Chapter 105
Sometimes, Clarke just wished she had an extra hand. Getting Avery's bathtub situated in the sink meant that she didn't have a hand free when then auto shop called, so she had to hold her phone between her ear and her shoulder.
"So how much is it gonna cost to fix the car?" she asked. When they told her the number, she couldn't help but wonder, "Is that even worth it?" The mechanic started going into this whole spiel about the parts that he would need to order and how long it would take for him to get the work done, but the thought of having to go buy a new car sounded like even more work to her, so she decided, "Alright, go ahead and fix it then. Thank you." She ended the call, set her phone down on the counter, and headed back into the living room to pick Avery up out of her playpen. "Alright, girly, you ready for your bath?" she asked in her high-pitched baby voice. "Just you and me this time, but that's alright. We got this."
Avery's face wrinkled up, and for some reason, she let out a cry.
"Oh, no, don't do that," Clarke said, patting her back. It wasn't a need-to-burp cry, though. It was a need-daddy cry. "Come on, honey, we're in this together," she said. "Lots of mommy/daughter time. You like being with mommy, don't you? Am I alright?"
Gradually, Avery stopped crying, but it would have let up more quickly if Bellamy had been the one holding her.
"Yeah? I'm alright?" Clarke looked back over to the bathtub in the sink, and even though she knew she could easily bathe Avery by herself . . . she just didn't want to. She set Avery back down in her playpen and walked back over to the counter to pick up her phone and call her mom's number. Since she was at work, she didn't really expect her to answer, but she must have been in between patients or something, because she did. "Hey, Mom?" Clarke said. "You know how I said I wanted to be alone for a while?" She'd changed her mind.
Avery's bath ended up being delayed until 12:30, because that was when her mom was able to get there. She only had forty-five minutes that she could spend with them, but it was better than nothing.
"You really don't have to spend your lunch break here if you don't want to," Clarke said as she squeezed the sponge on Avery's back, letting the warm water drizzle down.
"It's fine," her mom assured her, phone poised to capture every moment of bath time. "Gives me an excuse to get this cute video."
Maybe I should get her to send that to me, Clarke pondered, and then maybe I should send it to Bellamy? She wasn't really sure. On the one hand, once he got access to his phone back, videos of home might motivate him. Or they might just depress him further. She really wasn't sure. Maybe she'd have to ask him, see what he wanted.
"You know, she really is the most beautiful baby," her mom bragged. "Well, you were also the most beautiful baby, though."
"But you're not biased at all," Clarke said sarcastically, turning off the water.
"Of course not." Her mom put her phone away and asked, "You need any help?"
"No, I think I've got her." She wrapped Avery in a towel and lifted her up out of her tub. "Okay, let's dry you off," she said, bringing her over to the couch. She laid her down on a larger towel and tried to make her feel all warm and cuddly again as she wiped off every water droplet left on her. "I feel really lucky to have her right now," she admitted. "Don't know what I'd do without her." Last night, she probably would have cried for hours if she hadn't had Avery to hold onto. She couldn't help but wonder if . . . if Bellamy had been crying. "It's gonna be really hard for him to be without her for . . . however long it takes," she said quietly, wishing she could call him right now and check up on him. She didn't even have to talk to him directly. Maybe one of the nurses could just let her know how he'd managed last night.
"He's doing what he needs to do, though," her mom reminded her. "You convinced him."
"Yeah." She was kinda of proud of herself for that, because it hadn't been easy, but she was less proud about other things. "I probably should've convinced him sooner, though."
Her mom sat down on the arm of the couch and said, "I'm sure you tried."
She shook her head, feeling a little dazed as she thought about it all. "I didn't try hard enough. I just kept hoping it would fade away, like a horrible nightmare."
"Here, let me hold her," her mom said, reaching down for Avery. She lifted her up with both towels and started drying her off more than Clarke had been. "How long has this been going on?" she questioned. "Since before you got married?"
"No. I think a lot of it's tied to all the adoption stuff and . . . Finn." She shuddered just a little bit even saying his name. That feeling of his lips was gone from hers, thank God, but still, the knowledge that the last person who'd kissed her was him and not her husband just didn't sit right with her. "But Aurora said he was drinking more after he found out about the abortion, too," she added, not able to just glaze over that fact when it'd been so clear that it was still troubling him a lot.
"That doesn't mean this is your fault," her mom insisted.
"I just feel like there was more I could've done." Looking back now, she really wished she'd sat down with him and talked about rehab after the 'dehydration' incident at the football game. Or better yet, after she'd discovered that water bottle. The sooner the better.
"Hindsight's always twenty/twenty, isn't it?" her mom said. "Sometimes I think back to where things went wrong with your father and me, and I dwell on all the mistakes I made."
Clarke knew first-hand how many mistakes had made there, by both of her parents. She just didn't want her and Bellamy's marriage to go down a similar path.
...
All she'd wanted was a little midnight snack . . . even though it was before midnight. So she set her sketchbook aside, took out her earbuds, and headed downstairs. Halfway down the steps, though, she heard a really loud conversation coming from her father's office. It sounded like he and her mom were arguing. Again.
"She's getting better," she heard her mom say.
"No, she's not. Can't you see that?"
Oh, great, Clarke thought. The only thing worse than overhearing another one of her parents' arguments was overhearing another argument about her. She stepped down off the stairs and crept closer to her dad's closed office door so she could listen better.
"How would you know, Jake?" her mom shouted, getting louder now. "You don't see her as much as I do."
"Because I'm at work, providing for this family."
"Excuse me? Did you forget that I have a job, too? In fact, I have two jobs, because every night after at least a twelve-hour shift, I come home and cook dinner and clean and keep this house running. You could try showing a little gratitude once in a while."
"Oh, I'm sorry if I find it hard to be grateful to you when you're the reason why we'll never know our grandchild!"
Clarke winced.
"Oh, good god, Jake," her mom snarled. "Why do you always have to bring everything back to that?"
"Because that's what it all comes back to!" her dad roared. "I didn't know you could be like that, Abby. I didn't know you had that in you. You manipulated our daughter to-"
"I did not manipulate her!"
"Yes, you did!"
Clarke literally shook when she heard her dad yell that loudly. He wasn't normally an angry guy. And he and her mom never used to fight like this. It just kept getting worse, though. Every month, the arguments intensified.
"You didn't want anything to damage this family's reputation," her dad said. "Just admit it."
"Well, of course I worried what people would think!"
"What would they think if they could hear us right now?"
I can hear you, Clarke thought. Were they really so caught up in fighting with each other that they didn't even give any consideration to the fact that she was right there in that house with them?
"My friends would think you're being very cruel to me," her mom said.
"And mine would think you've been awfully selfish."
God, just stop, Clarke thought, desperate to put a stop to the fighting. The only way she knew how to do that was to make her presence known, so she opened the door and walked into her dad's office.
"Clarke, honey, what are you doing up?" her mom asked her.
"I'm drawing," she said. "Just wanted to grab a snack." She really didn't feel hungry anymore, though, not after all of this. "Are you guys okay?" she asked. So far, she'd just let them fight, figuring it would blow over. But maybe it was time she tried to intervene.
"We're fine," her mom claimed. But she had to know Clarke had just overheard some of that.
"Do you need anything, sweetie?" her dad asked.
As much as she wanted to do something . . . what could she do? She was the kid, and they were the parents. "No. No," she said, slowly backing out of the office. She headed back upstairs, trying not to worry too much about her parents' marriage. If the fighting was still going on, at least it was happening in hushed whispers now.
...
"Okay, no offense, Mom," Clarke said, "but you mentioning your failed marriage doesn't make me feel any better right now."
"But you and Bellamy aren't anything like your father and me," her mom reassured her. "That's why I'm mentioning it. You're dealing with your issues. Your dad and I never did."
God, she hoped they were doing enough. She didn't want her marriage to end up like her parents' had. And she didn't feel like it would. What she and Bellamy had . . . even though, it'd been damaged recently, it still felt strong to her. She just hoped it felt strong to him, too.
...
Clarke managed to make it a couple of hours on her own. But once she put Avery down for her nap, that intense feeling of loneliness swarmed back in on her, and she had to call someone. Octavia was probably feeling pretty down in the dumps herself, so she opted for just Raven and Harper, both of whom showed up at her doorstep half an hour later.
"Hey, guys," Clarke said, hugging them as she let them in. "Thanks for coming."
"No problem," Harper said.
"This might be the most downtrodden girls night we've ever had, but it's something," Clarke said. They both had bags with them, so hopefully that meant they were willing to sleep over. Maybe it was juvenile, but it was also much-needed. "I really do appreciate you being here," she told them. "It's kinda hard to be alone right now."
"Yeah, we're here for you," Harper said. "Whatever you need."
"I think she needs . . ." Raven paused, opening her bag, and pulled out an entire board game that Clarke was surprised he'd even managed to stuff in there. "Sweet Valley High! The board game."
Clarke made a face. "What is that?"
"I don't know. I found it in my bedroom closet at my dad's place," Raven replied. "But look at this tagline on the front here: Can you find your boyfriend in time for the big date? Now if that doesn't make you wanna play it, I don't know what will."
"Raven . . ." Harper smiled and shook her head. "You are something else."
"I know," she said. "It's probably super cringey and maybe even a little bit sexist, but . . ." She shrugged.
"Let's play it," Clarke decided. Hell, it was something to do. And that was what she needed right now, just things to keep her busy.
Sweet Valley High . . . actually ended up being a kind of great game. It involved memory, primarily, but also a little strategy, and of course, some luck. Clarke chose to play as the character of Jessica, mostly because she just had the cutest boyfriend. But when she looked up a description of Jessica online, the character was nothing like her. Halfway through, Avery woke up from her nap, so Clarke brought her downstairs and held her on her lap while they played.
"Oh my god! I'm gonna lose," Raven whined after rolling only a two with the dice.
"Clarke, I think you're gonna win," Harper predicted.
"Don't know how," she said. "It's a memory game, and I barely even know what day it is." She rolled the dice again and ended up getting the exact number required to get back to her home space. They weren't really sure how a winner was declared, so that was what they had decided would seal the deal, getting back to home.
"There it is," Harper said. "You won."
"Yay. You hear that, honey?" she said to Avery. "We're Sweet Valley High champions."
"Um, I don't think this is very fair," Raven said. "You had a good luck charm." She pointed to Avery.
"Yeah, she does make me feel pretty lucky." Clarke snuggled her daughter, sort of wishing they game hadn't ended. It was a pointless, albeit good, distraction.
"Well, that was fun," Harper said.
"Yeah," Clarke agreed, hoping they might want to play again. Judging by the concerned look on Raven's face, though, they were about to get serious for a minute. "What?" she asked.
Raven sighed softly. "Okay, listen, Clarke, we're willing to bring over bad board games and have fun with you if that's what you need . . ."
"I thought it was a good game," Clarke mumbled.
"But you can also talk to us. We're your friends. We're here for you."
"Yeah, we really are," Harper agreed. "Whatever you need right now, whether it's to vent or cry . . ."
"I know," Clarke said. "I just . . ." She didn't really feel like doing either one of those things right now, especially not with Avery on her lap. "I don't even know what to say. I feel sad, obviously."
"Sad?" Raven echoed skeptically.
"Okay, more like devastated," she confessed. "But I still feel hopeful, too. And I feel guilty."
"Guilty?" Harper asked. "Why?"
"Because I wish I could've stopped things from getting so bad," she explained.
"Hmm, you and Murphy both then," Raven said. "He filmed a video today and . . . it was actually kind of emotional."
Clarke had seen enough of Murphy's videos to know that they were usually pretty funny, sometimes pointless, almost always lighthearted. In fact, his series about her and Bellamy was just about the only serious project he'd ever done. "Can I see it?" she asked.
"If you want to." Raven took out her phone, brought up the video on YouTube, and handed it over to Clarke to watch. Before she even pressed play, she couldn't help but notice that the thumbnail was just Murphy sitting in a grey sweatshirt in front of his filming station, holding his hand over his eyes. And the video was simply titled 'I feel bad.' Totally able to relate, she pressed play.
"Hey, guys," video Murphy said to his thousands of subscribers. "I just wanted to pop on here for a minute and let you know . . . I might be taking a break for a few days. I got a friend, one of my best friends, actually, who's goin' through some stuff. It's pretty serious."
Clarke felt a lump form in her throat, because she'd known Murphy for years, and she'd never seen him look like this before.
"And there's nothing I can do to help him," he went on, his voice hoarse, indicating that he might have been crying right before filming this. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm one of the reasons why he's having problems to begin with." He shook his head sadly, recalling, "Every time I saw him pick up a drink, I just sat there, drinking right along with him. Even when I tried to get him to stop, all I ended up doing was driving him home. I didn't do enough. I enabled him."
Clarke wanted to reach through the screen, grab him by the strings of his sweatshirt, and pull him into her living room so she could assure him that, no, he hadn't. There was no way he could have known it was going to get this bad.
"And these past couple days, it's really been eatin' away at me," video Murphy went on. He just sat there in silence, looking lost in thought for about fifteen seconds. Then covered his eyes with his hand for a moment—the video thumbnail—and sniffled loudly. He looked about as guilty as Clarke felt. "Anyway, I'll come back in a few days with a rant video or something," he said once he'd uncovered his face again. "I got a lot of thoughts about turtlenecks that I've been wantin' to get out there, so stay tuned for that riveting content. But in the meantime, if you wanna put some good thoughts out there for my friend, that'd be great. Thanks, guys." He reached up to turn off his camera, and the video ended.
Clarke handed Raven's phone back to her, feeling the need to just snuggle Avery some more after watching that. She hadn't expected a video from Murphy to resonate so hard with her today, but . . . it definitely had. She understood what he was feeling all too well.
The girls night was definitely a good thing. In between games and movie—horror movies, because Clarke couldn't handle watching anything with romance in it—they did have some serious conversations that helped Clarke feel . . . better. Not necessarily perfect, but at least somewhat better about how she had handled things. The fact of the matter was that Bellamy was in Baltimore right now because she'd convinced him to go there. He'd ultimately made the decision to get help on his own, because no one could make that decision for him; but Raven and Harper both did a good job of reminding her that she was the one who had done all the research for him, and without that, he might have stayed in Arkadia and tried handling things on his own. And that might have been bad.
The next day, since she'd started moving past some of her own guilt, she felt the need to reach out to Murphy to help him start doing the same. So she asked him to come over after lunch, and she went ahead and asked Miller to come over, too, since Bellamy was also his best friend. And she could tell from the second he came in the house that he probably did need this just as much as Murphy did. He had bags under his eyes and looked really stressed, probably in part because he was running the entire football team on his own now, and that had to be a lot of work.
"Alright, I know you guys are wondering why I asked you over here," she started in, standing in front of them as they sat on the couch. "But I saw your video, Murphy."
"I saw it, too," Miller mumbled. "To be honest, I'm feeling the same way, man."
Murphy nodded sullenly. "Figured."
"I figured, too," Clarke jumped back in, "so that's why I wanted both of you to be here for this."
"Hold on," Murphy interrupted, "it's okay that I made that video, right? I'm not gonna mention him by name or anything."
"Make whatever you need to make," she told him, understanding that, for Murphy, filming things was probably like a form of therapy. "But something that I need you not to do, both of you, is to not blame yourselves for any of this." Those were the exact words Raven and Harper had used with her last night, and even though they didn't alleviate everything she was feeling, they were making it more bearable. "I know it's tempting. I've been struggling with it, too," she empathized. "But you guys are good friends to him. He's lucky to have you."
"He's lucky to have you, Clarke," Miller corrected.
"Yeah, we went out and drank with him," Murphy said regretfully. "More than once."
"I let him leave the gym," Miller added. "I should've known he wouldn't just go home. I should've gone with him."
"You guys . . . this isn't your fault," she reiterated. "We have to accept the fact that the person who's most to blame for everything Bellamy's going through . . . is Bellamy." She'd read some more things online, things having to do with accountability, and everything said you weren't doing the person any favors if you tried to take more than your fair share of the blame.
"I know," Murphy said, rubbing the side of his head. "Deep down, I know that. But it still sucks, you know, and I still feel bad about it."
"Yeah, I get that." That feeling wasn't just going to go away, and personally, she was fine if it didn't. She wanted to hold herself accountable, too, so that she could be the best, most supportive, most helpful wife possible when Bellamy returned. Mostly, she felt like her decision to have an abortion was something they needed to go back and reexamine when he was able to. And as painful as that would always be for her to do, she was willing to do it if it made their relationship stronger.
She heard a car pull up outside, and when she went over to the window and glanced out, she immediately recognized whose car it was. "Okay, confession: I kind of had a second reason for having you both over here right now," she told the guys. "I gotta go talk to Finn. Just in case he tries anything with me, will you be my bodyguards?"
They both sat up straighter, looking a little alarmed, and Miller asked, "What's goin' on with Finn?"
"Nothing. I think I can handle it. Just stay in here," she said. "I'll let you guys know if I need anything." She didn't anticipate him trying anything she didn't consent to this time, but just in case, it didn't hurt to have two guys there who would jump in and defend her.
When she went outside, Finn got out of his car, and the first thing she noticed was that he still had a bit of a fat lip and some bruising around one his eyes, courtesy of Bellamy. As much as she didn't want Bellamy feeling like he had to go all fists-of-fury on her behalf, she wasn't exactly sad to see the remnants of that bar fight. If she'd been capable of punching him without breaking her whole hand, she would have loved to have done just that after he'd kissed her without permission.
"I heard about Bellamy," Finn said brazenly. "Is he okay?"
She grunted. "Like you care."
"Hey, I might not like the guy, but that doesn't mean I wanna see him end up dead."
Was that really true, though? Did Finn have that basic sense of decency? She really wasn't sure anymore. "He's gonna be fine," she said, choosing to believe that the rehab would work, that the therapy would be good for him.
"Doesn't it concern you at all, your husband being a drunk?" he asked her bluntly, so insensitively. "What if Avery had been with him?"
"She wasn't."
"What if she is next time?"
She hoped and prayed there wouldn't even be a next time. Because if there was, it was going to get harder to stand by him and be supportive. "He's getting help," she said, not willing to go into detail with someone who'd just admitted to not even liking him. "And it's none of your business, so I'm not gonna tell you anything else about it."
He rolled his eyes.
"What I am gonna tell you . . . is that we're done here," she said firmly, mind made up. "We're not doing Sunday visits anymore. You lost the right to that, as far as I'm concerned. If you want time with Avery, you're gonna have to fight me for it."
"Are you fucking serious?" he spat. "All of this because I kissed you? Or because your husband can't handle it?"
"It's because I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I let myself believe that maybe you truly did wanna get to know her, but now . . ." She shook her head in disgust. "I get it now. You just wanted to try to get back in my pants."
He made a face. "Don't flatter yourself, Clarke. Yes, I'm still attracted to you, but if I wanted to, I could date someone with a body that's never popped out a kid before."
So now he was trying to insult her appearance? "You're disgusting," she said. "Do you know that I could press assault charges against you for what you did? You had no right to kiss me. I literally had to push you away."
"You didn't seem to mind me kissing you when we made a baby," he pointed out. "If I recall, you loved me back then."
"No," she said, wishing she'd never even said the L-word to him when she hadn't really meant it. "I married the only person I've ever truly loved."
"Whatever," he muttered.
"Do you even know what you're doing, Finn? Do you even know why you're here?"
"Because I wanna be a father," he said, and she couldn't help but notice . . . a father. Not her father.
"You're not," she told him vehemently.
"But Bellamy is?" he countered. "What kind of father was he when he wrapped his car around a light pole? What kind of father was he when he was sittin' in jail?"
"You have no idea what all he's done for-"
"I'm here, he's not," he cut in. "To me, it seems like I'm the one who's stepping up now."
"No, you wouldn't know the first thing about stepping up," she snarled at him. "And you will never even be half the father to Avery that Bellamy is."
"You think a judge would see it that way?" he challenged.
"Let's find out." She wasn't going to cower down to him this time and let him have his way. In fact, she felt determined to make sure Bellamy got to sign those adoption papers and make official what everyone with half a brain already knew: He was Avery's dad, and Finn. Just. Wasn't.
"You really wanna take this court?" he asked, almost as if he were trying to see if he could get her to change her mind.
"I will if I have to," she affirmed stubbornly. "If you're sure this is what you want."
It was subtle, but there was a look of indecision on his face, one that she noticed and honed in on.
"Being a dad, a real one . . . that's not something you just do for three months, Finn. You do it for the rest of your life. You take care of her when she's sick. You save up money for her to go to college. You think about her more than anyone else every single day, because her needs and her well-being becomes more important to you than your own. That's what being a dad is, and that's why Bellamy's doing the hardest thing in his life and getting help right now. It's for her." She felt a surge of strength rush through her, because she hadn't known how this conversation would go, hadn't planned on saying any of this. But it felt damn good. It made her feel proud of herself, and proud of her husband.
Finn just looked away, no argument this time.
"Think about it," she told him. "And in the meantime . . . stay the hell away from me and my daughter." She spun on her heel and marched back inside the house, happy to leave him stewing out there in his own discontent. She shut the door, locked it, and leaned back against it, letting out a heavy sigh, relieved that that confrontation was over.
"How'd it go?" Murphy asked. He and Miller were both still sitting on the couch, super tense and alert.
Time would tell, but for now, she felt like smiling about that, so she did. Finn Collins didn't deserve anything from her, so she was glad the only thing she'd just given him this time was the truth.