Chapter 38

The Very Scary Truth

OR

The Thoughts that Pop Up at 2:14 a.m.

CLARKE

'Hey... U up?' Clarke typed into her phone, squinting at the brightness of its backlight before turning her eyes back to the starry ceiling. It was 1:12... Kind of late to be texting anyone on a Sunday night. But, after spending a good forty minutes lying under the covers staring up at the plastic stars above her and not finding herself any sleepier than when she had begun, Clarke had snagged her phone from her bedside table. And after five good minutes of debating whether or not to send it, she had finally written the message. And now she was waiting, biting her lip in the darkness, listening for the buzz of a reply.

'Yes.' The answer finally came back. Just the one, lonely word.

'How u feeling?' Clarke asked.

'Feeling?' The message read. Then, a half-second later. 'What do u mean?'

'R u feeling better? Or still sick?' Clarke wrote.

'Oh, yeah... Much better.' Lexa replied, as if she had forgotten all about not feeling well yesterday evening.

'U left so fast yesterday... I was worried.'

'Yeah... Sorry.'

'What was it u wanted to tell me?' Clarke asked.

'Nothing.' Lexa answered.

'U sure?' Clarke replied. 'It seemed like it was important.'

Lexa didn't reply right away. The seconds passed, unanswered. Without really thinking about it, Clarke found herself sliding her fingers into her pillowcase and pulling out the now slightly wrinkled photo of little Lexa dangling from her father's hands. She studied the picture in the glow of her phone screen, tracing the lines of Lexa's grin with her eyes.

'Naw... Forget about it.' Lexa's message finally bubbled. A second bubble read, 'It's nothing.'

Another buzz. Another bubble. 'So... It's late. Did u need to talk about something? Or just checking on me?'

Clarke hesitated. Why exactly HAD she started texting Lexa? Was she just bored? Was she lonely? Was part of her hoping Lexa might ask her about her date with Bellamy so she could have someone to discuss it with? She could have texted Luna or Octavia or Raven. Why the hell was she bothering Lexa at 1:17 am?

'Ummm... I went out with Bellamy tonight...' She decided to reply.

'Yeah... I know. How was it?'

'Good.' Clarke wrote. It was the same lame answer she had given Abby. 'We're going to the movies next weekend.'

Lexa didn't reply right away. Clarke stared down at the photo in her fingers, waiting. It was a shame the camera hadn't managed to properly capture the green of Lexa's eyes. But it had captured her father's and it seemed the man had passed on his eyes to Lexa as well as his grin.

'That's great.' Clarke's screen finally read.

'Great...' It's what Bellamy, Abby, and now Lexa, had said. 'Great.'

'You think so?' Clarke wrote back. 'You think I should go out with him again?'

Clarke sent the message before bothering to consider why she was even asking Lexa these things. She hadn't told Lexa the truth... That though Clarke had been with Bellamy all night, her mind had been somewhere else entirely for the majority of the date. What was she expecting Lexa to say?

'Why wouldn't I?' Lexa wrote back. Then a second bubble: 'U know you don't hafta get my permission to go out w/ someone, right? U don't need my approval.'

'I know.' Clarke replied, slightly taken aback.

'U r old enuf to decide who u wanna date.' Lexa wrote. 'Old enuf to decide who makes u happy. Why does it matter to u what I think?'

Clarke hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Of course it mattered to her what Lexa thought. It ALWAYS mattered to her what Lexa thought. 'Cuz ur my friend.' She typed. 'U matter.'

'Right... Friends.' Lexa wrote back. 'I'm gonna sleep. C u tomorrow. Night.'

'Oh... OK.' Clarke replied. 'Sorry to bother you so late. Night.'

Clarke's eyes flicked back and forth between the photo and her phone screen until the backlight finally accepted the fact that the conversation was over and flickered out. Clarke tossed the phone aside and slid the photo back into her pillowcase, frowning at the darkness in confusion.

Lexa's words replayed in her mind. They seemed oddly curt, even slightly hostile. But Clarke couldn't say for sure without hearing Lexa's tone. Maybe Lexa was angry at Clarke for dating Bellamy. Or maybe she was just tired of listening to Clarke's boy-drama. Or maybe she genuinely meant that she thought the idea of her and Bellamy was 'great' and Clarke had altogether misread the messages.

Clarke couldn't figure out how Lexa felt about the whole Bellamy situation. And that bothered her. Bothered her a lot. And she couldn't figure out WHY it bothered her so much. And THAT bothered her even more.

And as she lay there, confused and bothered, and utterly sleepless, she came to the realization that, as much as she had been seeking Lexa's approval, the idea that Lexa might actually consider a relationship between Clarke and Bellamy 'great,' bothered her more than anything else. She realized that maybe she hadn't been seeking Lexa's approval at all. Maybe she had been waiting all this time for Lexa to object, to step in and tell her she shouldn't be dating Bellamy or Finn or anyone else, for that matter. And this realization confused Clarke even further.

Clarke flipped onto her side and snuggled her face into her pillow. But she already knew sleep would not come... Not for a long time. Her thoughts were swimming, swirling and colliding and evaporating like molecules of water and air. Why the hell did she want Lexa to disapprove of Bellamy? Bellamy was everything she wanted in a guy, wasn't he? And yet... If she was honest, she wasn't all that into Bellamy, was she? Hadn't this night made that clear... Crystal-fucking-clear? She had the attention span of a four-year-old around him, having less interest in him than in her own meandering thoughts.

And why was she so distracted anyway? What had Bellamy said? He had thought, 'by the look on her face,' that she had been daydreaming about Finn. But Clarke hadn't been dreaming of Finn. What HAD she been thinking about?

And then it hit her. Hit her like a fucking big-ass, bright yellow, school bus.

Every time her eyes had glazed over and her mind had floated away like a balloon in a windstorm, she had been thinking about Lexa: Lexa and her goofiness; Lexa and her courage; Lexa and her ability to bring peace, unite enemies (at least dodgeball enemies), and spread laughter; Lexa and her beautiful kicks, her natural athleticism; Lexa and her horrible driving and the look on her face when she murdered Sebastian; Lexa who smelled better than her mother's cookies; Lexa, whose absence was made all the more pointed by the stars glowing above her. Lexa. Lexa. Lexa.

And at precisely 2:14 in the morning Clarke came to a heart-stopping conclusion; a conclusion that made her eyes shoot open in the darkness; a conclusion that made her breath catch in her chest.

"Oh shit... Oh shit... Oh shit." She whispered into the silence. Maybe the reason she wanted Lexa to tell her she shouldn't date Bellamy was because... Could it be? Could it fucking be? Clarke wanted Lexa to tell her that she should date HER?

And suddenly Clarke could see it. It was crystal clear. Crystal-fucking-clear... Having breadstick battles with Lexa; free-jumping from swings with Lexa; holding hands in the flickering glow of the theater, watching Lexa watch the documentary because her look of rapture was more entrancing than anything onscreen; sitting beside Lexa on the sweaty mats, or the living-room floor surrounded by textbooks, or the hard white plastic chairs of a hospital, or the muddy grass of a graveyard, or the freezing shingles of her rooftop under the gaze of the stars; studying the bits and pieces of Lexa forever captured in crumpled little rectangles tucked away in a book; listening to Lexa laugh at her own horrible jokes or beat out a terrible rhythm on Master Anya's snare drum; lying beside Lexa in her tiny bed, listening to her breathe, breathing her in... THESE were the moments that mattered to Clarke. THESE were the moments where she had felt something.

And it wasn't Finn's charming smile or floppy hair that made her stomach tighten and twist inside of her. It wasn't Bellamy's goofy grin or solid biceps that made her blood rush and her heartbeat quicken and her cheeks flush. It was the memory of Lexa striking a ridiculous pose in her hideous orange safety vest; the image of Lexa lying in the soft light of morning, with her hair a wild mess against the pillow and the sleepiness still heavy in her green, green eyes; the thought of Lexa beside her, her soft skin warm against Clarke's, her fingers woven into her own. These were the things that made Clarke nervous and tingly and dizzy with want. Because she wanted Lexa. Lexa... Lexa... Lexa.

These were the thoughts that bombarded Clarke at 2:14 in the morning.

And at precisely 2:15 on that same morning Clarke blinked into the darkness and rolled onto her other side. And her teeth found her thumbnail. And as she clamped down upon it, she shoved these thoughts deep, deep down inside of her, into a place of darkness thicker than the blackness around her.

And she decided she would go out with Bellamy after all. And she decided she would hold his hand and she would let him walk her to the door and she would kiss him, hard and deep. Because Bellamy was a boy. (A HOT boy). And Clarke liked boys. (Especially HOT boys). And, ever since Kurt Samson had strolled into her kindergarten classroom with a dimple in one cheek and dark hair that curled like a comma over his eyes, she had always liked boys.

She had ALWAYS liked boys. And she ALWAYS would.

And at 2:16 in the morning, Clarke closed her eyes again and dug her face further into the pillow and willed Sleep to come for her; to steal her thoughts and leave his silence.