Chapter 53

Clarke woke up earlier than she would have liked. She just couldn't stay asleep, not when her mind was racing. Her dreams had been . . . unpleasant, the kind of dreams where she could just feel herself worrying and actually wanted to wake up.

She looked over beside her at Bellamy, who was lying on his side. Not on his bruised side, obviously. She inched his shirt up to take a look at his bruises again. Still very purple, but the area wasn't any bigger than it had been last night. As long as it started to yellow out in the next couple days and the swelling diminished, then there probably wouldn't be any need to take him to a doctor. It'd still be sore for him, though.

She thought about what he'd said last night, about wanting to make sure he was with her when she went to talk to Finn again. It was so sweet that he wanted to look out for her, but . . . she really didn't think it was necessary. In fact, if he showed up with her, then Finn would just be angry again. Worse, he might even try to fight him again, and even though she didn't doubt that Bellamy could probably kick Finn's ass under normal circumstances, there was no telling if he'd be able to fully defend himself with an injury.

I have to go on my own, she decided, knowing Bellamy wouldn't agree to it. That left her pretty much just one choice, and she didn't feel particularly good about it. She had to slip out this morning, unbeknownst to him.

Carefully, quietly, she got out of bed, ran her fingers through her hair, and stepped into her shoes. She really wasn't going to bother doing anything to get ready, because she didn't want to run the risk of waking him up. Bellamy was a lighter sleeper than she was, so she felt like her best bet was just to sneak out of there quickly before he even began to stir. She definitely didn't want him just waking up to an empty room, though, so she used the notepad and pen on the hotel desk to jot down a quick note. Nothing fancy. Going to talk to Finn, it said. Sorry. Don't worry, I'll be alright. She tore the paper off the notepad and set it down on the pillow she'd just slept on, hoping he wouldn't be too mad when he saw it. He'd probably be more worried than anything else, but . . . if he could reassure her that he'd be alright, then why couldn't she do the same to him?

Purse slung over her shoulder, Clarke quietly slipped out of the room and headed out to the lobby—if it could really even be called that, because it was such a cheap hotel—and was able to catch a cab in pretty much no time. She told the driver to take her to Grounders, because that was where her car was.

Once she had her car back and drove home, Clarke's stomach began to knot up. This was it, the moment, the moment of truth with Finn. Last night had been horrible, frightening, even, because she hated seeing Bellamy become a human punching bag just for her. But this was terrifying in a different sort of way. This was . . . admitting her mistakes. Of which there were many. Out loud. Owning up to them while also confronting the person who had made plenty of mistakes of his own. It wasn't going to be easy.

There was no chair blocking the door this time, barring her from entering her own apartment. When she walked in, there sat Finn at the kitchen counter, looking tired, lost, and depressed. He had two cans of beer in front of him, one of which was open, the other which didn't seem to be.

Wordlessly, he looked over at her.

"Are you gonna fight me?" she challenged right off the bat, glaring at him.

He grunted. "Wish I could, to be honest." He tossed back the rest of what was in the open can and tossed it over his shoulder onto the floor. "Are you alone?" he asked. "Or did BellBoy come with you?"

She rolled her eyes at his . . . his immaturity. "It's just me," she said. "We need to talk."

He laughed angrily. "You know, coming home to find my girlfriend in bed with another man was probably the highlight of my vacation experience."

She looked down at her feet, admittedly ashamed of that. She'd never wanted him to find out that way.

"Here I thought you'd be glad to see me, that I'd surprise you by getting home early." He sighed heavily. "Well, I guess I did, right? You were surprised."

Yeah. She had been.

"Good thing, too, otherwise you probably never would've told me."

"I was gonna tell you," she insisted, taking a few steps towards him, still lingering towards the door, though, not willing to get too close. "I was gonna tell you when you got home. I didn't—I didn't mean for you to walk in and see that."

"So now what?" he spat. "Am I supposed to just un-see it? Am I just supposed to forgive you?"

"No." That wasn't even really what she wanted. In fact, the last thing she wanted right now was to go back to the way things were. "No, I don't . . . I don't expect that. But I just want you to let me explain."

"Fine." He grabbed his next can of beer, popped open the tab, and said, "Explain away," before he took a swig of it.

God, it worried her to see him turning to alcohol so much right now. Finn had always enjoyed a beer or two, but this was . . . excessive. "Can you stop drinking first?" she practically begged.

"Nope." His answer was . . . definite.

Well, that sucked, but she was over here now, so whether he was drinking or not . . . it was now or never. "Okay, then," she said, reluctantly starting in. "Bellamy and I . . . we have feelings for each other."

"Well, I pretty much gathered that with the feeling of each other," he snapped.

It wasn't something that was rooted in sex, though, despite how much sex they'd had. He needed to know that. "We're in love," she told him, feeling like that pretty much . . . summed it up.

His eyebrows arched upward, a look of surprise. "Wow," he said, taking a moment to let that sink in. "So this wasn't the first time then, huh? This has been goin' on for a while."

She shifted uncomfortably.

"How long?" he asked. When she didn't answer him right away, he got louder, more demanding, and boomed, "How long, Clarke?"

It was hard to say, since the feelings had begun developing before the physical intimacy had. "We kissed back in January," she informed him.

"January?" He choked out a sad laugh and wheezed, "Oh, this is fucking great," as he took another drink.

"But we didn't . . . we didn't get physical right after that," she assured him, not that it would make him feel any better. "I mean, I tried to not . . . I didn't wanna cheat on you."

"But you did."

Her shoulders slumped. Yeah, she had.

"How long have you been sleeping with him?" Finn demanded. Again, she must not have answered quickly enough, because he sounded very impatient when he yelled, "Come on, just answer the question. You owe me that much."

"For almost two months now," she blurted out. There. There was his answer.

He shook his head in disgust. "Unbelievable."

"Really? How is it so unbelievable, Finn?" she shot back, quickly growing tired of letting him play 100% of the victim in this scenario. "Ever since we moved here, I've spent more time with him than I have with you."

"Because you guys work together."

"No, because he's actually taken an interest in what's going on with me and—and my life."

"I haven't taken an interest?"

"No, half the time it was like you didn't even care about me, and you just stopped trying to be a decent boyfriend altogether," she shouted, letting him have it now. He needed to know that this wasn't something she'd wanted to happen, something she'd planned on. It wasn't just her fault.

"Really? Because I think I've been pretty understanding, Clarke," he claimed. "You say you're gonna be a stripper; I let you."

"No, you encouraged me," she corrected, shocked that he still had no idea that his unwavering support had actually kind of hurt. "You weren't even jealous or anything. And you worked all the time-"

"No, I didn't," he argued. "I've tried to spend time with you lately. You haven't wanted it. I don't even know when the last time we had sex was."

"Oh, because I so owe you sex."

"Well, I guess you've been too busy giving it to Bellamy." He snorted. "Who knows? You probably give it to guys at the club, too."

She bristled, disgusted that he would let himself think that, let alone vocalize it. "How could you say that?" she asked him in disbelief. If he only knew what she'd dealt with at that club, who she'd dealt with and the things she'd felt pressured to do . . .

"I'm pissed, Clarke. I have every right to be pissed."

"And I have every right to be pissed, too!" she screamed. "God, you're sitting here attacking me, making me feel like I'm the only one who did anything wrong here, but we both know that isn't true!"

Either he was dumb, drunk, some combination of the two, or just blind to his own faults, because Finn actually had the audacity to ask, "What do you mean?"

What did she mean? What did she mean? "I know you slept with Raven!" she yelled.

Finally, Finn was . . . silenced. He stared at her like he'd just been caught red-handed, and she imagined that that was what his face would have looked like had she actually pushed open that door to his office and said, "Surprise" while he and Raven basked in their afterglow.

"How'd you find out about that?" he finally asked her. "Did she tell you?"

"No. I saw it for myself."

"When?"

"When it happened!" she screeched. "I saw you guys in your office. I saw you together. And I know what you did to her. You made her think it was over with me. You just used her, too!" If there was anyone who was actually the most innocent in all of this, ironically . . . it was Raven.

"No, I didn't . . . I had feelings for her," he confessed.

"Yeah, and you acted on them!" Even if it was love, which she highly doubted it was, then he should have had the decency to end things with her before pursuing anything new. "I know I had already kissed Bellamy at that point, and I know he and I had been building a relationship before that. I know it." She wasn't going to stand there and argue that she was right, but she also refused to accept all the blame for doing something wrong. "But you don't understand, Finn. I was so determined to stick with you and try to be a good girlfriend that I was willing to try to set aside what I felt for Bellamy so we could make it work. But when I saw you with her . . . what was I supposed to do? I fell out of love with you, okay?"

"Then you should've confronted me about it," he said. "You should've just broke up with me. Why the hell didn't you do that, huh? Because you say you were willing to give up Bellamy, but guess what? I did give up Raven. For you, Clarke!"

"It doesn't matter! You still cheated on me, and then you kept it a secret from me all this time!"

"Yeah, but then you turned around and had an affair!" He shot to his feet, clearly fuming now, yelling louder than she'd ever heard him yell before. "I cheated on you once. But what you did with Bellamy . . . you did it over and over and over again. You made me look like a fool."

"I wouldn't have slept with Bellamy if you hadn't broken my heart, though," she reminded him.

"Oh, never?" he challenged. "It never would've happened?"

She cringed, because when he put it like that . . . god, she couldn't imagine never giving in to her feelings for Bellamy, never letting herself love him and be with him. But . . . she liked to think that she would have broken up with Finn before sleeping with Bellamy in that scenario.

"Stop trying to make yourself seem like the victim here, Clarke," he snarled.

"I'm not. I'm just saying you're being a total hypocrite if you're gonna sit here and judge me and act like you're so superior."

"I am."

God, she felt repulsed. How could somebody who, just two days ago had claimed to love her now stand in front of her and claim he was better? "No, you're not!" she blasted at him. "I know what I did was wrong, okay, and I am so sorry for it. But you were wrong, too. You broke my heart! We were supposed to . . ." She trailed off as tears started to fall, as she began to feel more worked up. "We were supposed to come here and have this great new life together. But we didn't. It just didn't work. We don't work anymore."

"Right about that," he muttered, reaching for his beer again. "I hope you feel like shit."

She narrowed her eyes at him, hoping he felt that way, too.

"I spent three weeks in Mexico turning down girls who gladly would've gotten with me," he informed her.

"So you want props for keeping it in your pants this time?" Ugh, she felt repulsed again. "No, that's not the way it works, Finn! Being a good boyfriend now doesn't make up for being a shitty one earlier."

He took a big chug, then set the can down and folded his arms over his chest. "Is Bellamy a good boyfriend?" he asked.

It was a weird question, but an obvious answer. "Yes."

"Does he make you laugh?"

"Yes." What was he getting at here?

"Does he make you cum?"

"What?" She recoiled a bit, startled by that blunt question. "Finn . . ."

"I'm serious. Does he make you cum?"

That really was none of his business, but since he'd never made her sexual pleasure much of a priority, she had no problem rubbing a little salt in the wound. "More than you do."

He rolled his eyes, as though that answer just annoyed him.

"What? What do you want me to say, Finn? Yes, sex with him is good. Living with him these past three weeks was good. I'm in love with him. More than I was ever in love with you."

He shook his head angrily. "Just rub it in, huh?"

"I'm just trying to be honest." She was under no obligation to be nice to him, sensitive to the feelings of a man who, at various times throughout their stay in New York City, had been completely insensitive to her own.

"Honest, huh? " he echoed. "Now that you got caught, you wanna be honest."

"I was going to tell you."

"I don't fuckin' care. I don't fuckin' care about you anymore, Clarke."

"Fine." She wasn't asking him to care.

"Maybe this is actually the best thing for me," he said, roaming around the kitchen, still looking a little drunk. "I mean, you're pretty much just a whore these days anyway, so . . ."

Oh, that word . . . it cut like a knife, especially given how often she had endure hearing it. "You bastard," she growled. "I don't care how mad you are at me. How can you call me that? That's what guys at the club call me."

"Well, they're right."

She stared at him in disbelief, struggling, in that moment, to remember how and why she'd ever even fallen in love with him. He wasn't the same person he used to be. He wasn't the same guy who had stuck with her and consoled her in the wake of her parents' divorce. He wasn't the same guy who'd been so optimistic about this city that he'd convinced her to tag along with him. "If this is the way you're gonna talk to me," she said, refusing to let any tears fall anymore, "then I'm glad I cheated on you."

His expression didn't change. Not in the slightest. He didn't apologize for calling her that name, because he didn't feel sorry. And he wouldn't. Not with Cage in his ear, cheering him on as he became an even bigger jackass. He wouldn't feel sorry.

Suddenly ,the door swung open, and into the apartment spilled Bellamy. "Clarke, what're you-" He stopped abruptly when he saw that she was talking to Finn.

"Ah, look who it is," Finn said, grabbing what was left of his beer. He held it up in a mock toast pose, then began to chug it.

"Bellamy, you shouldn't be here," she said quietly.

"No, you shouldn't be here," he whispered vehemently. "Look at him."

She did. She looked at him drowning his sorrows, and as much as she hated him . . . it was so sad.

Finn finished his beer and threw that empty can into the living room. "Yeah, look at me," he said. "I'm so pathetic. But what about you, Bellamy?" He took a few steps forward, probably trying to seem menacing, and said, "How's it feel to be fucking my sloppy seconds?"

"Let's get out of here," Bellamy said, ignoring him as he grabbed Clarke's arm and tried to pull her to the door.

"No, I have to figure this out with him," she said, purposefully placing herself between the two of them. Neither one of them would take a swing at the other while she was standing right there.

"Does it bother you, Bellamy?" Finn went on. "Does it bother you I had her first?"

"No, it bothers me that you're an ass," Bellamy shot back.

"I kicked your ass last night."

"I wasn't even trying."

"You want another go round?"

Clarke felt the situation quickly escalating, so she threw her hands up in the air and cut in, "Would you guys just stop?" They were both being so macho, but they were just pissing each other off even more.

Finn smirked. "How about I give you one free punch for every guy she's blown at the club."

"What'd you say?" Bellamy growled, trying to move forward.

Clarke literally had to put her hands on his chest to hold him back. "Finn, you don't even know what the hell you're talking about!" she yelled.

"Oh, I know you're a slut, Clarke. I know that now."

Again, Bellamy tried to lunch forward. "I swear to God, if you ever fucking call her that again . . ."

"What're you gonna do, tough guy?"

"You really wanna find out?"

She pushed one hand against both of their chests, feeling them edging closer and closer to each other. "No, guys, just stop!" she told them. "Please." This wasn't getting them anywhere.

"Why," Finn spat, "so you can feel better about yourself, Princess?"

That nickname . . . it sounded so foul and insulting coming out of his mouth now. No one had the right to call her that anymore, except for Bellamy. "Ugh!" She was fed up, so she resigned herself to leaving before they'd really gotten to talk about what this breakup meant for the two of them. "Let's just go," she decided. "Let's just go, Bellamy." She grabbed his hand, and he reluctantly followed her as she dragged him out the door.

Finn, of course, poked his head out into the hall and called after them, "Yeah, follow your bitch, Bellamy. Follow your bitch and her precious pussy."

Bellamy dug in his heels, stopping, clenching his free hand into a fist, drawing his mouth tightly together as though it were taking every ounce of his willpower not to go back and hit Finn or at least say something.

"Just come on," she said again, giving his hand a forceful tug. There was no point in making this even worse. She wasn't going to let him get into some knock-down, drag-out fight over her. She was just going to get him out of there.

They got in her Cadillac and drove a familiar route. Both of them seemed content to just go to the club and hang out there for a little while. Not that that was some safe haven or anything, but . . . it wasn't like they had anywhere else to go.

"Did he ever talk to you like that before?" Bellamy asked her.

"No, never." She wiped tears out of the corners of her eyes, wishing he hadn't crossed such a line and spoken to her like that now. It made her worried about him, about the kind of man he was going to become. Even if he was no longer going to be a part of her life, she didn't want Finn to end up like his cousin. The word didn't need two Cages. "I can't even believe that's the same guy who . . . took me to prom and used to flirt with me in between classes." It was so bittersweet to remember that Finn, who, although he may not have been a perfect boyfriend, also hadn't been such a bad guy.

"He doesn't deserve you," Bellamy said simply. But as nice as it was to hear that, Clarke wasn't sure what she deserved anymore, either.

"I just feel so ashamed, Bellamy," she whispered, knowing that the feeling was going to linger, that she needed it to. She couldn't let herself off the hook, even if Finn seemed to be making every effort to do that for himself.

Bellamy so clearly wasn't ashamed of her, though. Came with the territory of loving her, she supposed. He reached over and held her hand, and even though it was just a little gesture of support . . . it did make her feel just slightly better.

When they got to the club, Luna was up on stage, working with Niylah, trying to help her clean up some of her spins. Anya stood below the stage, watching them, but she glanced over her shoulder when Bellamy and Clarke walked in.

"What're you guys doing here?" she asked.

They exchanged a look, and Clarke bleakly answered, "Nowhere else to go." Sure, they had Bellamy's place, but with Finn right next door . . . that just felt weird there right now.

"I need a drink," Bellamy grumbled, shuffling towards the bar. She followed him, flopping down on one of the stools, wishing he'd pour one for her, too.

Anya left Luna and Niylah to their practice and came towards Clarke, studying her curiously. "How are you doing today?" she asked. "Better than last night?"

Clarke couldn't tell whether she was asking because she was genuinely concerned or because she was concerned what one bad Girl Next Door performance may have done for business. "I don't wanna talk about it," she mumbled.

Anya tried a different tactic then and asked, "Bellamy? Anything you wanna talk about?"

"No," he replied as liquid trickled into a glass.

Oh, this was ridiculous, and Clarke was fed up with it. It was so obvious what Anya was doing. She was trying to figure out what was going on between the two of them, and really, since she wasn't a dumb woman, she probably already knew. "You know what? Screw this," Clarke said, flapping her hands against her sides as she stood up. "You already know Bellamy and I are together. If that's a problem for you, I don't really care." She left Anya with an alarmed look in her eyes and Bellamy with a stunned look on his face and headed back to the practice room and flopped down on the couch, where she could hopefully avoid her boss's inevitable inquisition of lecture. If Anya tried to fire Bellamy because of this, then she'd quit, too. She wasn't staying there without him.

A minute or so later, Bellamy joined her in that room, a drink in his hand. He sat down next to her and handed it over, and she couldn't believe that he'd at last poured her a drink. He must have sensed how badly she needed it.

"Finally," she teased, taking a sip. She made a face, because whatever it was was not her thing, and then handed it back to him. "So do you think Anya's freaking out right now?"

"I don't know," he said, flinging his arm around her. "She had to suspect it."

Yeah, and everyone else already knew. She'd begun to feel like it was only a matter of time before the truth came out, so maybe it'd be better to get ahead of it, own up to it now before someone like Finn could stroll in there and spill the beans. "What do we do now?" she wondered aloud, trying not to feel overwhelmed by how drastically things were changing.

"You can stay with me," he offered.

"Right next door to Finn?" She made a face. "That's cozy."

"I don't know, Clarke." He rubbed his forehead, looking stressed.

"No, it's not fair if he gets the apartment," she said. "Every single month, I'm the one who pays rent."

Bellamy sighed heavily. "So we'll have to go talk to him again then."

Talking to Finn didn't seem like something they should attempt to do together again, though. As awful as the conversation with him had been, it'd only escalated when Bellamy had gotten here. "We probably shouldn't," she suggested. "Bellamy, if you're there, it's just gonna make things even worse."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't put it past him to get violent with you right now."

"He won't." Admittedly, she wasn't even sure who this version of Finn was right now, but as big of a jerk as he was being, she still couldn't picture him ever hurting her.

"But even if he doesn't, you should have someone there," Bellamy persisted, "so if he calls you a slut or a bitch again . . ." He cringed as he said the words.

"Bellamy. I get called that every time I'm up on stage these days," she reminded him. "I'm used to it." It wasn't the kind of thing she loved being used to, but . . . girls like her who did this for a living had to develop a pretty thick skin. Going in, she hadn't realized just how thick it would become. "Look, just let me talk to him, okay? You can stand out in the hall. If I feel like I need anything . . ."

"Anything at all," he said.

"Then I'll holler for you."

That got a bit of a smile out of him. "Oh, you'll holler?"

"That was very Kansas of me, wasn't it?" She managed to laugh a little, glad that doing such a thing wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility right now. If Bellamy could still smile and she could still laugh in the midst of all this, then everything was going to be fine eventually. "Finn knows," she recapped. "Anya knows. It's us against the world now, Bellamy." She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, grateful that he'd shown up after all. Finn's anger had shaken her, and it was comforting to know she wasn't dealing with it alone.

Bellamy kissed the top of her head and murmured, "You aremy world." But it didn't sound too try-hard or cheesy when he said it. It just sounded . . . true. Completely heartfelt and genuine. She was his world. And he was hers.