A/N: Alright, so let me touch base here for a moment if you don't mind. I had some awesome feedback for last chapter that let me know some of you were not happy with the ending of that chapter and what it said about Clarke. In reply to those comments, I asked you to give me another chapter to make sense of the plot device and this chapter is the fallout of that. In reality, this chapter and the following are the response to those events, so hopefully, I can pull you back in for the explanation of why what happened... happened. That being said, the next two chapters are companion pieces, so to speak, and a rollercoaster. If you have stayed with me for this, buckle up and enjoy the ride.
Also, I know I don't normally post so soon after an update but well shit. Life's been a ball. The virus that shall not be named crept into my house after dealing with back to back medical dilemmas within family members and it's been stressful so I've been writing more to keep my brain occupied. I think it's reawoken my passion for these stories, and now that things are all well and stress is lessened, I've been feeling a lot more creative. I'm hoping I can translate that into my current stories and their unwritten chapters. You guys reading keep me going on these stories, even when I upset you with a plot twist. So thank you for that. Feedback is ALWAYS welcome and encouraged.
The room was cool and comfortable and Clarke slowly came to. It was dim, probably not even five in the morning. The faintest glow of light dissipated against the sheer curtain panels. She looked to her side and saw a void in the bed and bedding. Lexa wasn't there. It wasn't really surprising, as it wasn't the first time Lexa wouldn't be there come morning. Unfazed, Clarek rolled over and dozed back off effortlessly.
Now warmer than was comfortable, Clarke woke up by kicking off her fluffy duvet. With her legs free, she stretched out her legs and arms while contorting against the mattress. A moan of comfort settled over her as her muscles woke up from the action. Content, she rolled toward the end table and grabbed her phone. No notifications and it was just before ten. With her phone in hand, she hurled her body into a sitting position and stood, enjoying another stretch. She threw on a thin cotton robe in a powder blue, tying it at her hip before starting her day. She had that lovely feeling of being well-rested just coursing through her as she walked down the stairs in the still quiet house and to the kitchen. Once there, she plugged her phone into a wire on the counter. Her fingers shuffled through apps and playlists before finding one and allowing music to stream through speakers not seen. The volume was perfectly loud enough to dance around the house but nothing offensive to the ears for being a Sunday morning.
Clamoring through the pot cupboard, Clarke sought out the medium-sized frying pan she knew they had but rarely used. It was the perfect cooking vessel for omelets and boy was she feeling eggy this morning. Finally finding it and reassembling the mess of pans they had accumulated over the years, she set it on the glass stovetop before rifling through the fridge for her ingredients. Ready to cook, she set out a cutting board and assembled a small mince of bell pepper, tomato, and potato in a bowl now set beside the stove. As she cracked eggs into a dated plastic Tupperware, she danced and wiggled to the song playing and sang along intermittently.
"Take my hand in the middle of a crisis
Pull me close, show me, baby, where the light is
I was scared of a heart I couldn't silence
But you make me, you make me feel GOOD and I like it." She playfully tosses a shell into the sink with a little spin before beating them into a creamy slime. She added in her minced vegetables and some onion flakes.
As she poured the egg and mince mix into the pan, it sizzled, hitting the melted butter and flooded the pan. The song switched to something more downtempo, Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars. She thought to change it knowing it's pace but stayed at the stove. The song was lovely, one she had sung to death since discovering it so she didn't mind. As it played, she pulled the cooked eggs away from the bottom of the pan and allowed the liquid to spread, every now and then singing along.
"You've been lonely, too long." Her voice matched the pitch of the singer and it sounded lovely. It felt better than that. Singing along to music was always a soul-warming thing for anyone. To just let loose, be uninhibited, and enjoy the music. Clarke was very much uninhibited right now. Not a thought in her mind, it was blank. That allowed her to feel so free and light this morning. She wasn't thinking about a single thing for a change.
"You're like a mirror, reflecting me. Takes one to know one, so take it from me." She swayed as she cooked. "You've been lonely, You've been lonely, We've been lonely too long." She sang both the male and female parts in the song as she perfected her omelet. When the song ended and changed to a new one it was off-putting change in tempo, so she went to change the song to something else before returning to sprinkle cheese onto her eggs and fold the fluffy mess in half. Perfected, she slid the meal into a plate and quickly poured boiling water over a mountain of maté powder in a giant mug. A metal bombilla dropped into the mug with a plink before she moved to the counter to enjoy her meal.
Absolutely stuffed, Clarke finished off what she could of her maté before rinsing her dishes out and padding back up the stairs. She allowed herself a long and rather luxurious bath that morning. Something she rarely did, but having the house to herself and simply being in the mood she was she didn't see any reason not to spoil herself. The water was just barely too hot which was really the perfect temperature. She managed to find a rogue bath bomb from Lush in the back of the cabinet that still smelled just as strong as if it had just been pressed. Clarke had always been one to bomb the water while in it rather than before getting in. She enjoyed the display as they disintegrated into a mess of oils and often glitter. This one in particular looked rather unremarkable, a blue-green with no other signs of color. However as it rolled and bubbled on the surface of the water it let off hues of greens, blues, yellow and even a line of orange at some point. She couldn't pin the fragrance other than being citrusy. The water was silky, a teal leaning more toward green, and very cloudy by the time the bath bomb had done its show.
The downside to a bath bomb was the mess it left in the tub after the fact. Post-clean-up was annoying but she got done with it and found herself at her closet, naked. She slipped herself into a basic outfit, a gray cotton sports bra, and matching panties hidden by a loose-fitting navy tank top with a very subtle mandala printed on the chest of it. She slipped into some denim shorts and turned to manage her hair, finding her brush on her desk behind her. As she idly combed out the damp curls and kinks, she noticed the faint outline of black beyond her curtains. Intrigued, she moved to the curtain while pulling her hair back into a short and messy bun. Her fingers barely touched the thin fabric and pulled the curtain aside to figure out what she was looking at. The once hazy outline of something black became very clear in a split second and her mood left as quickly as the mystery had. She was likely shocked white or even red at this moment as pure unbridled fury rose from her gut and took over every fiber of her being. Standing there only took a moment out of her day but in her stupor of pure horror and rage, it felt so much longer. She quickly whipped back around and stormed out of her room, down the stairs with a weight unknown to her. The wood rattled under the carpet with the force she exuded as if she couldn't get out of the house fast enough. Pulling the sliding glass open with a force she hadn't seen in a while, she couldn't muster a flinch. She stumbled at the gate, trying to unlock it before she nearly floated across the lawn to his front door. By the time she got to it, she realized her source of rage was no longer on display but that didn't stop her. He should have hung a white flag instead because she was about to go to war.
"BELLAMY." She nearly screamed at the door, her balled fist pounding against the painted metal. Faintly, she heard shuffling, as if he had run up or down the stairs. He took far longer to open the door than she deemed acceptable and when he finally did she shoved past him and into the house, slamming the door behind herself. He backed away from her as she barged in, his butt hitting his couch.
"Problem?" He smugly asked.
"What the ACTUAL FUCK is wrong with you?" She yelled at him, a heat radiating off her body as she fumed.
"I don't know what you mean, Princess." His tone pulled at her anger and he looked like he almost wanted to smile but was refraining.
"Hanging my fuck-" she lowered her tone, realizing they may not be alone. "... my fucking panties out of your window." She seethed.
"Oh, you mean these?" He pulled them from his pocket. She instantly lunged to snatch them, but he was too fast. He held them up above both of them. Realistically she could just move around the couch and use it to gain height, but she wasn't thinking right now. She wanted to punch him in the face.
"Bellamy-" She started but he hushed her with his free hand.
"I had to get your attention somehow, and it looks like playing games is the only way to do it. "
She looked more cross than ever, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" She demanded, crossing her arms like a child.
"You won't fucking talk to me, you avoid me when Raven asks me to come over and whatever that shit was last night." He explained briskly. Bellamy seemed mad at her, which confused her but her anger was too prominent to pay mind to any other feelings at the moment.
"You mean, you spying in my window?" She suggested, watching him lower his hand unintentionally. She reached again but failed. He held his hand higher.
"Spying? You mean you putting that shit on display for me? You wanted me to see that and it's not the only time you've wanted me to see something. Don't play coy." Bitter were the words on his tongue.
"So that gives you the right to hang my fucking panties out your window?" She snapped back and all he did was shrug. One simple shrug. She didn't deny his words though, and he must have taken note of that.
"You wanted to play games, and I won. You're talking to me." He admitted his full intent and it made her mad that he declared himself the victor.
"Give me those." She didn't say anything other than a simple demand.
"Nope. Not until we talk." He was steadfast in his plan and it made her all the madder. Mad enough that she wanted to cry at this point.
Unamused by his plan, she jumped up again and failed to grab the garment. "Give them to me." She nearly yelled.
"You wanted my attention last night, and now I have yours. Talk to me." Pleading punctuated what he said and it pulled at something within her. Something she didn't like. She jumped one last time for the garment, like a toddler with candy being held over her head. However, she stumbled and crashed into his chest, sliding down his body as she landed back on her flat feet. The air in the room was thick in that moment of interaction and his arm buckled ever so slightly, the other having instantly made way to support her. A thoughtless action, his hand on her side to keep her from hurting herself and it crumbled her furious composure. She felt his body against her and she remembered the night at the gallery, why she had been avoiding him. Everything she was blissfully unaware of for a few fleeting hours that morning was now rushing back in and with a force mightier than ever before. She was losing her punch despite how mad she was and didn't know how to react now, so petulant self-preservation kicked in.
"I don't want your attention, period. I didn't then, I didn't last night, and I don't right now. Give me my fucking panties and leave me alone." Her words were loaded for bear and aimed to hit him deliberately, a self-defense mechanism most everyone had and was never proud of using.
He looked taken aback, but that stupor was replaced with his own self-preservation. His face turned sour and the air in the room was more volatile than when she barged in.
"So you just fuck anyone then, Princess?" It was a shot fired and his nickname for her had just been ruined. It had been dragged through the mud, smeared with tar, and shredded to pieces in that one delivery.
"Fuck you, Bellamy." She was calmer now, but it was in anger, not resolution. She was brooding.
"Oh, but that doesn't seem to be your M.O." He said back with a bite to his tone and he tossed the underwear at her, it hit her chest. One fist clenched it but they didn't disconnect their eyes.
"What isn't her M.O?" Octavia was in the doorway, having literally just walked in to catch that last line. Her panties were balled up in her fist and inconspicuously tucked into a pocket within a nanosecond of hearing Octavia's voice. Clarke couldn't function right now without screaming or crying or just exploding at him so she didn't say anything. She took off past Octavia without a word.
"What was that about?" Octavia looked annoyed at being ignored but Bellamy put on some semblance of fake composure to respond to his sister.
"Oh uh, she's pissed that her neighbor keeps needing their water off and suggested she'd fight them about it." He came up with a quick lie, a memory of her needing their shower. It worked though because Octavia looked amused by the story.
"That is silly." She shrugged. "Help me with the groceries." She walked past him as he stood leaning against the back of the couch. He was in a daze of what just happened, a mix of anger and sadness fighting for dominance inside him. Unwilling to let Octavia in on his turmoil, he obliged her silently and lifted the rest of the bags off the stoop and to the kitchen before silently retreating to his computer room. Behind the closed door, he finally sighed. He was hurt. He knew he also hurt her, but he couldn't make sense of why things were happening the way they are. Why did he do that? Why did he instigate that and then stab her with a verbal assault? He was above that, they both were. Yet at that moment, neither of them could manage an adult conversation. Granted, he was childish enough to get her there by hanging her panties out his window. He now felt like he deserved what she said. Not wanting him. It hurt his heart and logically he knew she was pissed off but now he wondered if she meant it. The night of her debut, he said so much in so few words, and in his mind's eye, it led to what happened between them. But was it what should have happened? Now he racked his brain thinking about it, the what-ifs and whys of their encounter. It allowed him to experience many emotions, anger, sadness, the feeling of being used, the feeling of embarrassment but most of all guilt.
Overwhelmed, Bellamy found himself at his desk with his headphones on. A deathly volume poured heavy music into his ears to compete with the thoughts. It would seem to work, as he would eventually get into some things on his computer to let him forget the day.