Chapter 55
Bellamy was still sound asleep when the phone rang. Not his, but Clarke's. They both reluctantly stirred, neither one of them too eager to wake up. It'd been a late night, and he felt a little bit hungover. Nothing major, but enough to make him want to stay in bed for a while.
She practically crawled on top of him, her hands and arms flapping and nearly hitting him in the face as she clamored for her phone. She groaned when she checked the screen and saw who was calling. "Oh, no."
Her mom, he figured as she settled back down beside him. Or her dad.
Apparently, it wasn't either one of them, though, because she answered with an unenthused, "Hi, Mrs. Collins."
Collins, he registered. Finn's mom?
"What?" she said loudly. "I—I can't understand you." She gave him a look and made a drinking motion with her free hand.
Bellamy yawned, resigned to not going back to sleep. He glanced at the bedside clock, noting that they'd probably only gotten about four hours of rest. But it was better than nothing.
"Yeah, we broke up," Clarke went on. He heard some yammering on the other end but couldn't make out anything the other woman was saying. "No, it was mutual," Clarke adamantly corrected. A slight pause, and then she grunted, "Well, don't believe everything he tells you then." She held the phone away from her ear as Finn's mom continued to ramble. Finally, she cut in and said, "I still can't understand you," again.
So drowning their sorrows seemed to run in the family then. That didn't particularly bode well for Finn.
With a confused look on her face, Clarke ended the call, setting her phone aside. "She just hung up," she said. "And oh, apparently Finn's leaving out the little detail that he cheated on me, too."
"Imagine that." Bellamy wasn't surprised. Finn was that guy who was going to be eternally trapped in high school. The class heartthrob, the quarterback. The pathetic chump who couldn't own up to the fact that he wasn't smart enough or talented enough to actually make something of himself out there in the real world. Although . . . Bellamy supposed he hadn't made much of himself yet, either. And he was gonna be twenty-four in a couple months.
Clarke pulled the covers back up over her arms, turning on her side, looking as if she wanted to cuddle up with him. But she didn't get the chance when her phone vibrated. "Ugh," she groaned, picking it up. She read the text and grumbled, "I think everybody back home knows now." She showed him the message on the screen. "From Maya. 'Call me when you can.'"
Yeah, that sounded ominous enough. If he were her, he would have been tempted to just not call, put it off as long as possible. But Clarke got out of bed, already dialing her friend's number. So he decided to get up, too.
The phone call with Maya ended up being a much longer one than the call with Finn's mom had been. They weren't arguing, exactly, but as Bellamy stood in the kitchen, whipping up some scrambled eggs for breakfast, he gathered that Maya wasn't too pleased with the new development. Clarke began to sound increasingly agitated as the conversation wore on, and finally she got to the point where she simply said, "Look, the bottom line is, Finn and I just aren't those same high school sweethearts we used to be. And really, just the fact that he would drag me on social media should prove that he's not even the same guy he used to be."
Bellamy shook his head. Fuck social media. He'd never gotten into it, thankfully, but it seemed like Finn was tweeting up a storm, and posting rants on Instagram about what a horrible girlfriend Clarke had been.
"It's great that you and Jasper have stayed together this year," Clarke went on, "but Finn and I just . . . grew apart."
Bellamy snorted as he moved the eggs around in the frying pan and turned the heat level down a notch. Yeah, they'd grown apart because Finn was an ass, because he'd never treated her the way she deserved to be treated.
"Yes, I am dating 'that Bellamy guy' now," Clarke said. "We love each other."
He shot a smile over his shoulder at her, happy to hear her say that with such certainty and confidence.
"Just try to understand, okay?" she practically pleaded. There was a slight pause, and then she said, "Okay, bye," and quickly ended the call.
"Does she understand?" he asked doubtfully, scooping a plentiful helping of eggs onto a paper plate.
"Not really," she said, leaving her phone behind as she came to stand next to him. "It's nothing against you or anything, but . . . she's just used to me being with Finn. Everybody back home is."
He handed the plate to her, hoping he hadn't scrambled the eggs too much. "Why didn't you tell her he cheated on you?"
She shrugged, using her fingers to pick up a bite. "I don't know. Thought I'd give him time to own up to it with his parents first." She sighed, setting the plate aside, which either meant she wasn't hungry or he'd fucked up breakfast. "Is that stupid? He's being an ass to me. Maybe I should just be an ass to him."
He shrugged. "If you want." He really didn't see a problem with it either way.
Once again, her phone rang, but this time, she made no effort to go retrieve it from the couch and answer it. "Oh, what now?" she groaned.
"Probably your parents," he assumed. If word was getting around, it was only a matter of time until they called her about it, too.
"Nope. Not taking that one then," she said decisively as the phone continued to ring.
"Are they gonna be pissed?"
"Probably."
He frowned. "Even when you tell them he cheated on you?"
She rubbed her forehead, looking stressed. "I don't know. I think they liked the thought of me having Finn out here, of not being alone."
"Tell 'em you're not alone then," he suggested, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You've got me."
She smiled a bit, but then reminded him, "They don't even know you."
"When am I gonna meet 'em?" He'd never actually met a girl's parents before. The girls he'd hooked up with back in high school didn't count since he'd known most of the people in that town his whole life.
"Well, when I am I gonna meet your mom?" she countered.
"I don't know." He hadn't thought about that. Flying his mom out to New York would cost him money, but going home to see her was going to cost him time off work. He really couldn't afford either one.
"See? Neither one of us is all that eager to bring our parents into the mix," she pointed out.
Truth be told . . . he wasn't. He loved his mom, despite her many faults, but her routines were essential to her sobriety. Taking her out of her usual lifestyle, even if just for a few days, might throw her off. "Let them know I exist, though," he told her, figuring her parents might care a little more about a new relationship than his mom would. "And tell them they don't have to worry, 'cause I'll take better care of you than Finn ever did."
She smoothed her hands up his chest, her fingers toying with the collar of his t-shirt. "And tell your mom I'll take care of you."
He shook his head, smirking. "That just sounds dirty."
"I can take care of you right now," she whispered, seeking out his lips for a kiss. Their bodies pressed together, clothing very much in the way. For now. But as they continued kissing, he had a feeling their breakfast was going to end up getting very, very cold.
...
Clarke didn't like having to go confront Finn yet again, but . . . what choice did she have? He was completely dragging her name through the mud, and thanks to him, everyone back home seemed to be under the impression that she had become a lying, cheating slut since graduating high school. Plus . . . she needed to make sure he didn't run his mouth about other things.
She waited until Bellamy headed out for an audition to go see Finn. He was in the middle of a photo shoot, or perhaps at the end of it, because the swimsuit-clad, leggy model looked uninspired, and Raven was sitting behind the computer, not saying anything, but yawning as though she'd been there for a while that day.
"Yeah, turn around," Finn said as he snapped the photos. "Show me that ass."
Clarke made a face. Since when did Finn talk to the girls he photographed that way? Cage must have been rubbing off on him even more. "She barely even has one," Clarke muttered, sidling up beside him.
He looked up from the camera, rolled his eyes at her, and then snapped a few more pictures of the frail model. "I think we got the shot," he said. "Raven?"
She just nodded mutely, barely even acknowledging him.
"That's a wrap, everybody," he proclaimed, neglecting to even compliment the model as she walked off set. "What the hell are you doin' here?" he asked Clarke impatiently as he clicked through the photos on his camera.
"Well, I was bombarded with phone calls this morning," she explained. "Seems you decided to tell everyone we broke up."
"Yeah," he admitted. "You got a problem with that?"
She had a lot of problems with the way he was acting right now, the things he was doing and saying, but that was too long of a list to rattle off. "I just wondered why you're making yourself seem blameless," she said.
"Because I feel like blaming you," he said with an uncaring shrug. "Simple enough."
Clarke stared at him incredulously, amazed that he could be such a coward. Most guys would at least man up and own their mistakes. Wouldn't they? Even her dad had confessed the truth of everything after he'd gotten caught. Why couldn't Finn just do the same?
As angry as she was with him, she told herself to stay calm so she could get to the point of why she was here. "What else have you told people?" she questioned.
He made a face. "What do you mean? I told 'em you've been fuckin' another guy. That's it."
"No, I mean . . ." What an ass. He knew exactly what she was talking about, but he was just playing dumb. He wanted her to say it and seem all worried and insecure. Which she was, honestly. "Did you tell anyone about . . . my job?"
He smirked. "You still don't want anyone back home knowing you're a stripper, huh?"
She really didn't.
"I could tell people all about that," he bragged, finally setting his camera aside, no longer focused on the photos but instead solely focused on antagonizing her. "I could tell your parents. Thought about it."
"Finn . . . please don't." She hated feeling like she reduced to begging, but . . . if that was what it took . . . "I know you're mad at me, but you know how bad my relationship with them is. I really don't need it getting any worse." Somewhere in there still had to be the guy who had helped her through her parents' divorce. Right? He couldn't just be gone.
Finn thought about it for a moment, then said, "I'll tell you what: I'll let you buy my silence."
"Buy it?" she echoed, not liking the sound of that. Money made everything more complicated than it needed to be. All he needed to do was remember how to be a decent human being and agree not to tell anyone. That was it.
But apparently that wasn't gonna happen. "Three-thousand dollars," he blurted. "Get me three-thousand dollars by tonight, and I won't say anything."
She didn't even want to ask what he was planning on using that money for. Booze, drugs, women . . . it was hard to tell with the downward spiral he had begun to embrace these days. "Finn, I don't just have three-thousand dollars lying around," she said. Rent was due tomorrow, and she'd gotten behind on a couple of bills due to her glorious three weeks of sexual bliss with Bellamy.
"Then you better put on a good show for your fans, make some money," he suggested coldly. "Because if I don't get something out of this, then I'm telling your parents everything they don't wanna hear."
She shivered at the thought, imagining what it would be like to get that kind of phone call from her mother. Or worse, her dad. Both of them would be appalled if they knew that their daughter was a stripper. She could call herself a pole-dancer or an exotic dancer all she wanted, but truthfully, it all boiled down to the same thing. She took her clothes off for money. That was how she made it in this city. She got up on stage and let men call her disgusting, horrible things because it paid. She wasn't proud of it, necessarily, but . . . they'd make her feel ashamed if they knew, and she didn't feel like she or their relationship could handle that.
Three-thousand dollars it is, she decided, hating that she felt like she had no choice but to give in to his demands.
She wasn't scheduled to dance that night, but luckily, one of the other girls got sick. So when she got the group text from Anya asking if anyone would fill in, she jumped at the chance. She threw together a costume, told Luna she wanted to dance to a super explicit song, and she got out there and did her thing. Or . . . Ontari's thing, more precisely. She danced differently than she usually did, relieved that Bellamy had gone out with Miller tonight. She would have hated for him to see her being so overtly sexual up there, pinching her nipples and spreading her ass and even briefly touching herself the way she'd once seen Ontari do. She hated it, but the men seemed to like it. They threw cash out at her like confetti. Big bills, too, not just ones and fives.
Never again, she told herself as she continued to rub her hands all over herself. Never again was she going to willingly sell herself like this. This lewd show was a one-time only thing for the Girl Next Door. She'd go back to her normal dancing after this, where she could be provocative without being so . . . degrading.
Even though she was going to extremes for that money, not everyone seemed to respect that it was, in fact, her money. As the song came to an end, she saw a couple of girls (probably some of Charmaine's porn stars) clamoring for the cash that had fallen at bottom of the stage. The bouncers grabbed them and tried to stop them, but they couldn't be rough with them the way they could with the guys. When the girls shoved money in their tops and in their skirts, it wasn't like they could just reach in and grab it back out.
"Hey, that's mine!" Clarke shouted. "That's my money!"
No one seemed to care. In fact, more and more people came forward, collecting the very thing she'd just worked for.
"Stop it!" she yelled at them. Shooting a desperate glance towards the back of the club, she yelped, "Anya!"
Her boss was already approaching, attempting to break up the commotion. "Throw them out!" she was telling the bouncers. "Anyone who steals any money is out of here!"
It wasn't a deterrent, though. They'd already seen her dance, so why not just take her money? Too many people, men and women alike, started collecting it, and there weren't enough people to try to put a stop to it. Clarke quickly scooped up as much as she could, but she didn't have any clothing on, so where could she even put it? Niylah came out from backstage and tried to help her, but it was no use. Clarke felt like she was watching all her hard-earned money just disappear right in front of her eyes. Their new clientele didn't exactly pay them the best anyway, so every single dollar was precious.
She was so upset afterward that she called Bellamy and told him what was going on. Yes, she'd agreed to buy Finn's silence. Yes, she'd come to work tonight without telling him just because she'd known she was going to have to push the envelope with what she was doing up there. He didn't seem thrilled, but he didn't sound judgmental, either. He left Miller's place and came to get her immediately. They got into her car and drove to Cage's apartment, because she just assumed that was where Finn would be tonight. It wasn't like he had anyone else to stay with.
"Fifteen-hundred," she said dejectedly as she finished counting through her cash. That was pathetic. Fifteen-hundred dollars was what amateur strippers made on slow nights. She'd gone above and beyond the call of duty up there on that stage tonight, and it'd made her feel so dirty. And what did she have to show for it? Barely even over a thousand dollars. Half of what Finn had asked for.
"Let me see what I got," Bellamy said, taking out his wallet when he pulled up to a red light. He opened it up and pulled out . . . a ten dollar bill. That wasn't going to help them.
"Great. I'm screwed," she mumbled. Finn was going to tell her parents everything, and then he was going to tell everyone else back in Arkadia everything. Every person she'd grown up with was going to know what she was doing now, and everyone was going to talk. Even her friends, Maya and Jasper and Monty . . . even they would talk about it.
"Why are you paying him anyway?" Bellamy questioned, coasting through the intersection when the light turned green. "You didn't pay Roan when he wanted money."
"Because Roan didn't have a leg to stand on," she reminded him. If the rumors were true, Roan was looking at a nice long year in a Boston penitentiary for sexual assault. "But Finn could tell my parents everything. And it'd be the truth. Do you have any better ideas?"
He didn't say anything, which must have meant that he didn't. Unfortunately. So the fifteen-hundred dollars was just going to have to be enough then. Either that or he'd have to give her a few more days to make the rest of the money.
When they got to Cage's place, Clarke heard music all the way down the hall. It didn't sound like a party, though. Just a guy playing his music obnoxiously loudly, the way someone like Cage would do. She wasn't even sure he heard her knock on the door, so it took Bellamy reaching around her and pounding on the door to garner a response.
"Come in!" Cage yelled.
Clarke pushed open the door, surprised that it was just unlocked. She was greeted first by the overwhelming smell of alcohol and pot, and second by the sight of Cage sprawled out on one couch with his pants down around his ankles while two nearly naked girls Clarke recognized from his agency sucked his cock. Finn sat on the other while two model-like girls, including the lanky one from the photo shoot today, did the same to him. It was . . . jarring, to say the least. Especially because the girls didn't even flinch or let up with what they were doing. Either they did this a lot or . . . they just knew how to shut off their feelings or something.
"Oh. I thought you were another girl," Cage said disappointedly, craning his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he received pleasure.
"Oh my god," Clarke whispered, shooting Bellamy a look. They'd pretty much just walked in on an orgy, and she felt disgusted. His hand on the small her back was a slight comfort.
"You brought your bodyguard, huh?" Finn said, grunting and shaking his head. "What about my money?"
Clarke reached into her purse and reluctantly handed over the cash. "This is what I've got," she said, looking away as those girls continued to . . . please him.
He flipped through the bills and remarked, "This doesn't look like three-thousand dollars."
"That's all you asked for?" Cage chuckled, head still back, eyes closed as he reveled in his duo of ladies. "I'd have asked for five."
"It's fifteen-hundred," Clarke informed her ex, eager to just settle it and get out of there. "There were some . . . problems at the club tonight."
"Take it or leave it," Bellamy growled. "She's not giving you more."
Finn couldn't have been deriving too much pleasure out of his two-on-one blowjob, because he was more than able to just carrying on a conversation with them. "Then I'm not promising I'll keep her secret," he said.
She thought about asking him to give her a few more days to make the rest of the money, but . . . she really didn't want another repeat of tonight, getting up there with such desperation that she'd actually understand what it must have felt like to be Ontari a couple months ago. There was only one other approach she could think of, so she went for it. "What if I keep yours?" she asked him. "You don't tell anyone back home what I do at the club, I don't tell anyone what you did with Raven. Or what you're doing now. Or how much you've been drinking. Any of it."
Finn's expression shifted into a more contemplative one, and he grabbed both models by the hair, causing them to stop what they were doing. "You won't tell anyone I cheated on you?" he said.
She sighed heavily, hating that she pretty much either had to sacrifice her integrity or her body to get him to stay silent. "No, I'll let you look like the good guy." She knew everyone back home would still judge her, but hopefully they'd look past Finn's rants about her online and notice that every picture he was posting had alcohol in it, that he was spending all his time at parties with scantily-clad women. Hopefully they'd be able to piece together that he wasn't the good guy they'd once thought him to be, and hopefully her reputation wouldn't suffer too much. Even if it did, though . . . it was fine. She'd much rather her family and friends back home know that she was a cheater than a stripper.
"Works for me," Finn decided. He pressed the heads of the two girls back down, and they resumed their ministrations.
"Let's get outta here," Bellamy suggested quickly, already ushering her towards the door.
"Oh, come on, model-boy," Cage said tauntingly. "I'm sure you used to do this kind of thing all the time."
Clarke rolled her eyes at him—at both of them—and left them to their depraved sexual pursuits, happily leaving with Bellamy.
Unfortunately, they didn't get far. Cage lived in a nice part of the city, of course, but they had to drive back through some unsavory parts of the city to get home. And Clarke's car virtually quit running on the way. Smoke started to rise up from under the hood, a number of lights on the dashboard lit up, and Bellamy had to pull over right away. He got out and looked under the hood, but Clarke suspected she might know just as much about cars as he did, so she got out, too. She peered over his shoulder, quickly concluding that she had no idea what was wrong, and then she proceeded to pace around on the sidewalk while he jiggled things around under the hood, trying to locate the problem.
"Cage is right, you know," Bellamy mumbled. "I did used to hook up with girls like that."
"Yeah, but those were one-night stands. They're hooking up with models and girls who work for them," she pointed out, feeling like the difference was a pretty important one. "Probably sex in exchange for a job. It's disgusting." She glanced around, noting some of the women dressed in heavy makeup and skimpy clothing, just sort of wandering, never really doing or saying much of anything until a car approached them and rolled down the window. "Just like this part of town," she said, shivering. These were prostitutes, definitely. There was literal prostitution going on right around her. She'd seen some hints of it before, but this seemed to be like a hotbed for it or something. They were wandering and men were prowling, and it just made her skin crawl.
"Just stay by the car," Bellamy told her, remaining bent over the underside of the hood.
"Do you have any idea how to fix it?" she asked, still pacing.
"Nope."
She sighed, feeling like it was a long walk back to the club to get his car, one she didn't particularly want to make through this shady neighborhood, even with Bellamy beside her. "Should I call someone?" she asked.
"Who? Finn?"
As much as she hated to admit it, Finn would have probably been able to fix that car. But hell no, she was definitely not calling him. Not that he would have helped her anyway. "No," she said. "Is Miller good with cars?"
"Not really." He raked his hand through his hair, then started to yank on something near where the smoke had been coming out a few minutes ago. Probably something he wasn't supposed to yank on.
"Yo, you need some help?"
Clarke spun around and saw two guys, one older and burlier and one younger and skinnier, strolling towards them. "Yes," she said.
"No, we're fine," Bellamy denied. "I got this."
"No, we need help," Clarke said, grateful that not everyone out there was just roaming around looking for women. "Thank you," she told them.
The bigger guy joined Bellamy in front of the car, asking, "What happened?"
Bellamy looked a little pissed to have to get help from anyone, but he answered anyway. "It just started smoking under the hood."
As he continued to explain what had happened, Clarke started to grow . . . very aware of the other guy, who just seemed to keep moving closer and closer to her. She didn't want to believe he was anything but a good Samaritan until she had no choice.
"Look at you," he said, sliding up behind her. "Sexy." He grabbed her hips and tried to press his groin into her.
"Ew, stop!" she shrieked, trying to shove him away. But his hands held onto her harder. "Bellamy!"
Thankfully, Bellamy didn't hesitate. He yelled, "Get off her!" gave that guy a forceful shove in order to get him away from Clarke, and then threw a punch that sent him stumbling backwards.
"How much she cost, man?" the big guy asked. "I got fifty bucks for a blow-job."
Holding his newly-punched jaw, the skinnier man smirked and added, "Fifty more for anal."
Oh my god, Clarke thought, feeling like she was about to be sick. These guys thought she was just like the other women out here, a prostitute.
"Get in the car," Bellamy told her. "Lock the door."
"What're you gonna do?"
"Clarke." He gave her a stern look, and she did what he told her to do. She took her phone out of her purse, ready to dial 911 if she had to, if things got out of control here. Bellamy could take the skinny guy, but the other one was so much bigger.
"You think you can just have her, huh?" Bellamy roared, brazen and unafraid as he took a swing at the fat guy's gut. He doubled-over in pain.
"Stay the fuck away from her!" Bellamy yelled. When the skinny guy charged at him, he shot his hands out and shoved him back, practically tossing him onto the sidewalk. "I'll fuckin' kill you if you touch her!"
Clarke was about to press the three numbers, worried that these two creeps might try to retaliate against Bellamy, but much to her relief, she heard sirens down the street. She looked back and saw blue and red flashing lights, and almost as if they were accustomed to it, the two men who'd been causing them problems started to slink away. Not run. That would've been too obvious. They just walked onward, hands in their pockets, heads down, trying to look inconspicuous.
"No, I'm not her pimp; I'm her boyfriend," she heard Bellamy tell the officer. "Those guys are the ones you should be lookin' at."
Clarke couldn't make out everything the cop was saying, but she heard bits and pieces of it. Sounded like he was accusing Bellamy of being just like those other guys, prowling the streets for cheap and illegal sex.
She had to do something. Getting out of the car, she confirmed, "Hey, it's fine. He's my boyfriend. Our car broke down. We just wanna fix it so we can go home."
The officer looked back and forth between the two of them skeptically, but then asked, "You need a ride?" while looking only at her.
"Yeah, that'd be great." Anything to get out of there.
"Not him. Just you."
Bellamy rolled his eyes.
"No," she said, "I'm staying with him." What a lousy cop. First he showed no interest in catching the actual lawbreakers, and then he wanted to leave someone who wasn't breaking the law behind to fend for himself? Jackass.
"Don't let me see you out here again," the cop said to Bellamy, glaring at him. He got back in his car, and once he'd driven off, the . . . activity around there picked up again. Girls came back out of the shadows and stood on the corners, waiting for someone to approach them.
"Get back in the car, Clarke," Bellamy told her.
She sighed, doing just that while he went back around to the front of it to try to figure out what was wrong. She knew she'd do more harm than good wandering around outside. They didn't need any other losers coming up to them, thinking she was for sale and he was the one selling her.
They got home later, after Bellamy somehow did enough jingling and jangling around underneath the hood to get the thing running without smoking again. It sort of chugged to a stop at every intersection, but they got home in one piece. And she was so relieved. The night had not been a particularly good one.
"Well, you fixed it," she said, flipping on the living room light.
"For now," he said as he kicked off his shoes. "Probably should take it in and have someone else look at it tomorrow."
She nodded, setting her purse down on the couch, bending down to take off her uncomfortable heels. "I'm sorry," she said.
He looked confused. "For what?"
"Tonight." She sighed, disappointed in herself for being so naïve. "I've lived here long enough. I should know better than to assume that anyone in that kind of neighborhood would just wanna help us out." People in this city didn't just do things out of the goodness of their hearts. There was always an ulterior motive.
"It's not your fault," he assured her. "There's just creeps all over the place."
"Yeah, and that cop was stupid for thinking you were one of them." She pouted, still upset that the guy who'd grabbed at her had probably proceeded to pick up a real prostitute that night, without any real consequence. Hopefully his face bruised up at least. That'd be something.
"You're a good boyfriend," she told Bellamy, swaying towards him. "You protected me."
"Tried," he said, averting his eyes sadly. "I always try."
She knew she didn't make it easy sometimes, but he never stopped trying. And she loved him for that. But at the same time, she didn't want to have to rely on him. She was young, sure, but she was fit and feisty, two things that made it very likely that she could also protect herself. "Can you show me how to throw a punch?" she asked him.
"A punch?" he echoed.
"Yeah." She supposed she could always watch YouTube videos or something to get the gist of it, but why not learn from him? He obviously knew how to throw a good one. "I don't wanna always have to rely on you like I did tonight or like I did with Roan," she explained. "I wanna be able to defend myself. So show me."
Bellamy seemed a bit surprised, but he was all for it as he said, "Okay. Get in a stance."
She mimicked how he'd stood tonight when he'd been yelling at those guys, legs apart, shoulders back.
"Stagger your feet," he told her. "Bend your knees. Make a fist."
She folded her fingers in and curled her thumb around them.
"No, that's not right."
"Yes, it is. I was in cheerleading," she reminded him. She knew how to make a fist.
"Tuck your thumb into the side of your fingers," he said, showing her.
She wrinkled her forehead, not used to making that kind of fist. But she did it anyway.
"There, like that," he said. "Now just extend your arm. Push my shoulder."
She did, making sure to not really put any force behind it or hit him.
"Harder," he urged.
His shoulder was solid, all muscled just like the rest of him. It was like pushing against a rock.
"There, that's better," he said. "Lean into it."
She moved her shoulder forward with her hand. "Like that?"
"Yeah. Twist your hips into it, too. Throw your whole weight behind it."
It was sort of like a dance move, so it came pretty naturally to her.
"Okay, now switch to your other hand."
Her other hand definitely wasn't her dominant hand, so she noticed that it felt a little awkward to switch. "I'm not as strong over here," she said.
"So you'd only throw a punch with this hand if you don't have another option then," he said. After letting her give his other shoulder a few pushes with that hand, he said, "Switch back."
She smiled, sort of getting a kick out of just pushing him repeatedly like this. She wasn't putting enough force behind it to hurt him, and his feet hadn't even budged. But still . . . he was basically letting himself be her human punching bag right now, and it was sweet. "You wanna use your second and third knuckles, alright?" he said. "You'll break your hand if you use the other ones. And go for the vulnerable areas."
"What're those?" she asked, halting her arm motion.
"Eyes, nose, throat," he replied. "Groin." He held one hand over his crotch and shook his head.
"You don't want me to kick you in the groin?" she teased, raising her foot as if she were about to do so.
"Not particularly, no," he said, flinching a bit.
"Can I actually try to throw a punch?" she asked eagerly, feeling like she had the hang of the motion.
"Yeah," he said. "Just don't actually hit me."
She took a breath, tucked her thumb back into her fingers, and swung her arm forward. On accident, she hit the side of his face. "Oh, Bellamy!" she whimpered. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," he said, holding his cheek. "That hurt."
"I'm really sorry," she apologized again, cringing.
"No, that's good," he said. "It should hurt." He shifted his weight from side to side, licked his lips, and grinned at her eagerly. "Come on," he urged, "what else you got?"
She really wasn't sure, to be honest, but learning how to do this was making her feel strong, stronger than she had tonight. So she was eager to find out what else she could do.
...
The gym. It cost money, but it was worth it to get a little more fighting practice in. Bellamy reminded Clarke that he wasn't some certified self-defense instructor or anything, and she reminded him that it didn't matter, because he was teaching her what she needed to know. And he was even making it fun in the process.
They bounced around a small boxing ring together, her without gloves on her hands but him with holding a punching shield so that she could hit it instead of hitting him. She practiced some of the jabs he'd shown her how to do last night, but they added in other types of hits, too, like the uppercut, which made her feel like Rocky. And not everything involved punching. He got her using her flat hands to pummel the punching shield. The key was to use her hand, not just her fingers. He said she could break someone's nose like that if she hit hard enough.
Since the throat was another vulnerable area, he showed her how to swing her elbow to make some hard contact there, whether she was being attacked from the front or behind. It was all about rotating the hips, so he didn't hesitate to put his hands on her hips and help demonstrate. His touch . . . was electric.
When they were both dripping with sweat and gasping for air, she convinced him to let her practice some kicks to the groin, and luckily, since he had the shield strategically placed, there was no accidents.
She felt like they were full-on sparring by the end of it, like she'd caught on fast and now had enough tricks and tips in her arsenal to fend for herself, if he ever wasn't around and something happened. She felt like a badass, pretty much, especially since he seemed more winded than she did. He had to shake out his hands and his arms, but she felt too energized to stop. Maybe the spar-session was over, but . . . the physical activity didn't have to be.
At home, despite how tired he seemed to be, he didn't hesitate to get naked with her, didn't think twice when she asked him to do her up against the wall. He bent her over right there in the living room and fucked her hard from behind, to the point where she was nearly screaming, because it just felt so damn good and she loved it so damn much. For as long as she could, she held onto the wall, but eventually, she just arched her back, pressed her ass out, and let him press her whole body against the wall as he drilled into her. The perspiration on his body mixed with hers, his guttural grunts and groans joined her symphony of pleasured moans and screams, and the people who lived next door pounded on the wall and shouted at them to shut up.
They didn't.
