Chapter 103
It was a good thing Clarke had gotten an early start on researching, because the amount of information out there online was . . . overwhelming. She was glad there was so much of it, though. Clearly this wasn't just something her own husband was struggling with. She stumbled across some statistics that put the number of people who had substance abuse issues in the U.S. alone in the millions. And the number of alcohol-related deaths were . . . pretty alarming.
All night, she stayed awake and stayed downstairs, trying to gather as much information as possible. She looked online into every treatment center in the Maryland/D.C. area, trying to figure out what would be the best fit for Bellamy. There were so many options: inpatient, outpatient, ones that included a set detox program, ones that didn't. And ones that focused on eliminating alcohol consumption altogether, as opposed to ones that pushed for a controlled intake of it. Plus, there were some support groups for family members like herself that she definitely wanted to look into. But that would come later. After she helped Bellamy.
Of course, everything still very much hinged on her being able to help him, on her being able to convince him that rehabilitation was the next step they needed to take. If he still resisted, then she was fully prepared to have an intervention with all his loved ones there. But she worried that he would feel attacked and ganged up on, so she really wanted to try getting through to him one-on-one first. And she'd try to be more compassionate this time, like Kane had suggested. Fighting had gotten them nowhere, and she didn't want to fight with him anymore.
She'd just finished printing off a whole bunch of information from a very highly-rated treatment facility in Baltimore when Bellamy came shuffling downstairs. Checking the clock, she realized that it was already almost 7:00. Without Avery at home to wake her up, she'd lost track of time.
"Hey," he said, rubbing his eyes as he came towards the kitchen table where she'd set up her whole workstation. "Did you get any sleep last night?"
"No," she answered tersely. It wasn't likely she'd get much tonight, either. In fact, until he started getting the professional help he so clearly needed at this point, she didn't hold out much hope for rest of any kind.
"Clarke, I'm sorry-"
She held up one hand to indicate that she didn't even want to hear it. She wasn't trying to be rude or anything. She just couldn't handle yet another apology.
"Can I just finish?" he asked, sitting down at the table.
"No." It was just gonna be the same thing, although maybe a little more impassioned this time. "No, I'm not gonna let you do this again. I'm not gonna just let you apologize this away. Not this time." She'd already accepted too many sorrys from him with the hopes that maybe that particular sorry would be the one that stuck. "This is serious, Bellamy. You could've died last night. Somebody else could've died."
"I know," he acknowledged, rubbing his forehead. "I messed up. I'm not proud of it. Ashamed, really."
Good, she thought. He needed to feel more ashamed of what he'd done last night than anything else he'd ever done in his life. She knew he had a lot of guilt for what had happened in college, but to her, this was so much worse. This had to be the darkest period of his life for him to want to crawl out of it.
"I want you to know that I don't care about the car or the money or any of that," she told him. "None of that stuff even matters to me. You matter. You matter to me and to your mom and your sister." She waited a moment to tack on the one that would really tug at his heartstrings. "And to your daughter. You matter to her."
His mouth clenched tightly together as he struggled not to cry.
"She needs you, Bellamy," Clarke went on. "She needs you on this planet. But if you keep going like this . . ." She shook her head, tears springing to her own eyes as well as she allowed herself to envision the world without him in it, Avery growing up without him. It was awful. "She might lose you," she whimpered. "I might lose you. You can't keep doing this."
His voice was a shaky whisper when he said, "I know. But what if I can't stop?"
"You can. I know you can."
"No, it's just not that easy."
She couldn't pretend to know what he was going through, what he was feeling. She'd never been addicted to anything before, but based on everything she'd read last night, it sounded like one of the hardest things a person could ever go through. "That's why you need to get help," she said softly.
"Help?" he echoed, immediately stiffening, a clear sign of his resistance to the idea. "No, I don't need a shrink or a support group or a program or . . . I don't need any of that. I can do it on my own."
Of course he thought that. But the success rates for people who just quit cold turkey were so much lower, and they usually relapsed within a year. "There's no shame in asking for help," she assured him.
"So help me," he practically begged. "Just you and me. We can do this. I can do this for you."
"You have to do it for you," she told him, "not for me."
"But how am I supposed to do that?" He pushed his chair back and shot to his feet, pacing around the kitchen for a moment before he wailed, "I don't even like myself right now."
Oh, god, Bellamy . . . Her heart just broke for him, but she didn't want to start weeping. She had to be strong and supportive for him.
"And you don't like me, either," he said sadly.
It was true. This version of him wasn't one that she liked. She didn't like seeing his wrecked car on the news or having to go bail him out of jail. She didn't like having to have this conversation right now. But none of that mattered, because her feelings for him were so far beyond that. "I still love you," she said.
"You probably shouldn't."
She did, though. Always would. "Bellamy, let's just . . . let's sit down together and look through some of this stuff I found," she said, motioning to the vast array of papers on the table. She'd put them in stacks, tried to organize everything the best she could so that this whole thing was the most structured as possible for him. "We can talk about some of your options. We can figure this out together."
"No, I—I can't . . ." He shook his head adamantly, resumed his pacing, and said, "I can't figure this out. It's too much."
"Bellamy . . ." It was a lot for both of them, but they had no choice here.
"No, I need to go see my mom," he decided suddenly. "I need to go see her." He marched toward the door, but as he opened it, she reminded him that he really couldn't go anywhere on his own.
"You can't drive right now. Your license is suspended."
He stood in the doorway, hand on the doorknob of the open door, and just stared outside for a few seconds before his shoulders slumped in defeat. Looking back at her, he asked, "Does she know what's going on?"
Clarke nodded. "Yeah." She'd made sure to get in touch with everyone last night, not only his family, but hers, too, and every friend who had been helping look for him. Everyone had agreed to give her some space with him today, but they were all really worried. So she was sure they would all come to an intervention if need be.
"Does Octavia?" His lips trembled as he waited for her answer. This time, she just stared at him sadly, knowing he must have hated the thought of his little sister, who, in some respects, had been his first experience being fatherly, knowing what he was going through.
Looking down at his feet, he nodded with a look of this sad acceptance on his face, and he sniffed back a lot of tears. "Can you just take me over to my mom's house?" he asked her again, his voice really quiet this time. "Please?"
She wasn't sure why he was so determined to see her right now, but there must have been something he wanted to talk to her about. And maybe, because she was the one person he'd known and loved his whole entire life . . . maybe she'd be able to get through to him.
...
Even though he had a home with Clarke, Bellamy knew his mom's house would always feel like home, too. It wasn't the biggest, fanciest place, but he'd grown up there his whole life. He'd been a kid there. A kid who had no idea he was going to grow up to have an alcohol problem.
As Clarke drove, he sat silently in the passenger's seat, staring out the window just like he had last night. He just felt like, if he could see his mom, maybe he could calm down and catch his breath a little. Maybe she could sort some stuff out for him. He knew he wasn't a kid anymore, and he should've been able to figure things out himself, but his mom was his hero. He'd always need her.
...
Because he didn't want to be a hassle, Bellamy found a ride home from the airport. Literally just hopped in a truck with some guys, got dropped off at Arkadia, and walked home. His mom wouldn't be expecting him, but he hoped she was home. With everything going on, he just needed to be around her. Because she was a good person, one of the best people he knew. And he hadn't been around good people for a really long time.
Her car was in the driveway, so chances were good that she was home. Maybe even Octavia, too, but he wasn't sure he wanted to see her right away. For as much as she liked to annoy him, he knew she looked up to him at the end of the day. He was one of her role models. Except he wasn't a very good one. A good role model would have stopped anything bad from happening at that party.
He knocked on the door, too lazy to grab the key out from underneath the potted plant on the steps, and waited. He saw the curtains move a bit as someone peeked outside to see who it was, and a few seconds later, his mom opened the door and exclaimed, "Bellamy! What are you doing here?"
"Hey, Mom," he said, dropping his bag so he could hug her.
"Hey," she said. "I thought you were flying back tomorrow."
"I came home early." He kind of just wanted to stay home, to be honest.
"Well, this is a pleasant surprise," she said, stepping aside so he could come in. "I thought you'd be celebrating with the team today."
"No." He wasn't even part of the team anymore. "I didn't go to the game."
"The—the bowl game?" she stuttered. "Why not?"
He shrugged, not willing to divulge too much. "I quit."
"What?" she said incredulously. "What do you mean?"
"I turned in my jersey, quit the team."
"Why?"
Because they're horrible, he thought. The players, the coaches, and everyone who worked behind the scenes . . . not one person had been willing to listen to him. He'd made so many phone calls, tried to set up so many meetings. But Coach Lightbourne had everyone in cover-up mode, and even the fucking police department had his back.
"I just don't wanna play anymore," he said. Not a lie. He didn't wanna play, not if he had to play with those guys. What if Brady was right and this happened at all the other universities, too? Was this just the culture he was expected to assimilate into? Because he wasn't gonna do that.
"What about your scholarship?" she asked.
"What about it? I don't care." He could go back to studying now that he wasn't going to be partying so much. He could use all the tips and tricks Gina had taught him and try to keep his grades up. If UCF wanted him back next year because of what he was doing in the classroom, then maybe he'd consider it. If they only wanted him for what he could do on the field, then he was done. Outta there.
His mom sounded a little mad, understandably, when she asked him, "Why didn't you discuss this with me? I can't afford to pay for you to go to college, Bellamy. It's taking everything I have to try to save up even a little bit for Octavia. We needed your scholarship."
"I'm sorry," he said. She wouldn't have been able to get him to change his mind about remaining on the team, but he should have talked to her first. Now this was just more stress for her.
"We're gonna have to take out student loans now," she said, seeming to be thinking out loud. "Will they even re-admit you for second semester if you're not on the team?"
"I don't think they want me on the team anymore," he muttered. If he hadn't quit, his coach probably would have single-handedly revoked his scholarship. The bridge between them was pretty damn burnt. "And I don't wanna play," he said decidedly. "I'm done. My non-existent football career's over." He picked up his bag and headed towards the laundry room. Every college kid's first stop when they got home.
"Bellamy," she said. "Please talk to me."
It was tempting. But he didn't want her to know what he'd done at that party, or rather, what he'd neglected to do. She'd be so ashamed of him, because she'd raised him better than that. "There's nothing much to say," he mumbled. "Sorry I let you down, Mom." He left her standing in the living room, confused, and headed in to do his laundry. God, he hoped he would never disappoint her like this again.
...
Clarke pulled the car to a stop, shut it off, and asked, "Do you want me to go in with you?"
Part of him did, but . . . "No, just wait out here. If you will." The things he wanted to talk to his mom about were things he wasn't sure she'd be honest about if anyone else was in the room.
As he walked to the door, he remembered all the times growing up his mom had told him what a good person he was. She'd called him brave whenever he'd scraped his knee but just kept on playing. She'd called him smart even when he'd been struggling to read. She'd called him kind when he'd stuck up for the kids like Jasper who used to be bullied. So how had he ended up here, feeling like the most cowardly, idiotic jackass of all time?
She opened the door before he even knocked on it, grabbed him, and pulled her into her arms to hug him. She was crying, just like Clarke had been last night. "Oh, I'm so glad you're alright," she said through her tears.
He wasn't alright, though. That was the problem.
Slowly, she released him, looked over his shoulder, and asked, "Is Clarke coming in?"
"No. I need to talk to you." He eased past her into the house.
"Okay," she said, slowly closing the door.
He felt like he couldn't sit down, so he just walked all around the living room, trying to think of where to even start. "I fucked up, Mom," he said. "I fucked up really bad."
Just watching him made her choke out a small sob. "It's okay," she assured him.
"No, it's not. I'm puttin' everyone I love through hell. And I don't even know why." He thought of everything he had, everyone he had, and he really did feel fortunate. He knew he was lucky. "My life's . . . pretty good, you know?" he admitted. "I just think there's something wrong with me."
"There's nothing wrong with you," she said, closing the gap between them so she could put her hands on his cheeks. "This happens to a lot of people."
He stepped back from her, feeling like they needed to start saying the word instead of dancing around it. "What, addiction? Am I an addict now? Is that what I am?"
She gazed at him sympathetically.
"That's not who I wanna be, Mom! Why am I like this?"
"I don't know," she said. "But if you deal with it now, before it gets any worse . . ."
"Worse? I . . . I drove drunk last night!" he halfway yelled, halfway cried. "How much worse can it get?" The only thing he could think of was if he were to accidentally do something to hurt Clarke or Avery. Physically. And he'd rather die than even risk doing that.
"Oh, honey . . ." She reached out for him again, but he took another step back, feeling like he didn't even deserve a comforting touch.
"See, I see how much this is hurting you and Clarke, and I know it's gonna hurt Octavia, too, and I . . . I don't wanna be like this," he said, struggling to breathe as he cried. "And I don't know why I am. It's not your fault, I know that. You didn't do anything wrong. You're the best mom I could ever ask for."
She put one hand over her mouth to stifle her own sobs, but her body still shook as they came out.
"What if . . ." He hadn't wanted to consider it, but the fact of the matter was, there was somewhere out there who was responsible for half of him. Biologically, genetically. He just had no idea who that person was. And now it was time to. "No, you know what?" he said. "I know I've never really asked much about him before, but what about my dad? Who is he?"
His mom lowered her hand to her chest and inhaled sharply.
"Maybe this is his fault," Bellamy considered. "Maybe he's the reason why I'm like this." He needed to know more. This was someone who, even though he hadn't ever been around, had probably played a big part in making him the sorry excuse for a man he was today.
"Bellamy, your father . . ." His mom trailed off.
"Where is he? What's his name?" he asked her frantically. "I need to find him. I need to find him and figure out what he's like so I don't keep losing my mind like this." He ran his hands through his hair, feeling like he was about to have a whole damn nervous breakdown. "So just tell me something about him. Please. Just one thing," he begged.
"I . . ." With her mouth open, she shook her head, unable to finish. "I don't know what to say."
"Did he drink?" he questioned bluntly. "Did I get this from him?"
She didn't say anything. And that said a lot.
"He did, didn't he?" He wished he'd known that. He might have taken some precautions. "I take after him."
"No, you don't."
"Apparently I do." He drank, too; he couldn't stop drinking. In fact, if someone had offered him a drink right now, he still would've found it really hard to turn down.
"He . . . he had a problem with alcohol," she confirmed to him. "I don't know if he ever got over it."
"Then where is he? I'm gonna go confront him."
She shook her head sadly. "No, you can't."
"I'm going to." He needed answers or a glimpse into his future or . . . just something to get him to stop. "I don't care if he doesn't give a shit about me. I'm gonna find him, and I'm gonna ask him why he made me this way."
"No, you—you can't, Bellamy," she emphasized. "It's not possible."
"Why not?" he demanded loudly.
"Because . . ." She hesitated. "He's not alive anymore."
He stared at her in disbelief, even though it wasn't unbelievable. "What?"
She wiped some tears away and said, "A few years ago, I heard about it from . . . oh, your grandma on that side of the family."
He didn't know her, either.
"We don't really keep in touch, but she called to let me know . . . that he passed away."
Out of all the things Bellamy had expected to hear, for some reason, that hadn't been one of them. He'd always thought that his dad was out there somewhere, just living his life, not caring about the child he'd once fathered. He'd never imagined that . . . that he was just gone. "How?" he asked warily.
It took her a moment to answer, to squeak out two very emotional words: "Car accident."
Immediately, he thought back to last night, opening his eyes in that car, crawling away from it, surveying the wreckage.
"I don't know if he was drinking or not when he . . ." She trailed off and just shook her head, like she couldn't say anything more. Like it was too painful.
Bellamy turned away from her, feeling like the earth had just been seized from under his feet. He wasn't sure how, but he felt an overwhelming sense of loss for someone he hadn't even known, someone he couldn't even picture in his mind. His father . . . was dead. And now he'd never know him.
It made him think about Avery, the way she looked when she smiled at him, the way she almost always stopped crying as soon as he picked her up in his arms. She was so little, but she was gonna get bigger. And she was gonna need him.
He started to picture something he didn't want to see then: a toddler version of Avery wearing a black dress. Standing next to her mother, who was also dressed in black, who had a round belly with another baby in it. They were holding hands, looking down into the ground as something lowered. They were burying him. And his little girl, although she was still too young to understand everything that was happening . . . she couldn't stop crying.
No, he thought, desperate not to let that happen. He couldn't. He couldn't abandon her. He couldn't let her end up in this same situation, wanting to talk to him but just not being able to. No, that couldn't happen.
He no longer had a father. But Avery Blake still did.
...
Upon leaving his mom's house, Bellamy made it clear that he wanted to go to Octavia's to get the baby. But Clarke wasn't sure that was such a good idea. His hands were shaking, and he was sweating. He just didn't look well. She was firm with him and told him that she was taking him home first so he could calm down and get to feeling better. He ended up getting sick in the upstairs bathroom. She wasn't sure whether it was because he was hungover or because the emotion of everything was just taking its toll on his body. Or maybe he was going through some kind of withdrawal like a drug addict did. She wasn't sure, but she was sure that Avery was better off staying with Octavia for a while.
Bellamy lay back down and did end up going to sleep for a while. During that time, Clarke called his family and hers to let them know how things were going. She texted their friends, and they all sent back super supportive responses. Raven's stood out to her, though, because she was the only one who asked the obvious question: Do you think you're gonna have an intervention for him?
God, she still didn't want to. But if it was what needed to be done . . .
When Bellamy woke up from his nap, he did look . . . better. He took a shower, put on some clean clothes, and came back downstairs looking presentable. "I wanna see Avery," he blurted. "Please?"
He seemed a lot less worked up now, so she felt more comfortable asking Octavia to bring her home. Besides, it was supposed to be kind of a stormy night, and she wanted her daughter back for that. She was so happy when Octavia brought her back, but she only held her for a minute or so before handing her to Bellamy. He needed to hold her right now. Because there were going to be nights coming up where she would be in this house, and he probably wouldn't be.
The sky started to cloud up late in the afternoon, making it seem a lot later than it really was. Since it wasn't raining or thundering or lightning yet, though, Bellamy took Avery out onto the beach and just stood there with her in his arms, showing her the ocean, talking to her. It seemed like he realized that he had limited time to be with her right now, because he was just completely focused on her. His eyes hardly ever left her, and his hands held her so gently.
Clarke stayed inside with Octavia, watching the two of them intently, wishing he always looked that peaceful. It was what he'd deserved, just not what he'd gotten.
"How do you think he's doing?" Octavia asked.
"Not good," she admitted. "Seeing him with her, though . . . he looks calm. I think she's the only thing that can soothe him."
Octavia nodded sadly in agreement, then apologized, "I'm so sorry, Clarke. I had no idea any of this was even happening."
Of course she hadn't. There had been excuses like dehydration and just hanging out with the guys at Eligius. "We tried to hide it well," she said. "It's all been kinda sudden." But then again, thinking back to last night's argument and how he'd said that she'd killed his kid . . . "Or maybe it hasn't. I don't know."
"Well, is there anything I can do for you, to make things easier on you? Because I'll do it," Octavia offered. "Do you need me to watch Avery for another night, or-"
"Maybe. I'll let you know." Her daughter wasn't in short supply of babysitters, that was for sure. But if possible, she wanted to have her home tonight. Just to help Bellamy. And to remind him what he was gonna be fighting for.
"Okay." Octavia surprised her then by wrapping her arms around her and hugging her tightly. She wasn't usually such an affectionate person. "I love you, Clarke," she said quietly.
"I love you, too," Clarke said. She may have been born an only child, but nowadays, she had a sister. And that was pretty incredible.
Bellamy came in right as their hug was ending, which prompted Octavia to make her exit. "Hey, I think I'm gonna head out, give you guys a chance to talk," she said.
"Okay. Thanks for looking after her," Clarke reiterated.
"No problem." Octavia looked at her brother, almost as if she were debating whether or not to go hug him, too. Her eyes got really watery, and her bottom lip started to shake.
"Octavia, don't," he said, "because . . . I can't."
She nodded in understanding but went up to him and gave him a hug anyway. "Alright," she said. "Just call me if you guys need anything."
"Thanks," Clarke said again. They waved to each other on her way out the door, and when it was once again just her and Bellamy . . . the pressure was back on. The pressure to get him to agree to getting help. If he didn't do that tonight, then she was fully prepared to bring everyone they loved and cared about over tomorrow morning. She'd even reached out to an intervention specialist. He was available if she needed him.
"I'm gonna go put her down for a nap," he said, heading upstairs. Clarke followed him, of course, not because she didn't trust him, but because . . . actually, she didn't even know why. Maybe, on some level, she was mentally preparing herself for the things she wouldn't see over the next few weeks. Or possibly even months. Whatever he needed. If he had to go away for a little while, she was definitely gonna miss watching him with Avery. Because even now, that was always when he looked the happiest.
Laying her down in her crib the way he'd done so many times before, he gazed down at her with a thoughtful look on his face and then said, "You know, I really wanna be there for her, Clarke. I wanna chaperone school dances and walk her down the aisle someday. I wanna be a good grandfather to her kids. I wanna be there."
"You will be," she said.
"Will I?" He turned to look at her with an expression of deep sorrow on his face. Anguish, actually. "Even if I do get help, are you really gonna want me anymore? After all of this? I mean, look at me, I'm a mess."
Some of the reading she'd done made it clear that you had to be honest with people who were suffering, that you couldn't make promises to them you weren't sure you were going to be able to keep. "I just want you to get better," she said. "And then we can go from there." As long as he got the help he needed, she didn't see any reason why they wouldn't be able to overcome this. But if this struggle of his continued, or if he relapsed or just refused to get help . . . It wasn't just herself that she had to think about; it was their daughter, too.
"What if I don't get better?" he wondered fearfully.
"I think you will." She wasn't just saying that, either. She really did think it. "I believe in you."
That look in his eyes changed into one that didn't believe she could still believe in him.
Motioning to the crib, she made sure to add, "So does she."
He looked back down at Avery, let out a heavy sigh, and said, "I wanna be a good dad, Clarke."
"You are. You are a good dad."
He shook his head adamantly. "No, I'm not. Not right now. I'm not a good dad, and I'm not a good husband."
She winced a bit, sort of regretting that she'd said to him. Had it been blunt or just unnecessarily harsh? She didn't even know anymore, but she'd said it to him twice, so there was no taking it back.
"I don't wanna go away somewhere, though," he said. "I don't wanna go away from you."
Having looked into some of his options, she knew that some of the best facilities would involve him going away. Not far, and obviously not forever. But yeah, he was probably gonna have to spend some time away from home. "That's why we have to sit down together and talk about everything that's out there for you right now," she said.
"I don't wanna do that, though."
"I know," she said, not particularly thrilled about having to do it herself, "but-"
"Because then it seems real," he said, tilting his head back to hold in more tears. "Realer than this."
She knew she couldn't even imagine how hard this was for him. If someone wanted to talk to her about things that might separate her from Avery for weeks at a time, she would have resisted it with every fiber of her being. But then again, she didn't have an alcohol problem, so she didn't have her own health to consider.
"It is real," she told him. "You did get into a very real car accident last night. And you really could've died." If this wasn't the wake-up call he needed, then she honestly didn't know what else could be. "You really could've left me and Avery all alone, so you know what? You can try to talk yourself out of this as much as you want but . . ." She paused, not because she was unsure of what she wanted to say, but because she wanted to work up the strength to say it with as much conviction as possible. "But I am still gonna make sure you get better," she told him, not backing down, not even willing to consider backing down. If she left this all up to her husband, then he'd find a way to convince himself that he could handle this all on his own. Because he didn't wanna leave them. But something inside her was just screaming that, if he didn't get professional help, he might end up leaving them for good at some point, and that was not a risk she was willing to take.
He stared at her for a few seconds, a few long and contemplative seconds, then slowly and subtly nodded. It was a silent acknowledgment that he knew she was right, and that he knew they couldn't prolong this anymore.
"Come downstairs with me," she told him. "Let's figure out what we wanna do." She walked out of the nursery, and he followed her. This was going to be a lot for him, for both of them, but she hoped he'd heard what she'd just said, because she'd said it on purpose: We. This wasn't something he was doing; it was something they were doing. Together. They were still together in their lives and in this. Whatever they were going to do, they were doing it as one. She wasn't gonna let him go through this alone, not after taking vows of for better or for worse.