TW: this story contains depictions of SA, grief, and anxiety. I don't plan to go into too much detail in regards to the event of SA, but the story is primarily about recovery and the healing process, which means it will involve scenes that are heavy in the emotional aftermath. I'll have more info at the author's note at the end of the chapter.
She could hear her own breathing, her own heartbeat. Her ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, like she was deafened, but she could hear herself. All she could hear was her breathing, her heartbeat. The rest of the world was silenced, suffocating. Her head was still spinning —it had been for two hours now. She was disoriented, detached. She could barely even register the fact that she was standing on that doorstep. She couldn't even remember the journey between her apartment and this one, but here she was. And all she could process was the sound of her heavy, labored breathing and the rapid beating in her chest that pulsed loudly in her ears.
She pressed the buzzer. But time was nonexistent to her right now. Five seconds felt like five minutes, and her anxiety only increased as she grew aware of the fact that she was standing alone outside in the dark.
She pressed the buzzer again.
Again.
Again.
She held it down, her breathing quickening, gritting her teeth to hold herself back from crying. She shut her eyes tightly, pleading with the universe to just give her this one thing.
"Please, please, please," she breathed shakily, resting her head against the brick wall, ready to collapse.
But did she even deserve for that door to open? Did she even deserve to find solace there? She'd left with no warning —she'd abandoned the people who she knew cared about her. She'd left without a trace, without a simple goodbye. She'd broken off contact without giving them a chance or an explanation. She'd disappeared, and she knew that she was probably the last person who would ever be welcome there again.
But still, it was the only place she could go. The only place she would want to be.
Hopelessness set in her chest. Why would the universe give her this? Why would it give her this one single break that she needed. Why would it give her the only thing that she desperately needed. God, she was desperate. The only thing that had kept her running through the dark streets was the hope that she would find some semblance of comfort or safety here —it was the only place she had, the only place she knew she could go.
But why, tonight of all nights, would she expect the universe to give her that?
Then, just as Clarke knees were ready to buckle in defeat, the door began to open. A small sliver of light —of hope— fell across Clarke's face and her heart stopped.
"It's three in the morning, what the fu-"
Raven stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening and her own heart betraying her as she recognized the woman before her. Had it not been for the bright blue of Clarke's eyes, Raven might not have recognized her. Clarke's appearance was so far from herself, making her almost unrecognizable. She wore a baggy black sweatshirt that swallowed her figure, making her look even smaller than she already was, and the hood was pulled up over her head, casting a shadow over her face. She almost looked like she was hiding herself beneath the hood of the sweatshirt. In the darkness, it was almost impossible to make out Clarke's features, but those eyes were certainly hers.
Raven, however, was too overwhelmed with the shock of Clarke's return to really comprehend just how 'off' things could really be. No, she felt the anger rise in her chest. Four months. It had been four months with no contact, no explanation, no answers. And now, here she was at three in the morning, once again with no warning.
"Clarke," Raven deadpanned, the name falling from her tongue harsher than she'd even intended. "What are you doing here?"
Clarke didn't know how to respond. She didn't know how to react to Raven's immediate response to her being there, and while she certainly hadn't expected any sort of warm welcome, the near hatred in her friend's eyes was enough to leave her with a pain in her heart.
"Raven, I-" she paused, stumbling over her words, and she closed her eyes, trying to think of the right thing to say.
She'd had everything planned out. Over and over again, she'd run through this scenario. She'd practically memorized a list of everything that she needed to say, of every apology and explanation that she owed the brunette. She'd had everything rehearsed, everything simplified. Now, though, her mind was running a blank. She couldn't even get out a single sentence. She didn't know how to explain herself, or even just her presence. She was too overwhelmed, to overcome with pain and fear and confusion.
"I-" she froze, again, the panic beginning to set in as she realized that she was really here.
"What?" Raven snapped, her voice cold as ice.
Met with only silence, Raven's frustration —and her desperation for an answer— grew. Her grip on the doorknob tightened, her knuckles going white.
"Spit it out, Griffin," Raven snapped, clenching her teeth, "or get the hell off my doorstep."
The brunette was hostile, but truth be told, she was relieved to see the blonde in person. She didn't actually want Clarke to leave. Deep down -and she was aware of it- she desperately wanted Clarke to explain the reason for her absence, and for her sudden reappearance. But god, was she angry. Angry that Clarke had left, that she'd dropped contact for so long, that she'd abandoned them, and that now she was showing up with no warning so late at night. Raven had every damn right to be mad, especially when that anger was rooted in hurt.
But Clarke couldn't find the right words. She couldn't even find the thoughts. All of her reasons for being there, all of her explanations for her absence and sudden reappearance, were suddenly absent from her mind. The only thing her mind would let her think about was how badly she'd fucked up. How badly she'd fucked up by leaving, how badly she'd fucked up by cutting them off. How badly she'd fucked up by staying where she'd been. All she could think about was the attack. About how badly she'd fucked up by letting it happen. And now, how badly she'd fucked up by showing up at Raven's doorstop without even being able to speak.
Coming here had been a mistake. A dangerous, stupid, selfish mistake. Raven deserved better than this, and she had ever reason to hate the blonde. Coming here had been a mistake, but God, Clarke so desperately wanted to be here. She didn't have any other option. There was no one else she could turn to, no one else she could trust. This had been her last real home, her last safe place, and she didn't know what to do. Her heart had driven her here —her heart and her gut. But now the reality of it all was crashing down onto her. She'd left, she'd abandoned her friends and her past and her home, and there was no doubt in her mind that Raven hated her. There was no doubt that coming here had been an awful, selfish mistake. She had no right to be here.
Her breathing sped up as the world started spinning around her, and she was barely aware of her own words as she began to slip into panic. She tried to articulate her reasons for being there, tried to form some sort of explanation or apology or anything.
"I- I don't- I couldn't- I don't know what-" the blonde stammered almost incoherently, feeling somewhat lightheaded. She took a step backwards. The panic was building, seizing her. "I tried, I tried to- but I couldn't- I don't know- I don't have anywhere else to go, I just-"
Clarke's voice cracked and shook as she stumbled over her words, and Raven's anger was instantly extinguished and replaced with confusion and concern. She studied Clarke for a moment, stunned and chilled by the fear in the blonde's voice. Something was wrong.
"Clarke," Raven spoke sharply, attempting to catch her friend's attention. She stepped forward slowly, opening the door fully. "Clarke, look at me. What's going on?"
Clarke didn't even notice the gentle change in Raven's demeanor. She just shook her head, eyes wide and wet, filled with what Raven recognized as utter fear. That fear sent a chill down Raven's spine. Something was really wrong.
"No, I- I should go." Clarke suddenly turned, her voice shaking as she placed her foot on the first step to walk away. "I'm sorry, Rae, I-"
"Clarke, stop," Raven insisted, jumping forward and grabbing the blonde's upper arm.
"No!" It was a scream. A terrified, raw scream. Clarke immediately pulled her arm away from Raven and froze, her eyes wide as she looked at Raven like a deer in headlights.
With a sharp gasp, Raven stepped back, perplexed and concerned by Clarke's reaction. The now fully-open door of the townhouse illuminated the blonde's face, and Raven's stomach dropped as she saw Clarke's expression of pure terror. For the first time since Clarke's arrival, Raven actually a clear look at her friend's face. She wasn't sure what frightened her the most: the busted lip and bloody nose and bruise that was forming over her eye, or the look of absolute panic that consumed Clarke's features.
Raven stepped back carefully, raising her hands to show that she meant no harm. Clarke seemed to relax slightly, but she still looked distraught. She still looked scared, but not of Raven. It was something else. The blonde's eyes were now glazed over. She looked disconnected, like her mind was suddenly somewhere else. There was a moment of silence that passed. It probably lasted only a few seconds, but to both of the women, it felt like minutes had passed. Clarke was frozen in her trance, and Raven was staring at her in shock and concern, in scrutiny. She could see how Clarke's breathing quickened, how the blonde seemed removed from the world, lost in harrowing thought.
What happened? Raven asked herself, her heart breaking for the woman before her.
"Clarke." There was no response. "Clarke," she tried again, gently but firmly.
The blonde snapped out of it, gasping softly. Her eyes flew to Raven's, her fear and desperation painfully visible.
"Come on," Raven breathed, "come inside."
Clarke hesitated for a moment, but once she saw the genuine concern in Raven's eyes, she nodded and stepped through the doorframe, holding her breath but feeling slightly relieved. She was still nervous, she was still overwhelmed by fear and confusion, but Raven had actually let her inside. Maybe this wasn't a mistake. Maybe she was safe here.
Raven closed and locked the door gently behind her, not once taking her eyes off of her clearly distressed friend. She didn't know what to say, what to do, what to ask. All that she knew was that Clarke was her best friend, regardless of everything that had happened between them, and that something bad had happened.
Her eyes went to Clarke's face instantly, scanning the injuries that were most abundant on the right side of her face. It looked even worse in the white light of the apartment. Before Raven could even make any detailed observations, though, Clarke turned the right side of her face away from her concerned friend, knowing exactly what the brunette was thinking.
"I'm sorry, I-" she paused, taking a breath as she tried her best to remain as calm as she could manage. "I know-"
"Hey, hey, stop," Raven interrupted softly with a shake of her head. "You don't need to apologize for anything right now. Okay?"
Clarke's jaw was set as she willed herself not to let any tears fall, and she refused to make eye contact with her friend. She swallowed the knot in her throat as she took in a few slow breaths. When Raven didn't receive a response, the brunette slowly grabbed Clarke's hand, gently getting the blonde to look back at her. Raven's heart shattered once more as she saw the look of absolute sorrow -of some thick, heavy pain- in Clarke's eyes. It took everything she had in her not to wrap her arms around the blonde right then and there.
"Let me see," Raven instructed, her voice gentle but firm.
Clarke looked desperately at her, pleadingly. She knew that she couldn't have expected anything else from her, but she still didn't want Raven to actually have to see the injuries. She didn't even want to acknowledge them herself. She didn't know what she looked like, but she knew that it was bad. She knew her nose had been bleeding, she knew that her cheekbone was probably beginning to swell. She knew that there were probably a few cuts and scrapes. She didn't want Raven to have to see it all, and more than anything, she herself didn't want to see it all.
And she didn't want the pity. She already felt weak enough. She didn't want to know that Raven saw her that way as well.
She shut her eyes, pained. "It's not that bad," she tried, her voice barely above a whisper.
They both knew that wasn't the truth. Clarke knew, by how much it hurt, that it was pretty bad. And Raven knew, just from the glimpse of the injuries that she'd gotten, that it was bad. But it was hard to get Clarke to open up when things were serious, and considering just how serious this was, Raven knew that she would be stubborn. Normally, when Clarke refused to talk about or acknowledge a situation, Raven wouldn't push her. This was more than just emotional turmoil, though. She was injured. Physically injured.
"You're hurt, Clarke..." Raven tried softly once more.
I'm fine, Clarke wanted to say. She didn't say it, though. Because she knew that she wasn't, and she knew that Raven was well aware of that.
"I know," she opted instead, turning her head away just slightly again, "but Rae-"
She sighed, then paused, searching for the right words to say, or even just any words to say. She placed a hand over her cheek, biting her lip as her throat tightened up. She didn't want Raven to see it, to acknowledge it, to analyze it. She felt ashamed, she felt lost, she felt like a disappointment. She felt scared, and a little bit hopeless. But she didn't know what to say or how to say it.
Raven could pick up on Clarke's vulnerability, though, and as much as she wanted to know for a fact that Clarke's injuries weren't too serious, she also knew how hard the blonde could be on herself. She couldn't bear to see Clarke feel any shame in whatever had happened to her. Raven's stomach turned just thinking about it. What had happened to her?
Clarke sighed, feeling defeated.
"I don't want to talk about it," she whispered, her voice cracking again.
She looked up at Raven, made eye contact with her friend, silently pleading for the brunette to respect her wish. She would let Raven see her injuries, she'd let her help her in whatever way the brunette thought was necessary, but she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to talk about how those bruises and cuts got there, didn't want to talk about what had happened.
"Okay," Raven breathed, giving Clarke's hand a gentle squeeze. "Okay, we don't have to talk about it right now, Clarke. Not if you're not ready. But let me help you, alright?"
Clarke met Raven's eyes, incredible, but heartbreaking, gratitude within them. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice threatening to betray her.
Raven just offered her friend a small, sad smile and nodded. "Come here," she replied in a quiet voice as she opened her arms up, hoping that Clarke would at least be comfortable enough for a hug.
To Raven's relief, the she didn't even hesitate. Rather, she accepted Raven's embrace instantly, holding on tightly to her as she let out a shaky, emotional breath. It wasn't long before Clarke was practically clinging onto the back of Raven's shirt, sobbing silently into her chest. The cries began suddenly, but not unexpectedly. Raven could feel her own stomach flipping each time a quiet sob racked Clarke's body, and she gently ran her hand up and down the length of the blonde's back, hoping that she could be at least some source of consolation for her. Little did Raven know, this was the most comfort that Clarke had found in anyone in a long time.
After a few minutes, with a pang of guilt, Raven pulled gently out of the embrace to look Clarke in the eyes. She wished that she could hold Clarke like that for as long as the blonde needed. She wanted to comfort her, to be there for her, to offer her whatever stability she needed. But she also knew that Clarke was hurt, and she didn't want to ignore the bruising and the dried blood on the blonde's face.
"Come on, that looks like it hurts," she spoke softly, offering Clarke a small smile.
Clarke sniffled, nodding. Raven led her into the living room, keeping an arm around her back almost protectively. It felt weird reentering the space that Clarke used to call home. Things looked almost exactly the same. The setup of the room was the same. The same soft leather couch facing the coffee table, the same knit throw blanket resting on top of the couch. The two recliners angled toward the television. One of her old paintings was still hung up on the wall, a landscape piece of the lake that her family used to visit each year when her father was still alive. The only significant differences were small. This TV was bigger than the one they'd had previously. There was a different rug under the coffee table. The only thing that really stood out to Clarke was a spot on the wall that had been plastered over, a clear indication that someone or something had busted a hole in the wall.
"You can just hang out on the couch, I'm just gonna grab some stuff," Raven offered.
Her tone was gentle, but it still felt casual, something which Clarke was inexpressibly grateful for. Raven wasn't treating her like she was fragile, she didn't appear to be tip-toeing around her. That brought Clarke some comfort, even in her state of exhaustion and pain and overwhelming sorrow.
She sat down on the side of the couch closest to the kitchen. Taking a breath, she closed her eyes, steadied her breathing. Nothing felt real. She was here, she knew that she was here and that she was safe, but something about it just didn't feel real. She just felt detached from everything —separate from everything. She was trying so hard to keep her mind grounded in the present, to think only of where she was in that very moment. She didn't want to think about what had happened, she didn't want to think about it. But her mind kept taking her back there. It was like she was fighting her way through a round of tug-of-war in her head, her mind attempting to pull her into darkness while she tried to pull herself back to the present, back to her current surroundings. And she wasn't sure how long she could keep herself there.
"Here, I got you some water."
Raven's voice interrupted Clarke's thoughts, causing the blonde to jump. Raven noticed Clarke's startled reaction, her casual expression faltering for a split second to reveal some sort of guilt or deep concern. She caught herself immediately after, putting up her facade of normalcy once more. Clarke noticed it, though. She noticed the look in Raven's eyes, she noticed the immediate change once Raven seemed to register her own break of the veil. She knew that Raven was trying to act normal, that she was trying to act as casual as possible, and her heart sank.
"Sorry," Clarke mumbled with a shake of her head, reaching for the glass of water that Raven was holding. "I'm just-
"Hey, stop," Raven interrupted, her tone gentle but more serious now.
She knew that Clarke had seen her reaction, and she knew that her own act of normalcy probably wouldn't hold up for much longer. She just wanted to be there for Clarke without making the blonde feel overwhelmed.
"No apologizing," she tried, sitting down next to Clarke and looking her in the eyes seriously. "Alright? No apologizing from either of us right now."
Clarke swallowed hard and nodded, once again grateful for her friend's presence. She pulled her sweatpants-clad legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She let out a heavy sigh, biting her swelling lip. She was exhausted. Exhausted, nauseous, angry, confused, hurt, scared, anxious. She didn't even know how she felt. All she knew was that it all felt heavy. There was a weight —on her chest and her shoulders and her mind— that felt like it would never go away.
"I'm gonna wipe the blood away, okay?" Raven asked.
Clarke just nodded, her eyes fixed on the rug on the floor.
It was a different rug.
The last time she'd been here, it had been a navy fiber rug. Now, it was a burgundy shag rug. It wasn't the same. Nothing was the same anymore. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Clarke flinched when the damp, warm washcloth made contact with her skin just above her busted lip. She opened her mouth, ready to apologize, but sighed instead. No apologizing.
Raven nearly did the same. When Clarke flinched, she almost pulled her hand back. She almost stopped to ask if Clarke was okay, to apologize for either frightening or hurting her. But they had agreed that neither of them would apologize for anything right now. Clarke didn't have to apologize for instinctual reactions, and as much as she wanted to, Raven wouldn't apologize for the small movements that were going to receive those instinctual reactions. At least not while she was cleaning up Clarke's face. Not while she was tending to the blonde's injuries. She knew that it was probably hard enough for the blonde to be this vulnerable right now anyway, and adding apologies and tentative words and actions into the mix would only make Clarke feel uncomfortable.
She wiped away the dried blood under Clarke's nose as gently as possible, cupping the other side of Clarke's face gently. She willed herself to stay as calm as possible, willed herself not to let her nerves get ahold of her. But as she looked closely at Clarke's injuries, Raven could feel her throat tightening up. She could feel her stomach beginning to turn. Her hand began to tremble slightly and she took a breath, closing her eyes and pulling herself back together. She didn't want to imagine what Clarke was going through. She didn't want to imagine what had caused Clarke's nose to bleed, or what had caused the bloody lip, or whose fist had hit her cheekbone hard enough to cause the bruise that was beginning to form. She didn't want to imagine what had happened to Clarke.
There was a significant gash on Clarke's cheekbone, right above the swelling red splotch that would probably be much darker by the next day. It didn't look terribly deep, but there was some dried blood around it and Raven knew that it would need to be cleaned out properly.
"This might hurt," Raven spoke softly, her voice almost inaudible.
Clarke didn't react. She hardly heard Raven at all. She barely even registered the pain as Raven scrubbed the cut. She barely even winced when Raven cleaned out the wound with hydrogen peroxide. All she could focus on was the carpet. All she could think about was the fact that her life was going to change permanently. All she could think about was that while the bruises and cuts and blood were an indicator that something awful had happened, but that those were only surface level. There were more injuries —Clarke knew it without having to look. Everything hurt. But all Raven could see were the ones on Clarke's face, the ones that weren't hidden by her sweatshirt and sweatpants. And those injuries —the visible ones— were only an indication that something had happened. Not of what had happened. And there was no indication of how drastically Clarke's life would be changed.
Raven frowned once the cut was cleaned. She was somewhat concerned by how numb —how distant— Clarke seemed. She was even more concerned by how lost in her mind Clarke appeared to be. She didn't want to imagine what Clarke had been through, but it was all she could think about. She knew someone had hurt her. That much was clear. But why? And how badly? The gash on the blonde's cheekbone sickened Raven the most. Why would someone have hit Clarke so hard? Hard enough to leave a cut, hard enough to make her bleed? Why would someone have hit her at all?
She moved her attention to the blonde's nose, letting out a heavy sigh and swallowing tightly. There was a small scrape on her nose, but it didn't appear to be broken, which was a relief. She scrubbed the small scrape lightly, then moved down to inspect the blonde's bottom lip. It was pretty swollen, a small but definitely painful cut visible.
When Raven touched the cloth to the cut, Clarke tensed up immediately, shutting her eyes and drawing in a sharp breath. She didn't release the breath, instead holding it. Raven noted how the blonde's fists clenched, how her jaw tightened. Her heart broke once again, and she held back the apology that she so desperately wanted to offer. Clarke's reaction didn't seem to be one of physical pain. No, there was something that went through the blonde's head when Raven touched her lip, something heavy and intense. And Raven felt tears build up in her own eyes.
She wiped the cut quickly, making speed just as much a priority as being gentle. When she finished, she placed her hand on Clarke's upper arm and rubbed it gently.
"Alright, that's it," Raven spoke softly, knowing that if she were to speak any louder, her voice would betray her.
Clarke just nodded, slowly letting out a shaky breath. Her eyes were still shut. Raven could see that the blonde's jaw was still clenched. She was literally holding herself together, her arms holding her knees even more tightly against her chest than earlier. It was faint, barely noticeable, but the blonde was rocking back and forth slightly. Raven noticed as Clarke swallowed hard, she noticed the way the blonde bit her lip, the way her eyes closed even more tightly.
She didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to help. Clarke's demeanor screamed "stay back," but everything in Raven wanted to take the blonde into her arms, to promise her that she was safe and she would be okay. But the last thing Raven wanted to do was cross boundaries or make Clarke uncomfortable.
"Clarke," Raven breathed, her voice hushed and hesitant.
No response.
"Clarke, what can I do? How can I help?" Raven asked, her voice carrying a hint of desperation now. She wanted to help Clarke, but what could she do? What did the blonde need?
Clarke swallowed, took in a trembling breath, then let out a single sob, her eyes still shut tightly.
"I don't know," Clarke admitted, her voice strangled.
And she didn't. She had no idea. She had no idea what could help, what could pull her mind out of the darkness that it was currently lost in. Her skin was crawling. She felt sick. She was absolutely exhausted, emotionally and physically and mentally. She didn't know what she wanted, what she needed, what she could do to escape from how trapped she felt in her current state. She didn't know.
"Okay," Raven nodded with a whisper, her mind running full speed. "Okay."
What did Clarke need? What could she do for her? She needed to think objectively, to think rationally.
"Clarke, I know you don't want to talk about it, but do we need to call the police?" Raven asked, knowing that it was a necessary question but regretting it as soon as it fell from her lips.
Clarke shook her head aggressively, turning her head down and letting out another short, strangled sob.
"No," she said firmly, clearly determined. "No, not right now. I can't. Not right now."
Raven bit her lip and nodded. She had to respect what Clarke wanted, what Clarke felt. She knew that the police would ultimately need to be involved —Clarke had clearly been hurt by someone, and Raven would never forgive herself if she let Clarke handle this without getting the police involved. But she wouldn't push the blonde. She has said 'not right now,' which left room for future discussion. They could talk about it tomorrow, when they had both had at least some time to clear their heads.
"Okay," Raven nodded, her voice soft. She paused, took a breath. "What are you feeling right now, Clarke?"
The blonde just shook her head once more, her breaths shaky. "I don't- I don't know," she managed, her voice cracking. She rested her forehead against her knees, her shoulders shaking as she held back the sobs that threatened to spill from her.
"Clarke, hey," Raven tried, her voice quiet but firm. She moved closer to Clarke, but didn't touch her at all. "Look at me."
Clarke swallowed hard, then lifted her head and opened her eyes. Raven felt her stomach turn again as she saw the pain in the blonde's eyes. It was so thick, so deep. It was too much to identify any individual emotion or thought, too complex to fully understand. But it was clear that Clarke was hurting —clear that she was in her own personal hell right now.
"What are you feeling?" Raven tried again, holding serious eye contact with her friend. "Just one thing. What's one thing you're feeling right now? And if you don't want to tell me, that's okay, but what's one thing that might help? One thing that might make what you're feeling a little less intense?"
Clarke took a moment before she responded. She closed her eyes, focused. She steadied her breathing a little bit. She tried to identify something, to recognize one single thing that she was feeling. In away, it drew her back to the present. It made her feel a little bit more grounded, a little bit less consumed by it all. The one thing she knew that she felt was dirty. She felt disgusted with herself, uncomfortable in her own skin. She wanted to scrub that feeling away, to do everything she could to get the feeling of his hands off of her body. She felt nauseous just thinking about it, sick just thinking of her own skin.
"A shower," she finally decided, minutes later. Her voice was firm, decided. She opened her eyes, looked directly at Raven.
Raven nodded, her stomach turning for what must have been the hundredth time that night. She didn't know what exactly Clarke was feeling, what was going through her mind, but Clarke's answer didn't exactly surprise her. When Raven had lost her leg years prior, she'd spent months where she would shower at least two or three times a day, determined to wash away what had happened to her, determined to scrub away the pain and the confusion and the hurt. It was psychological more than physical, but she understood. She didn't know what exactly Clarke was feeling, but she knew that the blonde had gone through something that, to some extent, she wanted to "wash away." And it hurt to know that Clarke was hurting that much.
"Okay," Raven nodded after a moment, taking a breath and collecting herself as she stood. "Yeah, yeah that's good. Uh, I can go grab clothes and a towel for you."
"Thanks," Clarke nodded, letting out a tired sigh.
"Yeah, uh, why don't you just get the water started? I'll bring them into you in a minute."
Clarke nodded once more, standing up and running a hand through her hair. Her exhaustion was growing, but that didn't change anything. She needed to shower —desperately. And she needed to wake herself up, to pull herself together, to fight off how tired she was because she sure as hell wasn't ready to go to sleep, to close her eyes. She was terrified to do so. Terrified that it would all come back in her dreams, that it would all happen all over again.
As Clarke headed to the bathroom, Raven quickly headed to the blonde's bedroom. She opened the door and headed straight for the dresser. She tried to be quick, grabbing a pair of boy shorts, a sports bra, and a pair of baggy track pants, then she moved to the closet. What would Clarke be comfortable in right now? Something big, something that was breathable but not too loose. Something that felt safe, that felt familiar. She settled on a grey crewneck at the back of the closet. She knew that this was one of Clarke's favorite tops. She remembered how often Clarke would wear it during the fall and winter months, how she always seemed happy to bundle up in it.
She wasted no time. She left the room, only briefly realizing how strange it felt to be in there, to know that Clarke was actually home now. She would think about that later, though. There were more pressing matters at hand. She reached into the hallway closet, pulled out a clean bath towel, and headed to the open bathroom. The shower was running, the steam a clear indicator that the water was hot. Clarke was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked exhausted, looked so emotionally drained. It was painful to see her that way, to know that right now, there wasn't much that Raven could offer when she didn't even know what had happened to the blonde.
"Here," Raven offered as she set the folded clothes and towel onto the counter of the bathroom sink. "I figured these would be comfortable."
"Thanks, Rae," Clarke spoke softly, her voice growing hoarse.
"Yeah, no problem," Raven responded with a dismissive wave. "Uh, I'll just be in the living room if you need anything, okay?"
Clarke just nodded, letting out a tired sigh and straightening up. She offered Raven a tight smile, one that was more-so a silent "thank you" than anything else. She had nothing to smile about right now, and she felt like she might never have anything to smile about again.
Raven returned the smile, hers equally tight and devoid of any real sort of happiness. As soon as Clarke shut the bathroom door, she allowed herself to falter. With Clarke no longer able to see her, Raven allowed her shoulders to drop and her tears to fall, although silently. She walked quickly and with purpose into the kitchen, where she knew that Clarke would not be able to hear her, and she let herself fall apart. She leaned back against the refrigerator and lowered herself to the tile floor, covering her mouth with her hand so as to keep her crying muffled.
"Fuck," she cursed through her tears, her shoulders shaking as the tears really began to spill over.
She didn't know what had happened to Clarke, but there were so many things that she feared. Each of her fears grew worse as they ran through her mind, and as much as she wanted to hope that it wasn't as serious as she thought, that this wasn't some awful, horrible thing, she had a gut feeling that it was. She'd tried so hard to keep her composure with Clarke, to be strong for her, to maintain some semblance of normalcy. But now that Clarke couldn't see her, Raven's mind was getting the best of her.
How many times had she cursed Clarke out? How many times had she, in the heat of the moment, gone so far as to say that she didn't even care about the blonde anymore? How many times had she silently wished for the universe to give Clarke some sort of punishment for leaving the way she did? Sure, she never really meant any of it —at least, she didn't think that she ever did— but she'd put those thoughts out their. She'd even vocalized them to Octavia —they both had. Raven wasn't typically one to believe in spirituality or karma, but what if she'd manifested this somehow?
She wanted to take it all back. She wanted to take back every ill wish she'd sent into the universe, every negative statement that she'd uttered about the blonde. Sure, even she knew that all of the awful things she'd thought and said were rooted in how much she did care for Clarke, but that didn't make it okay. Clarke was one of her best friends. Clarke and Octavia were the closets thing she had to sisters. How could she have ever harbored so much anger —so much hate— toward Clarke?
After a few minutes of muffled sobs, she stood up. She sniffled, wiped her tears away, and took in a sharp breath. She had to compose herself. She could break down tomorrow, or a week from now, or a month from now. But she couldn't let her guilt and her fears take over. Clarke needed help, she needed support. That was the top priority.
She swallowed hard, then walked to her room, taking another deep breath. Her cellphone was sitting on top of her bedside table, plugged in to charge during the night. She grabbed the phone, took another breath, and then headed back into the kitchen. If Clarke needed anything, she wanted to be within shouting distance. She needed to be readily available for the blonde.
She sat at the stool beside the counter that divided the kitchen and living room. She glanced at the time in the top-left corner of the screen. It was 4:27 am. Nearly 4:30 in the morning, and she was about to make a call that she knew probably wouldn't be received positively.
"Okay," Raven breathed to herself, feeling the stress set in her chest.
She went into her contacts, scrolled until she found her friend's name, and hesitated for a moment before clicking the call button. As the line rang, she took another breath. No answer. She called again. No answer. She called again, the line went immediately to voicemail. Finally, after calling for the fourth time, Octavia answered.
"Sorry, I didn't realize it was you," Octavia groaned on the other end of the call. "Are you okay? What's going on? It's like four in the morning."
"I know," Raven sighed, rubbing her temple as she closed her eyes. What was the best way to go about this? "Sorry for waking you up, I just think you should know what's going on."
"What is it?" Octavia questioned, confusion evident in her tone.
"Clarke's back."
Silence.
"What the fuck?" Octavia finally scoffed after a moment of quiet tension. "Like, right now? As in, she just came back in the middle of the night?"
"Yeah," Raven responded, biting her lip. She didn't know what to say, how to say it.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Octavia exclaimed, now fully awake.
Raven grimaced. She'd seen this coming. She knew that Octavia would be pissed, that it would take a significant amount of explaining —which Raven couldn't quite offer as she had no clue what happened— to get her to calm down.
"She really has the nerve to show up in the middle of the night? Are you serious? Please tell me you didn't let her in, Raven, because she does not get to just up and leave us for no fucking reason and then walk right back into our lives like nothing's changed, like she expects us to-"
"Octavia," Raven tried, her own frustration growing.
But Octavia continued, her voice growing louder and louder with each passing second, "-act like everything's normal, like she didn't treat us like absolute dog shit for no reason, like she has any right t0-"
"Octavia," Raven finally snapped, interrupting her irate friend.
"What?" Octavia responded, her voice laced with annoyance and confusion.
Raven sighed. What could she say? What should she say? She didn't want to alarm Octavia too much —not in the middle of the night, when Octavia couldn't do anything to help the situation. But, she had to be honest with her, and she needed to deal with the woman's anger now so that it wouldn't be a problem whenever she showed up. It sure as hell wouldn't be helpful if Octavia met Clarke with this anger and frustration and bitterness —no matter how valid it was.
"I need to tell you something, and I need you to calm down a little bit, okay?" Raven asked slowly, her voice low and serious.
"I am calm," Octavia responded defensively. "I'm just pissed that-"
"Octavia, I'm serious," Raven cut her off, her tone leaving no room for debate. "This is serious."
She heard the other woman sigh, frustrated and somewhat defeated.
"Alright, what's up?" Octavia finally asked, her tone softer and tired.
"Something happened," Raven tried, fully aware of the fact that her explanation was vague and probably not terribly cohesive. "I don't know what it was, she won't tell me and I'm not going to push her, but she's not okay."
"Raven, come on," Octavia sighed heavily, her eye roll practically audible. "Shit happens to all of us. We deal with it. You can't just let her use pity and some sob-story to work her way back into our lives, that's manipulative and it's selfish. She's probably just regretting leaving and-"
"Octavia," Raven cut her off incredulously. She paused, took a breath, continued. "It's serious, okay? I don't think she's even here because she wants 'back' in our lives —she seemed ready to bolt almost right after I even opened the door."
She paused, took a breath once more. She felt her throat tighten and she spoke more quietly, her fears returning again.
"She said this is the only place she could go," Raven breathed, frowning as she remembered the way Clarke had looked, the way she'd stumbled over her words at the doorstep, the way she'd been breathing so heavily, so labored. "I think she ran here, Octavia. I don't know from where, obviously, but she ran here. It's serious."
Octavia took a moment to respond. Raven didn't know what to expect. Would she brush it off, would she argue again that Clarke didn't deserve to be there, would she hang up?
"What happened?" Octavia asked, her voice a little softer but not quite concerned.
"I don't know," Raven conceded, pinching the bridge of her nose as she spoke. "I mean, I know that someone hurt her. But I don't know who, or why, or-"
"Someone hurt her?" Octavia interrupted, her voice serious but now laced with worry.
"Yeah," Raven breathed. She swallowed.
"Jesus, Rae, why didn't you fucking lead with that?" Octavia asked, sighing heavily.
"I didn't want to freak you out right away," Raven explained tiredly. "I don't know what happened, or how bad it was, or anything like that. Honestly, she hasn't even acknowledge the fact that a person did this to her, but it's obvious enough that it wasn't a freak accident or anything."
"Hold on, hold on, rewind a minute Reyez," Octavia stopped her firmly, letting out a sigh of slight frustration. "How do you know that someone hurt her? I believe you, but you're being really freaking vague right now and it's not helping."
Raven exhaled sharply, turning her head toward the ceiling and shutting her eyes. She knew that Octavia was right, she knew that she really wasn't being clear at all, but it was just a lot. It was too much. She didn't want to freak Octavia out, but when the situation in itself was extremely alarming, there was really no way to explain it without alarming her friend. She didn't even want to vocalize the way that Clarke looked, she didn't even want to say out loud how bad the bruising and blood looked. But Octavia was being left almost completely in the dark, and that wasn't fair.
"There was blood, like, all over her face," Raven finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to keep herself together. "Her nose was bleeding, she's got a busted lip. Her cheekbone is all red and swollen, cut up— it looks like someone punched her, hard. And that's all I could even see, I don't know if she was hurt worse, or if she was-"
Her voice cracked and she stopped speaking, biting her lip and holding back a sob instead. She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to talk about how bad the situation appeared to be, didn't want to speak it into existence.
For a long moment, there was silence. Neither of them said anything, Raven trying to keep herself together and Octavia processing what she'd just been told.
"Shit..." Octavia breathed, her voice low and quiet.
Raven swallowed, sniffled.
"I don't know what to do," she admitted, her voice a whisper. "I sat with her for a bit and I helped her clean up the cuts on her face and everything, but I don't know what to do. She's in the shower right now, and she seems exhausted so I think she's just gonna go to sleep after, but I don't know how to help her, O. I don't want to push her to talk about whatever happened, but I really think she needs to go the police about this and I don't know how to get her to. What if I push too hard and she disappears again, or what if-"
"Hey, it's okay," Octavia interrupted softly. "I'll come over in the morning, alright? I'll come over, and we'll figure something out, and it'll be okay. She'll be okay. Alright?"
Raven took a breath, then nodded.
"Alright."
Clarke barely felt the burn of the hot water. All she felt was the way her skin crawled, the way that no matter how hard she scrubbed or how hot the water was or how many times she scrubbed herself, she still felt dirty. She didn't have it in herself to look at herself. To look down at her arms, or her chest, or her legs. She didn't have it in herself to look in the bathroom mirror. As soon as she'd entered the room, she immediately opened the doors of the wall-mounted mirror so that she wouldn't have to catch a glimpse of herself. So now, even in the shower, she couldn't even look at her own body. She just kept her eyes shut.
She didn't even register how long she'd been in there. She didn't even register how raw her skin felt from scrubbing, or how the water had turned cold. All she knew was that she couldn't scrub it off —she couldn't scrub away the feeling of his hands, she couldn't scrub off the way her skin crawled. Logically, she knew that she was clean. She knew that she'd probably never been cleaner than she was in this very moment. But she wasn't thinking logically. Logic didn't matter right now. All that mattered was that she felt disgusting. She felt dirty.
Finally, after what must have been an hour or so, she collapsed. She felt so defeated, so overwhelmed, so broken. She slid down along the wall of the shower until she was sitting at the base of the tub, her knees drawn up to her chest again. And she cried. She cried loudly, her whole body rocking with her sobs. She shook violently, wrapping her arms across her chest, practically digging her fingernails into her own arms as she attempted to physically hold herself together. Her sobs were ugly, painful, heavy. She'd never cried like this before. Not when her father died. Not when Wells died. Not when Finn died. She'd never felt this kind of pain before, and it hurt even more to know that this wasn't some temporary type of hurt. She felt like it would never leave her, like it would live within her forever.
She cried until her body couldn't handle it any longer. She cried until she was too exhausted to continue, until she didn't have the energy and tears left. Gradually, her sobs turned to shaky breaths, which eventually evened out. She didn't even know how long she'd been sitting there under the cold spray of water. She hardly had the energy to stand, to pull herself out of the tub. But she did. She stood, she exited the shower, and she shut off the water. With a sniffle —perhaps because of her crying, perhaps because of the cold— she reached for the folded clothes that sat on the sink. She dressed herself numbly, in a daze the entire time. She hardly registered her own movements. She was lost in a trance, swallowed by her physical and emotional and mental exhaustion.
When she finally opened the door, her eyes met Raven. The brunette was sitting against the wall in the hallway, exhaustion written across her face. The brunette, who seemed surprised to see Clarke emerge from the bathroom, wiped away a tear and stood up, giving Clarke a small, tired smile.
"Hey," she spoke, attempting to keep her voice light and casual but failing to hide her exhaustion.
"Hey," Clarke responded, her voice low and hoarse, filled with exhaustion. "Sorry, I didn't know you were waiting for me. I would've been faster if-"
"No, no, it's all good," Raven shook her head, frowning slightly as she looked at Clarke. "I just wanted to make sure you got to bed alright. You're probably exhausted."
Clarke just nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. Her eyes were drooping, her shoulders were heavy. She'd never been so tired in her life. How she was even standing was a wonder to her. She'd barely slept, then she'd run for nearly an hour to Raven's doorstep, and her injuries and whirlwind of emotions were finally taking their toll on her. She was so tired.
They both stepped into Clarke's room. Raven hung around as Clarke climbed into the bed, feeling somewhat unsure about leaving the blonde alone right away. She'd heard the weight of Clarke's sobs —it was the reason she'd chosen to sit outside the door, just in case the sobs were to reach a point where Raven thought that Clarke needed someone. Raven had stopped checking the time after Clarke's shower had reached the two-hour mark. She knew that it was past seven o'clock by now. If the light shone through the windows wasn't any indication, the birds chirping outside would be.
"Here, I can close these so you can sleep," Raven offered, stepping over to the window beginning to pull the curtains. The room wasn't too bright because the blinds were shut, but it was certainly bright enough that sleep could be difficult.
"No," Clarke's voice was sharp, showing no indication of her exhaustion.
Raven turned, surprised, to see Clarke's eyes wide with alarm. The blonde shut her eyes, shook her head and took a breath, clearly collecting herself.
"I just-" she paused, took another breath, her voice weaker and sounding defeated. "I don't want it to be dark."
Raven's mouth sat agape for a moment, then she nodded and swallowed the knot in her throat, pushing the curtains back so that the light could enter the room again.
"Yeah, yeah that's fine, Clarke," she responded, her heart panting for the blonde.
Clarke looked so defeated. She looked embarrassed, ashamed, even. That hurt. It broke Raven's heart. She wanted to take away whatever Clarke was feeling, to erase whatever pain she was feeling. But she didn't know how, she didn't know what she could do.
"I'll be right in my room," Raven offered softly, stepping back toward the door. "If you need anything, you can just come and get me, or call for me, or anything... alright?"
Clarke looked nervous, though. She avoided eye contact with Raven, and the brunette knew Clarke well enough to recognize that the blonde wanted to say something. She was ready to ask when Clarke finally spoke, her voice hesitant.
"Can you, uh..." she stopped, swallowed, then looked back up at Raven. Her eyes were so sad, so vulnerable. "Can you stay? Just for a bit?"
Raven's heart broke, but she felt relieved all at the same time. She'd been worried. She'd been worried to leave Clarke alone, and she'd been worried that Clarke was worse off alone. But she hadn't wanted to stay if Clarke didn't want that. She hadn't wanted to invade the blonde's space at all, to push her at all. But at the same time, it was painful to see Clarke so vulnerable, so frightened just to be alone.
"Of course, Clarke," Raven responded, immediately making her way toward the bed. "I can stay as long as you need."
She climbed gently onto the bed and was somewhat surprised when Clarke immediately rested her head against her chest. The blonde mumbled a tired "thank you," and Raven just wrapped an arm around her friend. She held her firmly but not tightly, resting her chin on the top of Clarke's head. The blonde's hair was damp and cold, and Raven pulled the blanket up higher to cover more of the blonde's body, aware of the fact that Clarke was probably colder than she even realized. She ran her other hand through Clarke's hair, hoping that she could offer some sort of comfort. She heard Clarke sniffle and she bit her lip sadly, her eyes glazing over as she found herself falling into a tired daze.
She couldn't even imagine what had led up to this moment, what possibly could have happened to her best friend. She didn't want to imagine it. But she feared it. She feared what might have happened, what she knew she couldn't just ask, what she hoped she would never have to hear.
"It'll be okay," Raven finally whispered, hoping that Clarke could sense the sincerity in her words. "We'll get through this, Clarke. We'll get through this."
AN:
Okay so that was long. This is a slow-burn. Lexa probably won't be introduced for another two or three chapters. I don't want to "romanticize" or simplify or do injustice to what this story is about. Assault and trauma are not topics that should ever be romanticized or taken light of. This is a story about recovery, and overcoming/living with trauma, and living and healing after trauma. It's not a story where falling in love makes trauma suddenly easier or not as severe, because that's not how it works. It is a story where someone who's been through a trauma heals —all thanks to herself— and, during this process, allows herself to love and to be loved and finds that she isn't defined by something that's happened to her.
For that reason, there will be some time-jumps in this story, because healing isn't a quick or simple process. I don't want to portray it as such.
Anyways, this story is also about friendship and about the support, love, and genuine connections between friends. That's why Raven and Octavia will also be very significant characters, especially in the first few chapters. As much as this is an AU fanfic, it's also a story that explores trauma, grief, friendship, healing, love, acceptance, parent-child-relationships, etc. I know it's a slow-burn. It's gonna be long, and it's gonna be a lot, but it means a lot to me and maybe it'll mean something to you too.