Chapter 98
Clarke wasn't asleep when Bellamy's alarm went off, but she pretended to be. She heard him yawn before getting out of bed, and it sounded like the first thing he did was head across the hall. Clarke opened her eyes and lay there listening as he said good morning to Avery, then went downstairs. She heard him moving around the kitchen a bit, but he came back upstairs shortly thereafter, so she stayed still, eyes shut, and waited for him to go into the bathroom. She heard the toilet flush and the buzz of his electric toothbrush, but she waited until the shower began to run to get up out of bed herself. Normally, she would have gone to check on Avery straight away, too, but on this particular morning, there was something more important to check on.
She hurried downstairs, hoping to find that bottle sitting on the coffee table right where she'd left it, still half-full. It'd been a sort of experiment to not throw it away. Unfortunately, her heart sank when she got down there and saw . . . nothing. It was gone. Running into the kitchen, she immediately found the empty bottle lying in the trash can. Completely empty. He'd drunk the rest of it.
Oh my god, she thought, horrified as she lifted the bottle out of the trash. When had he even finished it? Last night sometime? Just right now this morning? She squeezed the bottle tightly, and it made a horrible sound as it crinkled in her grasp. For a second, she thought about bringing it upstairs with her, throwing it at him, and demanding an explanation. But instead, she dropped it back in the trash, sulked back upstairs, and made her way out onto the upstairs balcony to try to gather her thoughts on everything.
It was a nice morning. Perfect temperature, light breeze. The sun was just creeping up in the sky, and standing out there watching it rise over the ocean should have been a serene, relaxing way to start the day. But every part of her body felt like it was wound up and tied together in knots. Because she didn't know what to do now.
Bellamy came out onto the balcony a few minutes later, wearing a t-shirt and boxers. "Hey, sorry, I woke you up," he said.
She couldn't even bear to look at him, but when he got close, she could smell his shampoo. Just another normal morning to him, wasn't it? He was just getting ready for practice.
"You didn't," she told him. Waking her up would have required her actually being asleep, and she hadn't been nearly all night.
"What're you doin' out here?" he asked, leaning against the balcony railing.
"Just trying to clear my head," she answered softly. Sadly, it wasn't working. She was just as unsure of what to say to him as she'd been before making her discovery downstairs. Even after lying awake almost all night, she didn't have any sort of script in mind.
"Hey, listen, this whole feeding thing . . . it's all gonna be fine," he assured her. "You'll figure out what works, and you'll still be as close to her as you are now."
"I know." That wasn't even her concern right now. Compared to what was going on with him, that whole situation now felt pretty insignificant.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
You, she thought, forcing herself to look at him. Something was wrong with him. "Did you know that stress might be one of the reasons for all this?" she said. "Stress and anxiety . . . they can have crazy effects on your body. When I was talking to that nurse about everything, she asked me if I'd been stressed out about anything lately, because that can just mess up all your hormones and make feeding a lot harder."
He frowned, seeming a bit confused. "Well, yeah, you've been really stressed about it."
"But she was saying stress could trigger it, not just go along with it," she clarified. "Gee, I wonder if there was anything else I was feeling stressed about."
His frown intensified, and he crossed his arms over his chest a bit standoffishly. "What're you saying?"
"Oh, come on, Bellamy." As if he didn't know.
"What, like . . . us? You think that's why . . ." He trailed off, adamantly shaking his head. "No, no way. Look, I know we had a rough couple of weeks, but we're past that now. Right?"
She'd been naïve enough to believe they were. But not anymore.
"I mean, it seems like things have been a lot better."
"Yeah, it seems that way." She felt like the veil had been lifted, though, and she wasn't falling for it anymore. How long had he been planning on keeping this from her? How long had he been drinking behind her back?
"Clarke, what's going on?"
"I don't know. You tell me." He was the one with the answers; she was the one with the questions.
"I really don't know-"
Fed up with his denials, unwilling to stand there and listen to him play dumb anymore, she blurted out, "I had a sip of water last night. Out of that water bottle you brought home."
His expression changed from one of confusion to realization. It changed in an instant.
"Strangest water I've ever tasted," she said. "What even was that, like vodka or something?"
Bellamy took a few steps back, put his hand on his hips, and shrugged flippantly. "So what if it was?"
"Are you kidding me?" How could he act like it was no big deal? "Bellamy . . . we talked about this."
"Yeah, I know, but . . . I'm not drinking very much anymore."
"Really?" she challenged. "Because I just checked, and that whole bottle's empty now."
"Yeah, 'cause I decided to finish it off last night," he said. "Alcohol's expensive. I'm not gonna waste it."
"But why were you drinking it in the first place?"
"Because, I—I . . . I just felt like it," he stammered. "I didn't drink anything for basically two weeks, Clarke."
Was that supposed to make her feel better about things? Because it didn't. "So you choose yesterday, the day that Finn comes over, to start back up again?" she said. "You don't find anything about that concerning at all?"
"No. I'm not drowning my sorrows if that's what you're insinuating. I'm a grown man. If I wanna have a drink once in a while, I can."
"But you said you were gonna stop," she reminded him. He'd promised it, actually.
"Yeah, but . . . I don't really think I need to," he said. "You just told me to limit myself, remember? That's what I did. I limited myself. I didn't drink anything else yesterday other than what was in that bottle, and it was never even full."
At this point, she didn't even know whether she could believe him or not. He definitely hadn't been drunk when he'd gotten home, so maybe he had limited himself. Was that gonna be good enough, though, or was he at the point where he needed to stop altogether? "Why would you try to hide it from me?" she asked him. Because that was another thing that had her feeling concerned, the fact that he'd deliberately tried to keep it a secret, almost as if he knew it was something he shouldn't be doing.
"Because I knew you'd freak out like this," he snapped, "start actin' all judgmental."
"Judgmental?" she shrieked. "Oh, wow, so worrying about my husband makes me judgmental now."
"You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine," he insisted. "You saw me last night. I wasn't drunk. I wasn't upset about anything; I was fine. Now I'm upset, though."
"Why?"
"Because you're standing here basically accusing me of being an alcoholic."
"No, I'm not!" She was just trying to make sure he was okay.
"Yes, you are." He glared at her, shaking his head incredulously. "This is crazy. And a great way to start out the morning, by the way. Thanks for this." He turned to head back inside, but she didn't feel like they were done here.
"Bellamy!" she called, and he stopped. "I'm not . . . I'm not trying to accuse you of anything," she clarified desperately. "But you can't just expect me to not say anything about it."
"About what? This?" He snorted indignantly. "This is nothing, Clarke. I don't know how else to say it. I don't know what you're getting so worked up about."
How could he not know? How could he not understand where she was coming from? "It's scaring me," she squeaked out.
"It's scaring you?"
"Yes."
"I'm scaring you?"
She opened her mouth to dispute that, but no words came out.
"Unbelievable," he grumbled, shaking his head some more. "You're making this into a way bigger deal than it actually is."
"Am I?" It seemed to her that it just was a big deal. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gotten so defensive about it.
"Yeah. You're supposed to trust me," he reminded her. "You married me, Clarke, so you're supposed to trust me."
She hated that he was trying to make her feel guilty just for feeling concerned. "I do."
"Apparently you don't." He stormed back inside, slamming the sliding door shut, and she just stood there in a state of shock, feeling like she'd just been hit by a ten-ton truck or something. This wasn't how the morning was supposed to have gone. Because it wasn't how they'd been going. Things had been back to normal between them . . . or so she'd thought. But now, she was beginning to wonder if they'd ever been normal at all.
...
Bellamy couldn't get out of the house fast enough. He threw on a pair of jeans, grabbed his car keys, and practically ran out the front door, feeling like he was suffocating in there. There were very few times in his life he'd ever actually truly been angry at Clarke, but this was one of them. It was almost like she wanted him to have a serious problem so that she had a way to explain why he hadn't been the world's perfect husband lately. But he just wasn't fucking perfect, and sometimes he needed a little help getting through the day. If Miller had shown up to the gym on time yesterday, he would've helped Bellamy, but he hadn't, so instead, a little vodka had. But he'd handled it fine, so what was the big deal? It hadn't been a problem until she'd made it a problem just now.
Even though anger and frustration were the emotions simmering right there on the surface, when Bellamy sat in his car with the key in the ignition, he felt something else, too: an intense sadness. Regret over the way he'd just spoken to the woman who was literally the love of his life. He felt like he'd just gaslit the hell out of her when the truth was, he understood why she felt the need to question him about it. He just wished she'd gone about it in a different way.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he cried. It was something he didn't do very much, so whenever he did, he felt like a wreck. Clarke was probably still out on that balcony doing the same thing.
...
About the last place Clarke wanted to be was at the bar. But at least when she walked in, her husband wasn't already there.
"Hey, stranger," Diyoza said as she wiped down the counter. Eligius was nearly empty since it was a Monday afternoon. "Where's the baby?"
"Oh, she's will her grandpa today," Clarke replied, taking a set on one of the bar stools.
"Which one?" Diyoza asked.
"Kane."
"When are he and your mom tying the knot?"
"I don't know. I'm not sure if they've picked a date yet."
"Well, tell them to get on that."
"Yeah, I will." Out of all the things on her mental to-do list, that was probably at the bottom, but she'd get around to it eventually. Once everything else calmed down. "Hey, Diyoza, can I . . . can I ask you about something?"
"Sure," her former boss said. "You want your job back?"
"No." Right now, that was the exact wrong place for her to be working. "No, this is actually about . . . well, it's about Bellamy." God, she hated that this even needed to be a conversation. But it did.
"How's he doin'?" Diyoza asked.
"Not so good," Clarke admitted sadly. "I'm really worried about him."
Diyoza nodded empathetically. "Well, he hasn't been in here as much lately."
"He hasn't?" So maybe he'd been telling her the truth about last night's drink being the first one he'd had in a while.
"No, haven't seen him for a week at least," Diyoza said. "Maybe more than that."
It still didn't make her feel much better, but it was better than him drinking every single night. "When he has been here, though . . . what's he been like?" she nervously asked, not sure if she wanted to know. She needed to know, though.
"Well . . . I hate to judge. I mean, I see men come in here and get drunk all the time," Diyoza said. "But . . . he did have one night where his friend had to take him home."
"Yeah, I remember." Had that been the start of all of this, or had it started sooner? Maybe the night he'd come home talking about having another baby? Maybe even before then?
"I've stopped serving him a couple times. Just in case," Diyoza told her. "Not that it's any of my business, Clarke, but are you two having problems?"
She felt like they like they really shouldn't have been, because they hadn't even been married that long yet. And they had so many good things in their lives: a beautiful daughter, a beautiful home, great friends and family, and each other. But even with all those good things, this problem still existed. And now it seemed like it was growing.
"I didn't think we were," she replied sadly. "Until last night. He had vodka in his water bottle."
"Oh." Diyoza winced. "That's . . ."
Shady, Clarke thought. Suspicious.
"He was tryin' to hide it from you, huh?"
She nodded sadly. "I feel like that's a bad sign. But he said he didn't wanna freak me out, so maybe he was just trying to look out for me? I mean, I have been kinda stressed about other things lately, so maybe, in his own way, he really was just trying to do what's best for me."
Diyoza reached across the counter and put her hand on top of Clarke's. "You know what that sounds like to me?"
"What?"
"An excuse. You're excusing his behavior."
Am I? she wondered. She thought she'd just been trying to just consider all the possibilities.
"Don't worry, that's natural," Diyoza assured her. "You love him. You don't wanna believe there's anything bigger going on."
"Do you think there is?" Clarke questioned. She wanted an outsider's opinion.
Unfortunately, Diyoza didn't offer up one. "I don't know. Have you talked to him about it?"
She sighed heavily. "Yeah. But it wasn't a very good talk at all. He got super defensive. He said I didn't trust him."
Diyoza raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Do you?"
"Right now?" She shrugged helplessly, wishing she had a different response. "I don't know."
...
Bellamy really didn't want to go home. But of course there just happened to be a high school band showcase that night, so he was forced to end the after school practice early. He drove around aimlessly for a while after that before finally getting home around 5:30. But he didn't go inside until fifteen minutes later.
Clarke was sitting at the kitchen table, just waiting for him, it seemed. The first thing she said was, "Where's the bottle?"
Even though he didn't understand the question, he still felt attacked by it. "What?"
"I stopped by the gas station to see if anyone remembered seeing you there yesterday," she explained, glaring at him as she spoke every word. "And the woman behind the counter goes, 'Oh, yeah, Coach Blake? Yeah, he came in here yesterday afternoon, bought a whole bottle of vodka. Those football players must be drivin' him crazy.'"
He rolled his eyes, wishing some people around that town would just shut up and mind their own business.
"So what I saw in that water bottle was just a fraction of what you actually bought," she said. "Where's the rest of it?"
"It's out in the trunk of my car," he answered. "I wasn't gonna drink it."
"What happened to not letting it go to waste?"
He threw his hands up, feeling exasperated, because no matter what he saw, it seemed to be the wrong thing. "You know what? Let's just end this right here right now." He stormed back outside to his car.
"What are you doing?" she shouted, chasing after him. "Bellamy!"
He popped open his trunk, took the vodka bottle out of it, and announced, "Here's the rest of it. All still there, as you can see. Satisfied?"
She didn't say anything.
"I don't need it, Clarke." He walked over to the trash can, which neither of them had pulled in from the edge of the driveway, opened the lid, and dropped the bottle inside. It landed with a thud but didn't break. "There. See? I'm not addicted."
"I didn't say you were," she mumbled.
"You didn't have to." He strode back inside, tossed his keys on the counter, and opened up the fridge to grab an actual bottle of water.
Shutting the door, she yelled, "Why are you trying to make me feel bad for being worried about you?"
"Because you're making me feel bad. You're makin' me feel like shit," he told her bluntly. "I mean, I know how upset you are about the whole breastfeeding thing, but then for you to go and blame me for it?"
"I didn't blame you," she denied.
"Yes, you did. You said stress can play a part in it, and I've been stressing you out. You're trying to make everything seem like it's my fault. You don't wanna accept any of the responsibility for how things have been between us, so you just put it all on me, make me out to be the bad guy." He wasn't sure where that tirade had come from, but . . . there it was. No taking it back now.
"You're not the bad guy," she said.
"Then stop blaming me for everything."
"When did I-" She didn't finish her question, because her phone rang, cutting her off. "Great," she muttered, grabbing it from the table. She looked at the screen and rolled her eyes, then answered with an impatient, "What, Mom?"
Oh, dear God, he thought dramatically. The last thing they needed to deal with right now was Abby Griffin. She'd just meddle.
"That's tonight?" Clarke said, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. "Oh, I totally forgot. Look, tonight's not really the best-"
"What is it?" Bellamy asked her.
She covered up her phone and said, "Fundraiser event for the hospital. Did you remember?"
He sure as hell hadn't. It was probably one of those things where they had to dress up and eat fancy food. Not his ideal social gathering. "Just tell her we'll be there," he said, heading upstairs to get ready. As much as he didn't want to go, it was better than staying home and arguing all night.
...
Bellamy didn't know most of the people at the fundraiser event, but they all seemed to know him. It came with the territory of being a doctor's son-in-law, he supposed. If they didn't know him for that, they knew him for being the football coach. He got a lot of congrats on their win against Polis, and he thanked them for that, of course, and made conversation about it, but in reality, that game was so far in the back of his mind. Hell, even the upcoming game wasn't much of a priority. Not with everything else going on.
Clarke didn't stay by his side long that night. She walked around with her mom and Kane a lot, and every so often, Bellamy caught Kane giving him curious looks, like he sensed that something was going on. Abby was caught up with her colleagues, though, of course. Dr. Jackson and Dr. Cillian were both there. So was the doctor who had done Clarke's first ultrasound. He noticed her talking to all of them a lot. They were probably asking about Avery.
Eventually, though, as the fundraiser began to near its end, the crowds throughout the big ballroom started to dissipate, and he was able to find a moment alone with her. "What're you doing?" he asked, walking up behind her while she studied a large painting of a waterfall on the wall.
"Just waiting for this to end," she grumbled.
It hadn't exactly been the most enjoyable night for him, either, especially since he hadn't even been able to down anything to take the edge off. "Club soda, in case you're monitoring me," he said, holding up his glass.
"I'm not."
"Sure you are." Part of him wished he'd ordered some kind of alcohol, just so he could down it and prove, once again, that he could handle it. Just like he'd handled it last night.
"Okay, you know what? You can be pissed at me all you want," she said. "I'm not gonna apologize for worrying about you. God, and here I thought things were going so well again."
"They were," he agreed, feeling like they could get back to that if she just stopped overreacting. "Me having a drink every once in a while shouldn't change that."
"Every once in a while?" she repeated. "So you're not gonna stop?"
He'd messed up last time by promising something that just wasn't realistic. Or necessary. He didn't want to mess up like that again, so he answered honestly: "No."
She stared at him for a few seconds, then shook her head disappointedly and said, "I think that's a mistake." She brushed past him on her way over to the coat rack, wordlessly indicating that she was ready to leave and go home.
It's not a mistake, he thought defiantly. He'd made plenty of those over the years. This wasn't one of them.
...
Downing the rest of the drink in his hand, Bellamy let out a loud belch and said, "Oh, that felt good."
"I bet," Gabriel said. "Last party of the year. Where your girls at?"
"Ah, they already went home." He was pretty sure Courtney was gonna get kicked out because her GPA was so low, and Stacey seemed to think her dad could just pay off her professors so that she wouldn't need to take her finals. "Guess I'll get to try someone new tonight."
"Are you gonna try to settle down or just keep playin' the field?" Gabriel asked.
"Just keep playin'. It's easier." He looked around the room, making eye contact with a few of the prettier girls. Some of them were there with boyfriends, though, and he didn't want to bother with that.
"It is. It is easier," Gabriel agreed, filling up his glass from the keg again. "Not necessarily better, though."
"Gabe, look around. You think I'm gonna find my soul mate in this place?" Bellamy went ahead and answered his own question. "No, I'm not. I'm gonna find a good time. And that's all I need. That's all I want."
"If you say so."
He continued to scope the room until he spotted a girl hanging out over by the staircase, by herself, for some reason, even though she had a nice body and was wearing a skimpy outfit that really showed it off. "In fact," he said, "I'm gonna go find my good time right now." He set his empty cup down and confidently strode towards her. "Hey," he said over the loud music, to get her attention.
She spun around and smiled. "Hey."
"I don't know if you know me, but I'm-"
"Bellamy Blake," she filled in. "Yeah, I know. I'm Rose."
"Rose." He remembered hearing that name before. "Are you friends with-"
"Courtney and Whitney, yeah. Well, you call Whitney Stacey."
"I do." Damn, they hadn't been lying when they'd hyped Rose up to him. Rose had strawberry blonde hair that went down to her waist and was fucking hot.
"She doesn't mind it," Rose said. "In fact, she tells me some pretty good things about you. They both do."
"Oh, yeah? Like what?" He wanted to know. Just for the sake of an ego boost before they went at it.
"Oh, you know. Stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Just that you-" She wasn't able to finish, because someone bumped into them.
"Whoops," Winston said. "Sorry, man."
"No, you're fine." Bellamy tore his eyes away from Rose, but when he glanced at Winston, he saw that his teammate wasn't alone. Not in the slightest. He was practically carrying a girl who looked like she'd drunk way too much for one night. Brady had his arm around her waist and was holding her up on the other side, and two other guys were following along behind them. "Hey, what's, uh . . . what's wrong with her?" Bellamy asked.
"Nothing, she just drank too much," Brady answered quickly.
"Is she alright?" She looked . . . passed out. Her eyes weren't even open.
"Yeah, we're just gonna bring her upstairs so she can lay down for a while," Brady said. "Right, guys?"
The two guys behind him smirked. Winston agreed, "Yeah. She just needs to rest."
Bellamy looked at that girl. She was sweating. Her blonde hair was stuck to the sides of her face, and her makeup was smeared. She looked like she'd had a rough night.
"Don't worry, Blake," Brady said. "We'll take care of her. Come on, guys." They bypassed Bellamy and Rose, hurrying to carry her upstairs, almost like they wanted to get out of sight as soon as possible.
"She's a lightweight," Rose remarked. "So. Where were we?"
"Uh . . ." He barely even remembered. He didn't feel so into the flirting anymore. Now, his stomach was knotting up with worry. "The stuff you've heard about me," he said, trying to get back into the moment.
"Right." She looked down at his crotch and said, "Nice cock. Knows how to use it. A bit of an Energizer bunny in the sack. How am I doin' so far?"
"Good." He glanced up the stairs when he thought he heard a door slam shut. "Yeah, that sounds . . . about right." Any of those guys could have carried that girl upstairs by themselves. Why had all four of them headed up that way, especially two who weren't even helping to carry her? And if they really were just letting her rest, why weren't they coming back downstairs yet? It shouldn't have taken that long.
"My car's outside," Rose said. "You wanna come get to know me better?"
He felt like he couldn't even focus on her, but he answered, "Yeah, sure," anyway, and tried to push his concerns out of his mind as she grabbed his hand and led him out the front door. He cast one more glance over his shoulder, hoping to see Brady and those guys trundling back downstairs. But he didn't.
Her car was parked just down at the end of the street, but as they got closer to it and farther away from the frat house, the feeling that something bad was happening intensified in his gut. By the time they got into her backseat and she climbed on top of him, that feeling was so strong that he couldn't ignore it any longer. When she reached down to unzip his jeans, he moved her hand away and said, "Wait a minute, Rose."
"What?"
He had to go check on things, see if that girl was okay. "I'll be right back," he told her, opening the car door.
"Are you serious right now?"
"Just wait here." He pulled his zipper back up and started back for the house at a brisk pace. At first, it was just a walk, but a feeling of urgency kept nagging at him, so eventually, he ran. He darted through the front yard, past a guy who was puking, and bumped into a few people on his way back inside the house.
Racing up the stairs, he hoped . . . he hoped so hard . . .
A couple of the bedroom doors were shut, but he heard especially loud sounds coming from Brady's down at the end of the hall. Definitely sexual, definitely coming from guys. He frantically twisted the doorknob, but it was locked, so he slammed his fist against the door loudly, demanding entrance. The only response he got was, "Fuck off!" and he recognized that as Winston's voice.
Shit, he thought, his heart pounding. He didn't know what else to do other than kick the door open, so that was exactly what he did. And what he saw going on in that room . . .
"Jesus Christ!" Winston shouted, removing his cock from the incapacitated girl's mouth. On the other side of the bed, Brady was holding her legs out to each side and was fucking her. He slid right out and tried to pull his pants up, though, as if he could ever disguise what he'd been doing.
"What the fuck is this?" Bellamy roared. The other two guys had their pants all the way off. One was standing behind Brady, the other behind Winston, as if they were waiting for their turns. "What're you guys doin' to her?"
"Nothin', man," Winston said.
"She wants it," Brady claimed.
Charging forward, Bellamy yelled, "Get the hell off her!" and shoved Brady backward with all his might. He fell into his dresser, struggling to catch his balance.
"Come on, man," Winston groaned, looking more disappointed than anything else.
Bellamy scooped their helpless victim up off the bed, shocked to feel how limp she was in his arms. "Hey, come here. I got you," he said, trying to get her up on her own two feet. "Come here."
"She told us we could," one of the other guys lied.
"Yeah, like hell she did." Bellamy carried her towards the door, struggling to get a good grip on her. Her clothes were dangling off of her, and he didn't want to touch her in the wrong places, either.
"Stop him," Brady ordered.
Winston came at him, but Bellamy pushed him back with one arm. "Stay away from her," he growled, hoisting her all the way up into his arms. "I got you," he said again, managing to get her out of the room.
"You'd better not say anything, Blake!" Brady yelled after him.
I gotta get her home, he thought, stopping at the top of the stairs. Or to a hospital. He wasn't exactly sure what to do, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna just leave her there.
Miraculously, she started to move around in his arms. It was as if, all of a sudden, as she started coming to, her body regained some of its mobility. She shrieked and swatted at him, nearly causing him to topple down the stairs with her. "Hey, don't worry, you're gonna be fine," he assured her, setting her back down on her own two feet. He made the mistake of keeping his arm around her waist, though, and she tried to push him away. "We're gonna call the cops," he told her. "Everything's gonna be alright."
"What?" She dragged one hand through her tangled hair, squinting against the light as she looked around in a panic. "Who are you?"
"You're safe now, okay?" he reiterated. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
She took one look down at her clothes, though, saw that she was halfway naked, and freaked out, understandably. "Leave me alone!" she yelled, racing down the stairs. She pulled her shirt and skirt down as she ran out the door, and a few people gave her curious looks as she flew past. But they didn't run after her. He thought about doing that, but the poor girl was traumatized enough as it was. He was a strong guy, a football player just like the four guys who had . . . who had . . .
He glanced back over at the bedroom just in time to see Brady shooting him a death glare as he came towards the door to shut it and lock it into place.
Bellamy stood at the top of those stairs shaking, barely able to breathe. What he'd just walked in on . . . that was rape. Those guys that he knew and who played on the same team as him . . . they'd been raping that girl. And he'd been too late to stop them from doing it. He hadn't saved her.
...
Pretending it was alcohol, Bellamy downed the rest of his club soda and intercepted Clarke as she started to head out the door.
"Babe, listen to me," he said, grabbing her arm.
"Don't touch me right now," she warned, pulling her arm away.
He looked over at Kane and Abby, glad to see that they had their backs to them and were engaged in conversation with Dr. Jackson. He didn't want them to see him and Clarke having a disagreement. "I've made plenty of mistakes before. Huge ones, even," he said. "You gotta trust me when I say I'm not making one now. I'm perfectly in control of this. I know what I'm doing."
"Oh, really? Do you?" she challenged.
"Yes." He'd spent all night drinking fucking club soda, hadn't he?
"Because I'll tell you what you're doing," she said, her eyes boring straight into his. "You're not being a very good husband. Again." She swung her purse over her shoulder and walked out of the ballroom, her heels stomping loudly on the floor. He lagged behind, hating the feeling that those words brought up in his stomach and in his chest. He thought about running after her so he could just get down on his knees and apologize and beg for forgiveness. But not only would that have been pathetic, it wouldn't have been enough. This whole cycle of anger and frustration between them was just going to keep repeating until she accepted the fact that he used alcohol to make himself feel a little better when things got bad. And there was nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with him.