Chapter 93

The sun had barely even started coming up when Bellamy walked out of the house the next day. Keys in hand, he headed to his car, feeling like he needed coffee or something. Despite being up so early, he wasn't really feeling all that energetic.

"Bellamy!"

He turned around as Clarke scurried outside after him. "Hey, I didn't mean to wake you up," he said.

Frowning, she came closer to him. "Where are you going?"

"To work," he answered.

"At 6:00 a.m.?"

Was it really still that early? "The field's gettin' really bad with all the rain we've had," he tried to explain. "I'm gonna go mow it before practice." There was riding mower in the mechanical shed attached to the shop room. He had a key.

"And you weren't gonna tell me?" she said, narrowing her eyes at him almost . . . accusingly.

Reaching out, he tucked a loose piece of her hair behind her ear. "Thought I'd just let you sleep."

Clearly she didn't interpret that romantically, and he didn't really blame her for that. He should've let her know she was leaving. "Okay, look . . ." She took a step back, waiting a couple seconds before continuing. "I think I know what's going on here. You're avoiding me."

He laughed at that. "You're my wife. Why would I avoid you? And . . . how?" They lived in the same house, slept in the same bed. He couldn't have avoided her even if he'd wanted to. And he didn't want to.

"By doing stuff like this," she said, "heading to work early so we don't have to . . ." She trailed off, sighed heavily, then looked down at her feet and quietly mumbled, "I think we should talk about what you said last night."

Even though he wasn't avoiding her, he was gonna do his best to avoid this. "What do you mean?"

"Come on," she said, an impatient look in her eyes when she lifted her head again. "You know."

In that split-second, he made a decision to completely swerve around the topic of conversation. "No, I don't. I don't remember what I said."

She squinted suspiciously. "Really? You were that drunk?"

He shrugged, continuing to play dumb. "I guess."

"Bellamy . . ." She rolled her eyes, and he couldn't tell whether that was because she didn't believe or because she did believe him and was pissed about it. "You said you wanted to have another baby."

Because it just slipped out, he thought. The alcohol had made his lips a little loose, and . . . what was the expression? Loose lips sink ships? "Well, I do," he said. "Someday."

"But you made it sound like now."

Dammit, he thought, wishing he'd had just a drink or two less. He wouldn't have said that if he'd been completely coherent. "Like I said, I don't remember," he lied. "Look, babe, I really gotta go get this mowing done. I'll see you later, alright?" He bent down and kissed her cheek. "Love you."

"Love you, too," she said, looking less than satisfied with the way their first conversation of the day had gone. She sulked back towards the front door as he climbed in the car and started it up. He waited until he was heading down the road to let the fake smile fall from his face.

...

When Miller came into the office, he looked way more energetic than Bellamy felt. "Did you see the field?" he said excitedly. "It looks great."

"I just mowed it," Bellamy informed him. It'd taken him a while, but now that he was done, he was just sitting at his desk, trying to think of something else to do to stay busy.

"Oh. You got here early then," Miller said. "And here I thought you'd be sleepin' it off."

"Nope." He hadn't slept much.

"Oh, here's your letter, by the way." Miller took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and apologized, "Sorry, it's so late. I suck at writing."

"Thanks." They had a whole stack of letters now, from not only family, but Raven, Murphy, Harper . . . everyone. Apparently Lexa was also working on one, and Octavia said Lincoln was going to write one, too. That kind of made Bellamy feel like a jerk for not being nicer to the guy this past year.

"You think you're still gonna need letters?" Miller asked. "Or . . ."

"I don't know." With the way they were going about things now, he felt like he had no idea what to expect. "To be honest, I'm not even sure I deserve anyone sayin' nice things about me."

"Oh, no," Miller said. "You in the dog house?"

"Probably should be." He looked down at his wedding ring and shook his head, frustrated with himself. "I was at the bar playing 'Would You Rather' yesterday while my wife dealt with Finn alone. I'm a crap husband."

"No, you're not," Miller assured him. "Listen, I think you made the right call. I've seen the pictures Finn posted. You would've gone crazy if you'd been there."

"Pictures?" he echoed. "He took pictures?"

"Yeah, dozens of 'em. Everything's hashtagged, 'my daughter.'" Miller rolled his eyes.

Bellamy grunted. "Figures." Hadn't they just talked about that the other day at Target, how Avery wasn't his daughter and never would be? Hell of a lot of good that had done. "Do I even wanna see?" he asked his friend.

"Probably not."

Curiosity was going to get the best of him, though, so he relented and said, "Show me one."

Miller slowly took his phone out of his pocket and said, "Only 'cause you're my boss." He navigated to one of Finn's social media pages and brought up a selfie of him and Avery. They were sitting right there on his couch. He was holding her purple bunny up for her.

"She doesn't even look like him," Miller said.

"Doesn't look like me, either," Bellamy grumbled.

"She looks like Clarke."

Yeah, she did. But what if her hair got darker as she got older? She'd still have those blue eyes like her mom, but . . . she'd look more like Finn.

"Look at these comments," Bellamy said, taking the phone from his friend when he saw something that made him want to throw up. "'You're such a good dad. Way to step up.' Fuck that."

"Don't even let it bother you," Miller said, taking his phone back. "Those are probably just his friends saying that. They don't know what's really going on."

Does anybody? Bellamy wondered. What the hell was going on with him? He'd lied to Clarke this morning about not remembering what he'd said. And even though he'd denied it, he knew he really was, on some level, avoiding her. So then actually he'd lied about two things. What was going on . . . was that he was struggling. But everyone just kept trying to make him feel like things were gonna be okay.

...

When Murphy swung open the door, the first thing he said to Clarke was, "Raven's not here."

"I know," she said. "I came to see you."

"Well, I'm just editing, so I'm probably really boring. For once," he joked.

"You got a minute?"

"For my goddaughter?" He smirked at Avery, who was half asleep in her carrier. "Sure. I guess I could spare one for you, too."

"Gee, thanks." She entered his apartment and put Avery's carrier down on the floor. "I wanna ask you something," she blurted out.

"Okay, I think I know where this is going, and the answer's no," Murphy said. "I will not have a threesome with you and Bellamy. I know I'm tempting, but I love my girlfriend too much."

While Murphy's humor was, in a sense, much needed, she didn't have time to beat around the bush. She had another lesson with Madi today, so her time for errands was limited. "Would you get serious?"

"I can try," he said, "but it's not my default setting."

Lately, it seemed to be hers, so she decided to cut straight to the chase. "How many drinks did Bellamy have yesterday?"

Murphy thought about it for a moment, then said, "I don't know. A decent amount. More than me. We did shots, but he was mostly just downing beer. Nothing too hardcore. Why?"

"I was just wondering how drunk he got." She really didn't believe that he didn't remember what he'd said. It seemed like a flimsy excuse to not talk about it any further.

"I mean, he was safe to drive, if that's what you're wondering," Murphy reassured her. "I would've take him home otherwise."

She nodded, glad that he hadn't done something unsafe. "Okay. Thanks." She hoisted up Avery's heavy carrier again and headed for the door.

"Hey, wait a minute," Murphy said. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." She realized she sounded about as unconvincing as her husband had when she'd confronted him this morning, so she added, "Can you just . . . can you do me a favor? Next time he asks you and Miller to hang out, can you go somewhere other than Eligius?"

Murphy must have had a couple questions, but to his credit, he agreed to it without asking any of them. "Sure."

"Thanks." She left his apartment, hoping that they'd go see a movie next week. Or hell, she'd even be fine with them staying in and watching porn or something. That seemed healthier than another Sunday spent at the bar.

As she headed back out to the parking lot she felt . . . kind of let down. Sure, she'd gotten some info out of Murphy, but what was she actually gonna do with it? Confront Bellamy again? It didn't seem like it would do any good or get him to change his story, and that frustrated her. She was so used to being able to do something.

...

Clarke gave her locker a mighty heave and got it to open. She had the worst locker of her life this year, but at least it was towards the end of the juniors hallway, so she wasn't sandwiched in between people.

"Clarke!" she heard Wells call from down the hall. She looked up and saw him bounding towards her like an excited puppy. "Look at this," he said, showing her his phone. "It's officially up and running."

She had to hold his hand steady to get a good look at what he was trying to show her. "Oh my god," she said, recognizing a very important page on the school website. "We did that." The anonymous reporting portal for sexual assault and harassment was officially up and running.

"You did it," Wells said. "I just helped."

"We did it together." Without him motivating her, she may have lost some of her drive. "That's awesome. I really needed that today."

"Why?" he asked. "Did something happen with Dax?"

"Oh, no, not like I needed it to report something," she clarified. "I just meant that . . ." She couldn't really say anything more without saying too much. "It's just been kind of a rough day."

"You wanna talk about it at lunch?" he offered.

"Not really."

Being the good friend that he was, Wells didn't push too hard on it. "Okay. Well, I'm here if you need me."

"Thanks." She waved to him as he headed off to class. It was good to know that he was there, and Raven was always there, and on some level, even her parents were there. But no one could really understand what she was feeling. What she felt every day.

Another good thing about being down at the end of the hallway was that nobody ever really got a good glimpse of what was in her locker. Taped up on the wall was a plain white notecard that said Days Since on the top. If anyone ever saw it, she'd lie and say it was days since she'd last eaten chocolate or days since she'd stopped drinking soda. Underneath that vague title, she put a tally mark every single day. She subtly marked another one, and that officially put her at four months of tally marks. Another morbid anniversary. Maybe she'd stop counting someday.

She ended up getting to economics class right as the bell rang. The teacher wasn't in there yet, so of course everyone was talking. Clarke sat down at her desk, took out her sketchbook, and started to draw. It was probably more of a doodle than anything else. She doodled a lot in this class, because the people in it were annoying. It was the kind of class where there was a mix of grade levels, and she didn't have any real friends in there.

Bratty Josephine walked in about three minutes late—but, to her credit, still before the teacher—and plopped down next to Dax, who was now apparently her official boyfriend. "God," she groaned dramatically, "this baby's so annoying."

Clarke couldn't help but shoot a look back at them. Normally, she tried to ignore them, but . . . what? She halfway expected to see Josephine with a baby bump, but instead, she had one of those fake babies with her.

"Why do you have that?" Dax asked his girlfriend.

"For child development. It's basically our final exam," she told him. "We have to haul this stupid thing around for the rest of the month."

"That sucks."

"Tell me about it."

Clarke looked away, trying to lose herself in her doodle again. But her focus and flow were all out of whack now. She couldn't concentrate.

"Why are you even taking that class?" she heard Dax ask.

"'cause it's an easy A."

"You sure you don't wanna be a mom?" he teased. " 'cause I could make that happen. Fuck a baby right into ya."

Clarke's grip on her pencil tightened. She really wished he wouldn't joke about that.

"Yeah, right," Josephine said with a laugh. "I'd rather have an abortion than have a kid."

Although she tried as hard as she could not to react, Clarke held her pencil so tightly that it snapped in half.

...

As Clarke carried Avery out into the parking lot of Murphy's apartment complex, she heard a terrible commotion coming from one particular unit on the first floor. There was a lot of yelling, and it sounded like someone was crying. She walked a little faster, wanting to get Avery out of there, when all of a sudden the door flew open, and out spilled . . . Roma? And her son. A little boy who looked like he was in first or second grade. He was the one crying.

"Get the fuck out!" a man's voice roared.

"Where the hell am I supposed to go?" Roma yelled back at him.

"I don't fucking care!" A suitcase flew out the door, landing at her feet, startling the boy even more. He cried harder.

"You piece of shit!" Roma screeched at her . . . boyfriend? Husband? Hard telling. "Treatin' me like trash!"

"You are trash!"

"Oh, fuck you!" The door slammed shut on her, and she kicked at it angrily while her son continued to wail. Clarke didn't realize she had frozen in place to watch the whole debacle until Roma glanced in her direction and spat out, "What're you lookin' at?"

"Nothing." She didn't want any problems. Although she was sure as hell going to report this once she got home. That kid needed to be somewhere else.

Roma must have thought Clarke was judging her—which, okay, maybe she was—because she snarled, "Spoiled bitch," before bending down to picked up her bag. "Come on," she snapped at her kid, motioning for him to follow her down the sidewalk as they headed off to . . . wherever they were going now that they'd been kicked out of their apartment, apparently. Neither one of them even had shoes on. But Roma made sure to leave her with one last little snide remark when she yelled back, "Just wait 'til the honeymoon's over, bitch!"

Clarke definitely wasn't yelling at her husband like that, or throwing things, or making her child cry. But as for the honeymoon? It'd been over for a while now. She and Bellamy could both attest to that.

...

Poor Madi. She was really starting to love playing the piano—it was so obvious—but Clarke had been distracted during her entire lesson. Was Bellamy distractedly coaching practice? She kind of hoped so, actually. That only seemed fair.

The night was . . . awkward. There wasn't really a better word she could think of to describe it. Bellamy came home at a decent time, but he came home and watched football game on TV. Not even a current football game, but one of the ESPN Classics. Clarke had absolutely no interest in it, but she sat there with him and watched it anyway. She kept hoping that he would turn the TV off and all of a sudden start talking to her, unloading everything that was on his mind. But the only things he spoke to her about were the plays the two teams were running. He explained which players were playing well, why certain ones were incurring penalties, and what plays he would have called if he'd been coaching the game. It all felt like a pretty pointless conversation, though, and she wasn't sure how to steer it into more serious territory without making things feel even more awkward.

It wasn't until she lay in bed with him that night, watching his chest rise up and down while he supposedly slept, that she worked up the courage to blurt out, "Bellamy. We need to talk."

He didn't move a muscle.

"I know you're not sleeping," she said. When he slept, he snored.

Slowly, he rolled over onto his side and opened his eyes. "What do we need to talk about?" he asked.

Even in the dark bedroom, she could read the look on his face and in his eyes. He really didn't want to do this. "I know you remember what you said yesterday," she told him. "Don't lie to me." They weren't gonna get anywhere if he refused to tell her the truth. "Do you really wanna have another baby right now?"

He thought about it for a moment—encouraging, because if he'd been lying, he would have answered quickly, like he had this morning. "No," he finally said. "I mean, I'd be happy about it if it happened, but realistically . . . I know it's not a good time."

So he could be realistic about things. That was a relief.

"I know you just got through one pregnancy. I don't want you to have to go through that again so soon," he said. "And let's face it, we're already busy with one kid."

Definitely, she thought. Today alone, she'd hauled Avery with her to the grocery store, the post office, Murphy's house, and . . . where else? She'd actually lost track of how many errands they'd run that day.

"I'd be happy, too," she assured him, "if it happened. But I definitely don't think we should start trying or anything."

"When do you wanna try?" he asked.

Knowing them, they wouldn't have to. It'd probably just happen at some point. Just like it had the first time. "I haven't really thought that far ahead," she admitted.

He sounded so hopeful when he suggested, "Maybe after I adopt Avery?"

"What?" She wondered how well he could read her expression in the dark, because it must have been a surprised one. "That still seems really soon, don't you think?"

"Actually . . ." He rolled back over onto his back, and she heard him swallow hard before he said quietly, "It feels kinda far away."

She winced, feeling like she was breaking his heart every time she didn't exhibit quite the same eagerness for another pregnancy that he did. But at least they were talking about it. That was progress. "You know, lately, we've both been dealing with a lot of emotions," she said. "Maybe it's best if we don't make any huge decisions right now."

"We are, though," he pointed out. "We decided to let Finn see Avery. That's pretty huge, don't you think?"

She frowned, trying to pinpoint what exactly she heard in that tone. Fear? Resentment? "Are you mad at me about that?" she questioned.

"No. I just hope it's the right move."

Didn't he get it? She didn't have a roadmap in front of her, either. She was doing the best she could, and lately, it felt like she was doing it all with very little input from him. "I just feel like we're not on the same page right now," she said. "And I don't like it." She realized that hard times were inevitable in every marriage, but it just didn't seem fair that she and Bellamy were having to deal with such a hard time so early on. It'd probably make them stronger in the long run, but right now . . . it really sucked.

"We can get on the same page," he said, turning onto his side again. He moved closer to her and kissed her softly. But it was still the kind of kiss that hinted at something more.

"Every time we start talking, you wanna have sex instead," she murmured. It was starting to feel like a diversion tactic. A very fun diversion tactic, but still . . .

"Well, yeah," he said, "'cause my wife's hot."

"You're wife's worried about you," she corrected. "You haven't been yourself lately."

He sighed, put his hand on her hip, and rubbed it gently. "Just be patient with me," he said. "I'm dealin' with this the best I can."

"I know," she said, "but-"

"You wanna help me deal?" He took her hand and led it down to his crotch, urging her to touch him. He wasn't hard, but . . . she could change that for him. It was so easy. She knew how to touch him, knew what he liked. Knew what would make him feel good. And maybe that was just what he needed right now. She got the sense that he wasn't going to talk all night with her. In fact, he'd probably said all that he cared to. So she could either lie there and watch him pretend to sleep some more, or . . . she could make him feel good. Probably better than he'd felt in days.

Rubbing and squeezing him through his underwear, she waited until she felt him hardening to crawl on top of him. They kissed languidly while his erection continued to grow, and when she really started to feel it pressing against her pussy, she sat up a bit to remove her oversized t-shirt. It was his shirt, actually. He liked the way she looked in it, and he liked that she didn't wear anything else with it.

Sometimes sex was vocal between them. Sometimes they laughed or talked during it, but this was not going to be one of those times. He didn't say anything as he reached down to grab her ass and press her hips in against his. Honestly, this wasn't something that required words for them. They knew each other's bodies better than their own at this point.

Fumbling around a bit, she managed to reach down in between them to push his boxer briefs down enough to let his cock out. He squirmed around, helping her, and held his cock steady while she sank down on top of it. It was a little bit of an odd angle, but she wanted to stay close to him, keep her chest pressed against his instead of sitting up to ride him. They both needed that closeness right now.

She ground herself down onto him, no intention of getting herself off on this. He definitely wasn't going to last long, and she was okay with that. This was very much sex for him.

After they were done and he'd spent himself inside her, she stayed right where she was on top of him, reluctant to move because she didn't want him to sleep with his back to her like he had last night. She wanted to fall asleep in his arms and wake up the same way.

"See?" he said, stroking face. "Nothin' to worry about."

She heard him say those words as he lay there beneath her, staying inside her . . . she heard them loud and clear. But she still felt worried.