The tension in the living room was nearly palpable, and all three women were all acutely aware of that. Clarke was sitting at one end of the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest. She'd wrapped the throw blanket around her shoulders, but she didn't appear comfortable. More than anything, it looked like she was trying to cover herself up. Trying to isolate herself, however she could. Raven sat on the other end, her legs crossed under herself, a new cup of coffee in her hands. She was clearly trying to appear casual— to maintain a facade of normalcy. But it was clear to all of them that it wasn't real. She was exhausted.
And then there was Octavia. She was sitting back in the arm chair a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were focused on Clarke, scanning the blonde with what neither of the other two women could really identify. Was it scrutiny? Was it concern? Was it curiosity? Disgust? Anger, even? Octavia's expression was stone cold, but then again, it almost always was. The trio used to joke that she had a dangerous "resting bitch face," that her stoicism was her fatal flaw.
So, Clarke avoided eye contact with both of them. She didn't know what to say. She didn't even know how to start a conversation. She knew that Raven would be responsive, but it felt awkward. It felt uncomfortable. It felt impossible. The silence was heavy, and tense, and ominous. She could feel Octavia's eyes on her, and she could sense Raven's discomfort as well. The engineer shifted in her seat, took a sip of her coffee, cleared her throat, all in what seemed to be an attempt to keep busy.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"How'd you sleep?" Raven asked, her tone light. She was clearly just desperate to make conversation, to break the tension.
It was a simple question. An easy one, really. But Clarke felt her throat tighten, felt her stomach turn at the thought. Sure, she'd gotten almost three hours of sleep —but it wasn't restful. While she'd stayed in a deep slumber, only waking up at the very end, she'd slept horribly. She'd spent those three hours in an endless abyss of terror. It was a wonder that she hadn't woken up, but perhaps that was a result of her sheer exhaustion —emotional and physical. Or maybe it was because of the concussion that she knew she probably had. Regardless, she'd spent three hours in hell. In nightmares that didn't feel possible but, upon waking, she recognized as real.
"Fine," she responded, her voice cold, coarse, empty. She hadn't meant to sound bitter. But her answer came out sharp and unconvincing, and she didn't have the energy or even the motivation to correct her tone. It took enough of her strength just to sit here, to exist.
Raven shifted uncomfortably once more, unsure of how to respond. She probably should have thought through that question more clearly —to consider that, after what had clearly been an awful night, Clarke probably hadn't slept well at all. But she'd just wanted to start a conversation, to ease Octavia and Clarke into each others' presence. To break the tension, or at least to lessen it. The darkness that settled in Clarke's eyes after she'd asked her question, though, did the exact opposite. And now, all three of them were even more uncomfortable than they had been just seconds ago.
Raven stood up and set her coffee cup down on the table, clearing her throat nervously as she headed into the kitchen. She felt restless, despite her exhaustion. She hated having to sit in awkward and uncomfortable situations —she'd never been able to tolerate it calmly. Maybe a part of it was her ADHD, or maybe a part of it was just her desire to make every environment comfortable and safe, but she just couldn't sit there still and silent. It wasn't in her nature.
"Are you sure you don't want a coffee? Or a bagel or anything?" she asked Clarke, offering the blonde a small smile.
The blonde just shook her head, not even looking up.
Fuck, Raven thought desperately. Can't someone just say something?
"I'll take a bagel," Octavia offered after a second, glancing over her shoulder at Raven.
Raven let out a silent sigh of relief, giving Octavia a small smile of gratitude. She grabbed a plain bagel from the bread box and cut it in half, placing both slices into the toaster oven. She was keeping herself busy, hoping that either Clarke or Octavia could take the next step and actually say something to each other.
She and Octavia had spoken for almost two hours before Clarke had woken up. She'd told Octavia about the way Clarke had shown up at the door, bleeding and panicking and so far from herself. She'd explained Clarke's reluctance to tell her what had happened. She'd expressed her worries about Clarke's injuries —her worries about what might have happened to the blonde. And she knew that Octavia cared. She knew that Octavia wasn't angry, that Octavia wasn't judging Clarke. She knew that Octavia was just concerned —scared, really. And when Octavia was scared, she was serious. She was silent and hyper-observant, and usually that would come off as scrutiny.
Octavia thanked Raven when the engineer handed her half of the bagel, lightly toasted with a little bit of cream cheese. She wasn't hungry. In fact, right now, she wasn't sure how much she'd even be able to stomach anything. But she could tell that Raven was uncomfortable, so she took one for the team and spoke up, hoping that it would ease some of the tension. Fortunately, it did. To a degree. The atmosphere felt a little lighter as the two brunettes took a bite of their bagels. Clarke, while still avoiding eye contact with either of them, didn't appear quite as tensed up.
But she knew that if no one were to say anything, the thick silence would return, and she wasn't sure how they would get past it.
She studied Clarke. The blonde looked rough. Her lip was really beginning to swell, as was her cheekbone. A black eye had begun to form, and while it wasn't very dark yet, Octavia knew that it would probably look pretty bad in a day or two. There were a few small cuts and scrapes visible —most notably, the one on her cheekbone— but at least nothing seemed to be broken. What was worse than the injuries, though, was Clarke's body language. Her expression was dark —almost emotionless. Her legs were drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around them under the throw blanket that was draped over her shoulders. It was like she was holding herself together as tightly as possible. She was so closed off, so reserved. Her eyes were so dark, so lost. She seemed to be staring at the ground, almost completely separate from their surroundings. This wasn't a version of Clarke that Octavia had ever seen before, and that scared her.
She and Raven shared a glance. Raven's eyes went to Clarke, then back to Octavia. She nodded her head ever so slightly toward the blonde, then raised her eyebrows. Octavia just swallowed hard, then nodded. She knew what Raven was asking her. They'd spoken about it before Clarke had woken up, agreed that they needed some sort of a plan —some sort of method to get Clarke to open up, to tell them what had happened. And more importantly, to get Clarke to let them help her. But Raven wasn't sure that she could do it —she wasn't sure that she could bring herself to push Clarke, to get her to actually talk about whatever had happened. Octavia, though, had little to no issue with pushing people. She always had a good heart and good intentions, but Octavia wasn't one to coddle. She wasn't one to tip-toe around uncomfortable situations and subjects. She was straight forward, but simultaneously down-to-earth. She wasn't harsh, but she was firm. And when an issue was as serious and concerning as this, she was much more capable of getting straight to the point than Raven was.
But the fact that she was capable didn't mean that it was easy. No, Octavia knew before even seeing Clarke that this would be difficult. This would hurt.
"Clarke," Octavia spoke, her voice piercing the thick silence.
The blonde looked up, making eye-contact with Octavia for the first time since they'd sat down. Her eyes were deep, sorrowful, exhausted. In the most heartbreaking way, the vulnerability in her eyes was almost childlike. It was so pained, so raw, so honest, and so vulnerable. She hardly looked like herself at all.
"What happened?" Octavia asked. Her words were firm, but they were gentle. They weren't quite soft, but her concern was genuine.
Clarke knew it was coming. She knew that they'd ask questions, she knew that she wouldn't be able to hold her silence forever —although, she didn't want to. She wanted to tell them everything, to tell them what had happened to her, to tell them how sick and broken and terrified she felt. But she was so scared. Her heart wanted to explode, to pour out all of the pain. But she was trapped in her mind. She felt ashamed. She felt like she didn't deserve to tell them the truth. She knew that they would view her differently, that she would never be the same person to them again. She would never be the same person to herself.
And as much as she wanted to pour it all out, she didn't want to face it either. She didn't want to face the reality of it all. As much as she knew that it was real, she couldn't shake the fear that talking about it —that vocalizing her experience— would solidify the reality of her nightmare. If she didn't reveal the truth to anyone else, at least she could continue to live in an environment where her surroundings were unchanged —where her reality was known only to herself. Maybe, if no one else knew, she could push it down far enough that it wouldn't feel real. But she knew that it was. She knew that she couldn't run from this.
She felt so lost in her own thoughts, in her own fears, in her own inner conflict with her personal reality.
Her eyes landed back on the carpet. On the burgundy shag rug. The shade of red was almost as deep as her blood —almost as deep as the blood on her pillowcase that she'd only caught the briefest glimpse of before she'd fled her apartment. Almost as deep as the blood that Raven had cleaned off of her face the previous night. Almost as deep as the blood that coursed through her veins so violently, pumped by her rapidly beating heart. She could feel it thumping in her chest now, could feel the way her body reacted just to the thought of telling them what had happened. Her nerves were heightened, her heart was racing. She barely even noticed that she was holding her breath. She was so fully aware of how genuinely terrified she felt. She wasn't just scared that they would look at her differently or that they would reject her.
She was terrified of making it real. Terrified of reliving it all again. Because speaking it would mean experiencing it all again inside her head, just as she had in her sleep. Making it real meant reliving it, and reliving it meant that it was real.
Octavia and Raven watched anxiously as Clarke seemed to disappear in front of them. The blonde's eyes glazed over and her expression was almost unreadable. There was terror in her eyes and her mouth hung open slightly. Then her eyes glazed over, her gaze grew distant. It was like she wasn't there anymore, like her mind was elsewhere. Raven called out to her in an attempt to gather her attention, but Clarke didn't even react. The two brunettes shared a glance, each of them now much, much more concerned. They didn't know what to do, or what to expect, or how to approach this situation.
"Clarke," Octavia finally tried, her voice sharp in an attempt to pull Clarke's mind back to the present.
Clarke's head snapped up instantly. She inhaled sharply, somewhat caught off guard. Octavia was looking at her expectantly, but the woman's firm facade was cracked. There was a look in Octavia's eyes —something akin to fear— and Clarke felt her stomach turn once again. She'd never seen Octavia look so genuinely worried. Normally, Octavia was the rock of the trio —the one who could stay firm and unwavering. But Clarke could see it in her eyes. And she could see it in Raven's, too. The engineer's facade had fallen, too. Both of the women looked so genuinely concerned, and it finally hit Clarke that she would have to speak. Because clearly they knew that something was horribly wrong, that Clarke was not okay.
And their recognition of this was what made it all real. They could see that she was hurting, and Clarke finally realized. It was real. The severity of it all, the intensity of her emotions and her fears. It was all real. And it hit her like a truck.
She opened her mouth, intending to speak, but she didn't even know where to begin. The whole situation was a long story, one that spanned almost three months, now. But they weren't asking about the beginning stages of it all, and she wasn't even sure how much value the beginning of it all held. Should she start with the first time she'd felt uneasy? Or the first time she'd felt like she could be in danger? Or the first time she'd known she was in danger? Or should she start with what had happened last night, context be damned? She didn't want to go over it all, to explain every little detail. She was exhausted, and that would take too much out of her. But she didn't know how to even tell them what had happened last night. It made her sick just to think about it. How could she say those words?
"I dont... I can't-" she sucked in a deep breath, the panic beginning to fill her body once more. She pulled her legs even more tightly to her chest. She shut her eyes, clenched her jaw.
It couldn't be real. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be real.
"Clarke, just talk to us," Octavia tried. "What happened?"
But she couldn't. She couldn't talk about it, because she couldn't even understand it. She couldn't process it. Her mind was spinning and her breaths grew shallow. Flashes of the previous night shot into her mind and it was finally hitting her —she was finally being pulled into the reality that she so badly wanted to ignore. Last night she'd been in shock —consumed by panic and fear more than the actual realization of what she'd been through. Even when she'd woken up just moments ago, she'd been filled with disgust, but not with the actual raw awareness of what had happened. Up until this moment, it was as if she'd been outside of herself —like she'd been watching. Like she was a third-party to her own existence.
But now, with Octavia and Raven looking at her with such genuine concern, with those pitiful and worried and confused eyes, it was hitting her. Now, with the question of "what happened" being asked, it was finally hitting her. Clarke was finally beginning to return to reality, to realize that this had actually happened. It was finally becoming real, and Clarke didn't know how to cope with it. She didn't know how to think about it, how to articulate it, how to process it. She didn't even know how to breathe, how to stop her mind from spinning and her heart from racing and her body from trembling.
Octavia and Raven watched on as Clarke's body shook. They didn't understand what had happened. They didn't understand how Clarke had gone from calm and quite to completely detached to utterly distressed in a matter of minutes. Clarke's arms were wrapped around herself, her breathing was rapid, and her forehead was pressed against her knees. She was shaking. Tears were beginning to fall from her eyes. And neither of the other women knew what to do, what to say, how to help. They had never seen her like this. They had never seen anyone like this.
"Clarke, hey," Raven spoke softly, getting up from her spot on the couch and kneeling down on the ground next to Clarke. "It's alright, just breathe."
She placed her hand on Clarke's arm and wasn't entirely surprised when the blonde pulled back. Clarke's body language —let alone the way she'd acted last night— made it somewhat clear to Raven that the blonde wasn't entirely comfortable with physical contact. But she didn't know what else to do, she didn't know how else to pull Clarke out of whatever headspace she was in right now.
"Clarke, look at me," Raven attempted.
The blonde just shook her head in response and buried her face into her hands. She let out a strangled sob. Octavia had to hold herself back, had to fight against the urge to get up and make her way over to Clarke. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to be there for the blonde.
Octavia had never been great at comforting people. She'd always had trouble expressing her emotions well, and that issue had made it difficult for her to know what to say when the people around her were struggling. She was great at offering tough love —at being a voice of reason and at helping people get back up on their feet. But she'd never been good at comforting people. It felt awkward, it felt unnatural. Even when she'd tried in the past, her assurances never quite seemed genuine or helpful. It wasn't that she "didn't care." Octavia cared deeply for her friends, for her family, for everyone. She just wasn't good at expressing it all, at communicating that care. She wasn't good with emotions, with breakdowns, with transparency. She didn't know how to be good with them. She didn't know how to be comforting.
So she held herself back. She wanted to move to Clarke's side. She wanted to wrap her in her arms, to hug her, to promise her that whatever she'd gone through, she wasn't alone. But Octavia had never been good at being that person, and she felt like it wasn't her place to try.
But god, did she want to be there for Clarke. God, did she want to take away her pain, whatever it was.
"Clarke, you gotta breathe," Raven tried once more.
"I-" Clarke sucked in a breath. "I can't."
Clarke sat back now, one of her hands now clutching her chest as she tried to breathe. She looked scared —panicked. It wasn't until Clarke had sat back that Octavia caught a glimpse of the bruising on Clarke's neck. The blonde's hair, her sweatshirt, and the throw blanket had hidden it well enough up to this point, but as Clarke clutched her sweatshirt, her throat became more exposed. She'd only gotten a glimpse, but it was enough. A blotchy ring of deep-red, darkening bruises. She wasn't necessarily shocked, but the observation sickened her and made her fear for the worst.
"I can't-"
"Yes you can," Raven asserted, her voice surprisingly firm. "Okay? Just focus on your breathing, alright? In and out, nice and slow. Okay? Breathe with me, come on. In, two, three, four... Out, two, three, four... In..."
Octavia watched as Raven worked with Clarke. It wasn't exactly the fastest process. It took a few minutes before Raven had calmed Clarke down enough that the blonde was breathing steadily. But it worked. It was something. And Octavia could feel her stomach and heart twist as she watched. Clarke was crying —fairly heavily at first, but after a few minutes, the sobs had transformed into sniffles. She'd pulled the blanket back over her shoulders and her knees were once again drawn up to her chest. Tears stained her face, and she didn't open her eyes once. Her face was twisted up in pain —Octavia couldn't quite tell whether that pain was emotional or physical. Perhaps it was both. All she knew was that Clarke was hurting. Clarke was really hurting, and Octavia was terrified to find out why. The bruises on her face, the cut on her cheekbone, the swollen lip —this was bad. It was really bad. And the bruises that she'd noticed on Clarke's neck only deepened her concern.
"Fuck," Clarke let out sharply, her voice pained. There was an anger in there —a deep, aching anger.
The blonde opened her eyes finally and stared straight toward the ceiling, her eyes glossy. She took in a deep, shaky breath, willing herself to pull it together. She wasn't shaking as much now —not her whole body, at least. Raven had somehow managed to help her level out her breathing, which had helped to calm her down slightly. She'd cried —hard— for a few minutes, and her exhaustion was a large factor that led to her cries softening. Now, fifty minutes after her breakdown had begun, she was finally capable of getting that single word out. Finally capable of opening her eyes, of breathing steadily.
Raven had moved back to her side of the couch after promising Clarke that they could wait, that she could cry it out, that she could take her time.
"There's no rush," she'd told her. "Whenever you're ready, we're here. We're right here."
And now, Clarke knew that she'd have to begin. She knew that she'd have to tell them what had happened. She'd taken nearly an hour to collect herself, to find some sort of composure. She'd have to tell them.
Now that she was grounded to reality, though, her physical pain had become much clearer to her. How she'd managed to block most of it out until now, she had no idea. Clearly she'd been in pretty severe shock the previous night, but still. It was a wonder how she hadn't really recognized the way her right wrist was throbbing. Or the way that breathing hurt. Or the way that her side hurt every time she moved. Her whole body hurt. Everything.
She let out a heavy sigh, then looked to Raven. Then Octavia. Then back to Raven. They were looking at her with concern, but with patience, too. They just looked worried. Worried and sad.
"I don't know where to start," she admitted with a weak shrug, her voice coarse.
It was true. She didn't know where to begin. The real "beginning" had been nearly three months ago, but she hadn't known at the time. And honestly, there were too many details. There was too much to explain, too much to think through and identify. And she was too exhausted for that. Her whole body ached, her mind was tired, and she felt completely drained —emotionally and physically. She didn't have it in her to tell them everything, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to.
"Just start wherever you're comfortable," Raven offered, looking at her sympathetically.
Clarke let out a heavy sigh, feeling her throat close up. She wasn't even sure if the pain in her chest was a physical manifestation of how awful she felt, or if it was actually hurting. All she knew was that she she felt sick, she felt empty, and she felt overwhelmed all at the same time, and she was exhausted.
She closed her eyes for a moment, took a breath as she tried to figure out where to start, what to start with, how to explain all of it —any of it. She knew that they would look at her differently. It was inevitable. It was bad enough that they would see her differently once she gathered the courage to tell them what had happened last night. But if she told them about the last three months? About all of the red flags, the warning signs? They would realize how weak she was, how dumb and careless and foolish she was. They would realize that she barely even had a right to be upset about all of this, because in reality, it was her fault. She could have done something to avoid this. She should have done something to avoid this. It was her fault. And as much as she knew that she had to be honest with her friends, she felt sick at the idea that they would never look at her in the same way.
"I, uh... I started working at Sanctum Med after I left," she started.
Her voice was steady but low, quiet enough that Octavia had to lean forward to be sure that she was hearing the blonde correctly. Clarke avoided eye contact, looking down at her own hands as she nervously clasped them together. Her wrist throbbed as she grabbed her other hand tightly, but she just clenched her jaw. It hurt, but in away, the pain was helpful right now. It let her focus more on what physically hurt rather than what hurt inside.
"It was good at first," Clarke continued, eyes glazed over. "I worked, and I dealt with some stuff that I needed to deal with, and things were going well..."
She paused, her brow furrowing. She looked confused, like she herself couldn't quite make sense of whatever had happened. Octavia nodded, her eyes fixed intensely on Clarke's expression —on the bruising on her face. On her body language. She felt sick. She didn't know what Clarke was going to say, she didn't know what Clarke's life had been like for the last four months. But she had a feeling where this was going, and the thought of it broke her heart. The thought of it sickened her.
"And then, I don't know..." Clarke shook her head, her eyes fixed on the carpet once more. She clenched her jaw, swallowed. "I- I didn't even realize it at first, but this guy started stalking me." She sucked in a breath. "I thought it was harmless, and then when I realized it was serious, I went to the police and they told me I was overreacting, and I just-"
She shut her eyes, shook her head, swallowed hard.
Octavia's stomach turned. Her head even started to spin a bit, like she wasn't in her own body for a moment. She'd hoped she was wrong —she'd hoped that she was just overthinking, that she was overprotective to a point where she was coming to the worst conclusions. But no, now she knew she was right. She knew where this was going, and all she wanted was to pull Clarke into a tight embrace. To promise her that she was safe now.
But she couldn't do that. Not until Clarke had told them herself what had happened.
"Clarke," Raven breathed.
A stalker?
Clarke just shook her head, bit her lip. She took in a shaky breath, her throat closing.
"And then last night..." she shut her eyes even more tightly, swallowed hard, took a breath. "I woke up, and he was just- he was standing right over me."
Raven was stunned into silence. Her jaw dropped, and it felt like time had stopped for a moment as she looked at Clarke in horror. She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to react. She had feared the worst, but she didn't really think that it was true. She'd let herself hope that it wasn't this bad, but now she had a feeling that it was. She wanted to go to Clarke's side once more, to be "there" for her, but she didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to approach this.
"I tried to fight him," she admitted weakly. "I really tried."
Octavia was already standing before Clarke had finished her sentence. There was no hesitation. She got up out of her chair and made her way over to the couch. She knelt on the ground next to Clarke, but she didn't touch her. She didn't go in for a hug, didn't reach for her hand. She just knelt there, at eye-level with the blonde.
"I- I tried to fight him."
Clarke's voice cracked and she wrapped her arms around herself. She barely registered the throb of her arm or the tightness in her chest now. She just took a deep breath, tried to will away the tears that were already starting to spill down her face. She lowered her head and clenched her jaw. She took a few breaths and clenched her right hand into a fist, letting the pain that flared up in her wrist act as a grounding mechanism. She didn't want to slip back into the memories of the previous night. She didn't want to fall back into the past. She needed to stay in the present, to look at it all objectively.
"Clarke," Octavia spoke, her voice low.
Clarke made eye contact with Octavia. The brunette's gaze was intense, but it was calm. It was serious, but it was gentle. Clarke could tell that Octavia already knew. And for some reason, that was somewhat grounding. For some reason, Octavia's steady composure —so different from Clarke's— was a tether to reality, preventing her from spinning out. So Clarke held the eye contact, even when she let out a choked sob.
"What did he do?"
Clarke shut her eyes. She shuddered, letting out a shaky breath. She took in another breath, clenching her hands into fists. She rested her forehead against her knees, swallowed hard. Then she finally answered the question, her voice a faint whisper.
"He raped me."
Her voice was barely audible, even to Octavia. But both women had heard her. Raven felt like she'd just been shot. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. She was shocked into silence, staring at the blonde, slack jawed. Octavia, despite having known, felt a chill once Clarke had said the words. She felt sick. Nauseous, angry, and even a little bit dizzy. But she wasn't shocked. She'd known since Clarke had mentioned the stalker. She'd known since she'd seen the bruising on Clarke's neck. Maybe, to some extent, she'd known as soon as she'd seen Clarke hunched over the toilet. She knew the signs.
Minutes passed. Clarke didn't move. She just stayed there, like a rock, her head resting against her knees and her fists balled up. For a moment, Octavia wasn't even sure Clarke was breathing until she heard the blonde take in a deep breath, followed by a heavy sigh. Raven looked horrified. It was clear that she wanted to say something —to do something— but that she didn't know what she could say or do. Clarke just looked... defeated. Completely drained. And Octavia understood.
"Hey," Octavia breathed after a moment, her eyes fixed on Clarke.
She took the risk of reaching out, slowly and gently placing a hand on Clarke's knee. The blonde looked up, her eyes so pained and sorrowful, so defeated. Octavia's heart shattered.
"It's not your fault, Clarke," Octavia whispered, her voice quiet but extremely firm. "You know that, right?"
Her eyes flickered between Clarke's, like she was looking for some sort of answer. Like she was hoping that she could catch at least a hint of belief, hoping that Clarke wasn't blaming herself for this. But the sorrow in Clarke's eyes only grew deeper, heavier.
Clarke shuddered, shaking her head. Tears welled up in her eyes again and she barely choked out a response.
"I couldn't stop him."
Her voice cracked. She practically fell into Octavia's embrace, and the brunette didn't hesitate to hold her tightly, to be that person. Normally she wasn't one to offer that kind of comfort. Raven was typically much better with emotions, with patience, with comforting. But this was an exception, because Octavia understood. She knew, to some extent, what Clarke was feeling. And for that reason, she knew what to offer and how much to offer.
Raven just watched, wishing that she could do something to help, but not knowing what to do. She was shocked by what Clarke had told them, and she was shocked by Octavia's actions and composure. So she watched, stunned. Clarke's body shook. She wasn't quite sobbing, and her cries were muffled by Octavia's shoulder. Octavia, throughout it all, just stared down at the couch cushions. With her arms wrapped tightly around Clarke, she just gazed blankly, and Raven noticed it. Raven noticed the darkness in Octavia's eyes. She noticed how Octavia's jaw was clenched, how her eyes were a mix of anger and sorrow —a heavy, heavy sorrow. She'd never seen Octavia look that lost before.
"You're safe, Clarke," Octavia whispered, her gaze still unfocused. "You're safe."
She was practically rocking Clarke back and forth, her own mind lost. How could this have happened? How could this have happened to Clarke of all people? It didn't make sense. But then again, Octavia knew that it could happen to anyone. But to Clarke? To one of her best friends? It didn't make sense. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. This was Octavia's worst fear. She'd always been a protective friend, but this had always been a genuine, real fear of hers. And somehow, she'd convinced herself that she could protect her friends from this somehow.
She'd convinced herself that she could keep her friends safe. That she would never let this happen to someone she cared about, let alone Clarke or Raven. She'd always kept tabs on all of her friends when they were out at clubs. She'd always been sure to cover and carry her friends' open drinks if they were at a bar and someone needed to use the restroom. She'd practically forced Clarke and Raven to go to self-defense classes with her, and she'd personally taught them different methods at the gym. She'd consistently given each of the women a hard time in the past when they'd go out without pepper spray in their purses. She'd insisted that she, Clarke, and Raven always had their locations shared with one another on the phone. Any time she'd gone out with them, she'd stayed either next to or at least slightly behind them, that way she would always be able to keep her eye on her friends —or more importantly, on anyone who walked by. She'd convinced herself that she could keep her friends safe, that nothing bad would ever happen to Clarke or to Raven because she wouldn't let anything happen.
But clearly, she hadn't been able to protect Clarke.
"You're safe," she breathed again, letting out a sigh and closing her eyes for a moment.
When Octavia opened her eyes, she looked up to Raven. A few tears had slid down the engineer's cheeks, and Octavia just held the other woman's sad gaze. It was clear that Raven felt stuck. Octavia knew her well enough to recognize that. Raven wasn't good at keeping still, and it was obvious that Raven wanted to help, but that she was unsure of how she could.
What Octavia didn't know, though, was how awful Raven felt for just sitting there. She didn't want to stare, but she genuinely had no idea how to be helpful in this moment. She didn't know what to say, because "I'm sorry this happened" felt so insincere, and "are you okay" felt so belittling, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt Clarke by saying the wrong thing. She felt like, more than anything else, her presence was an intrusion. Clearly Octavia knew what to do, and it felt wrong just to sit there in silence, to be a witness to a moment that was so raw and vulnerable not just on Clarke's end, but seemingly on Octavia's as well.
I'm think I'm gonna go, Raven mouthed to Octavia, standing up slowly. It didn't feel like it was her place to stay there right now. Not when she couldn't say or do anything to offer the blonde some sort of comfort.
Octavia frowned, confused.
Why?
Raven just shook her head lightly, wiped a tear away.
She needs you right now, Raven mouthed back. She nodded her head to the hallway. I'll be in my room.
Octavia nodded in understanding. She knew that Raven wouldn't leave unless she genuinely thought it was for the best, and she knew that Raven was probably exhausted. She didn't blame Raven for not knowing what to do. Honestly, there wasn't anything she could do. Clarke just needed this time to cry, to feel what she was feeling. This wasn't a time for empty placations, and Octavia was glad that Raven knew that too.
Just as Raven was stepping away, Octavia reached out and grabbed her hand.
I'll talk to you later, she mouthed, raising her eyebrows, an indication that she was serious.
Once Clarke was feeling a little more calm, at the very least, Octavia and Raven could talk in private. For now, they were both aware of one unspoken fact. Clarke needed to go to the hospital, and she needed to talk to the police. But they also knew that they couldn't force her to do anything, and she was undoubtedly exhausted emotionally and physically. The least they could do would be to let her at least lie down for a bit before going to the hospital, and that brief moment of downtime would probably be the right moment for the two brunettes to talk.
For now, though, all Octavia cared about was being there for Clarke in that very moment. She knew that Clarke was hurting. She knew that what Clarke was feeling —what she was going through, emotionally and mentally and physically— was indescribable. She knew that it was a pain like no other, and she didn't care how long she would have to hold Clarke in her arms. She would be there for her, no matter what.
Eventually, Clarke stopped crying. Octavia still held her, not letting go until Clarke wanted to let go. Finally, when Clarke did pull out of the embrace, Octavia was able to look her in the eyes. Clarke looked absolutely drained. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her cheeks were stained with tears. She just looked absolutely beat, exhausted beyond belief. But at least she was able to breathe. At least she wasn't panicked, or trembling, or detached. She just looked tired.
"Thanks," Clarke whispered, her voice coarse.
Octavia just offered her a weak smile and nodded.
"It's what friends are for," she offered softly.
Clarke just leaned her head back on the couch and shook it lightly, her eyes fixed on the ceiling for a moment. She let out a heavy, tired sigh, then glanced back at Octavia.
"I don't know what to do."
Octavia's heart shattered once more. Clarke's voice was almost emotionless, dripping with sheer exhaustion. Octavia swallowed the knot in her throat and nodded. She understood.
"I think the first big step is that we should go to the hospital," Octavia responded, her voice quiet and low.
Clarke let out an even heavier sigh and Octavia braced herself for an argument, but Clarke just nodded after a moment.
"Yeah... I think I have a concussion," she admitted. She looked at her wrist, frowning. "Maybe a fractured radius."
Octavia's mouth opened slightly as she glanced between Clarke's face and wrist. She knew that Clarke was hurting, but she didn't realize how much.
"It's fine," Clarke assured her before she could say anything. "It hurts but it's not urgent or anything. I didn't even notice it until after I woke up."
Octavia bit her lip, then nodded. Clarke was a doctor, after all. And Octavia wasn't about to question Clarke's awareness of her own emotions and pain. The last thing Octavia wanted to do was question Clarke's intelligence or her voice or how self-aware she was. The last thing Clarke needed was for someone to question her, to invalidate something she was feeling.
"What about, uh... what about talking to the police?" Octavia asked, only hesitant because she knew that there was no way to predict whether Clarke even wanted to go to the police.
Clarke shut her eyes, clenched her jaw, swallowed the lump in her throat. She shook her head, letting out a sharp breath, then looked back at Octavia.
"I don't- I don't want to talk about that right now," she responded, her voice firm and threatening to crack.
She'd just finished crying a short time ago, she didn't want to get back into it again. It was one thing to talk about a concussion and a broken bone. It was another thing to circle back to what had happened. She could talk about most of her injuries objectively, could acknowledge them without actually feeling very emotional about it. But even just thinking about talking to the police was too much right now, because that wasn't objective. That wasn't something she could separate the experience or her emotions from.
"Okay," Octavia nodded in agreement and understanding. "That's fine, we don't have to talk about that right now. Let's just take things one step at a time, right?"
Clarke nodded with silent gratitude. She'd expected Octavia to argue with her, and the fact that she hadn't surprised her. If it were Raven, there definitely would have been at least a little bit of a disagreement. She opened her eyes, suddenly aware of the fact that Raven was no longer in the room, which both confused and concerned her.
"Where's Raven?" Clarke asked, a sinking feeling setting in her gut.
Logically, she knew that Raven wasn't mad at her —at least not for this. Logically, she knew that Raven wouldn't judge her or blame her for what had happened. She knew that Raven wouldn't leave her, wouldn't abandon her. She knew that. But Raven hadn't said a single thing and she'd left. And a part of Clarke couldn't help but worry. She couldn't help but worry that Raven really did see her differently now. That, to some extent, Raven didn't want to be around her. Not after what had happened.
"Hey, take a breath," Octavia spoke, her voice a little louder now as she immediately picked up on Clarke's concerns. "She just wanted to give you some space, she's just in her room. There's nothing to worry about."
Clarke looked Octavia in the eyes, a hint of worry clear in her expression.
"You're sure?"
"Positive."
Clarke let out a slow breath, swallowing the knot in her throat once again. She leaned back against the sofa.
"God, I'm so fucking tired," she muttered, closing her eyes and shaking her head.
Ten minutes later, Octavia was standing in the bathroom. She'd encouraged Clarke to take a nap, assuring her that they would go to the hospital in two or three hours, as long as Clarke was genuinely and honestly sure that her injuries weren't urgent. Ultimately, Clarke's sense of agency right now was a priority. Octavia wasn't going to force Clarke to go to the hospital right away if Clarke wasn't okay with that, and Octavia wasn't going to force Clarke to talk to the police right away if Clarke wasn't okay with that.
No, Octavia understood that Clarke needed to be the person making the decisions —that Clarke needed that sense of control. She understood all too well what Clarke was feeling, at least to some extent. She understood, which was why she was standing in the bathroom now, splashing water onto her face, trying to keep her composure. In all honestly, Octavia wanted to break down then and there —and Octavia was not someone who "falls apart." But the knowledge that Clarke was going through this, the awareness that this had happened to her, was tearing her apart.
Octavia looked at herself in the mirror and urged herself to snap out of it. She wasn't going to cry, she wasn't going to fall apart. She couldn't —not yet at least. Clarke needed her and Raven to stay strong right now, and honestly, Raven probably needed that from her too.
A few minutes passed, then she stepped out of the bathroom and headed toward Raven's room. She knocked gently, then stepped in. There, she found Raven lying on her side on the queen sized bed. The engineer opened her eyes, red from crying. She sat up, moving over slightly so that Octavia had room to sit next to her. Octavia accepted the spot quickly, sitting down and leaning back against the headboard. She let out a heavy sigh, shutting her eyes.
"How's Clarke?" Raven asked, her voice raw.
"As good as she can be, I think," Octavia answered honestly, sitting down next to Raven. She let out a heavy sigh as she leaned back against the headboard. "She's gonna lie down for a bit, get some rest. She agreed to go to the hospital, which is good..."
They sighed in unison. Raven shook her head lightly, then looked up to the ceiling, blinking away the tears that were ready to resurface.
"I didn't want to pressure her into going to the police yet," Octavia continued, her voice quiet. "I think she'll be willing to though. Once she gets some rest and sees a doctor."
Raven nodded, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling. How could this have happened? How could someone have done this to Clarke? It made Raven sick. Clarke didn't deserve this. No one deserved this.
"You should probably try to get some sleep too," Octavia said, turning her head to look at Raven.
Raven met her glance. She just frowned and nodded, knowing that Octavia was right. She'd tried to get some sleep earlier and it had been mostly unsuccessful. She'd even tried to get a little bit of shuteye when she'd gone to her room, but she hadn't exactly slept at all. She'd just cried, letting out the pain that she felt for Clarke. She knew that she needed to at least try to get a little bit of sleep. After all, she wouldn't be able to offer Clarke much support if she herself was drained.
Raven leaned against Octavia's shoulder, shutting her eyes and letting out an exhausted sigh. Octavia wrapped an arm over her shoulder. Octavia didn't close her eyes, though. No, she'd slept enough the night before —a part of her felt guilty that she'd been able to do so. She just stared across the room, lost in thought. A few minutes passed and Raven fell asleep, and Octavia finally let a few tears fall silently. She knew that Clarke was hurting. She knew that things would probably get worse for the blonde before they would get better, and even then, none of this would ever be "okay." None of this would ever lose its severity. Sure, with time, it would hopefully hurt less, or it wouldn't be quite so heavy anymore. But would Clarke ever really be "okay" again?