them before. She had thought them over and over before. "So am I." She gestured toward herself with a small weak attempt of a smile. "Obviously."

He didn't smile or do much of anything except stare at her. She looked away from his gaze and toward the comforter under her. She took a breath and looked up at him. So many words circled around her brain again he broke up the noise.

"I'm uh-." He brought a hand to his face as he scratched his left cheek She saw the watch she gave him. "I'm glad you're alright."

She nodded but tried not to think about it that much.

"Look, Clarke-."

She held a hand up. "Can we figure it out tomorrow?" Her voice sounded tired. "Just-just lay here with me and we can figure it out tomorrow."

He didn't say anything or move for a few more seconds. He nodded and made his way toward the side of the bed she wasn't occupying. He coughed and peeled back the comforter, she shimmed under it.

He hesitantly laid down and turned to face her. She laid on her side and looked right at him.

She had so many things racing through her mind but she took in his freckled nose and felt it all go away.

She wasn't sure who reached out first but soon, they were tangled together.

He wasn't perfect but then again neither was she. They were completely opposites but she was drawn to him and she thought that maybe he was drawn to her too.

She didn't know what tonight meant but she would figure it out tomorrow.