There were no words. No words that could explain what Clarke was feeling, both physically and mentally. No words to explain the dull ache in her chest, or her ceaselessly throbbing headache. No words. No words. No words. The anguish that she was experiencing was beyond communicable. It was like there was a storm raging within her, buried deep below her ribcage; a furious, unforgiving whirlwind. Her rage and hopelessness was spiraling somewhere deep inside her, a tornado of chaos and confusion and terror.
So maybe it was for the best that there were no words that could convey what she was going through. Because Clarke couldn't help but think that, if she were to open her mouth, that storm would come thundering out of her, making a mess too big for her body to contain.
For now, she would keep it contained, because she didn't think she could handle doing anything else. She'd barely had enough energy to leave her room after she'd woken up, and the only reason she did feel motivated enough to do that was the fact that lying in a bed made her skin crawl. So she would keep it contained, at least until she could understand what she was even feeling.
Octavia and Raven, on the other hand, wanted her to talk. They weren't pushing her to tell them about what had happened, or about what she was thinking about, but she knew that they wanted her to talk, even if they wouldn't say it. Instead of asking Clarke how she was feeling, Raven would ask her if she wanted a cup of coffee, or something to eat, or a pillow, or a throw blanket, or the tv remote, or another cup of coffee. It wasn't constant, but it was persistent. Octavia hadn't said much, but even when Clarke couldn't see her, she could feel the brunette's eyes on her, watching, waiting, as if she expected Clarke to explode at any moment.
But Clarke didn't have the energy to explode. She didn't have the energy to cry. Keeping it contained wasn't something that took effort. It wasn't something that she was doing out of a desire to keep the peace, or to maintain some sort of facade of strength. She wasn't holding everything in to stop herself from exploding. She was holding it in because her body and her mind were too exhausted to do anything else. This wasn't an act of resistance. It was a reflexive necessity, an involuntary act of survival.
So here she was, sitting at the end of the couch under a throw blanket, staring at the television while a generic reality show played quietly. She wasn't really watching it, though. She didn't care enough to focus on the show, and even if she wanted to be invested in it, her head was pounding and she felt like she was still in a bit of a brain fog. Maybe the slight disorientation was the result of her concussion, or maybe because she was tired, or maybe she was just beginning to dissociate a bit. She didn't really care either way.
Raven was sitting at the other end of the couch, her laptop on her lap. She'd said earlier that she had some work to catch up on. Clarke wasn't sure what kind of work a mechanic would need to do on a computer instead of in a garage, but she hadn't cared enough to ask for any elaboration.
The sound of laughter played over the television and Clarke let out a soft sigh. She turned onto her side, her back against the couch cushions, and pulled the blanket more tightly around herself. She just stared straight ahead blankly toward Octavia, who was sitting in the arm chair across from them, also working on her laptop.
They made eye contact for a moment, and Octavia just offered Clarke a small smile. It wasn't a very happy smile, though. Clarke knew that. As much as Octavia was trying to act like things were relatively normal, Clarke could see the pain in Octavia's eyes. She could tell that the brunette was worried. She could tell that, as laid back as Octavia tried to appear, she was keeping a close eye on her.
Clarke just blinked. She didn't have the energy to smile back, or to say anything. So she just blinked once. Twice. Then shut her eyes. She didn't expect that she'd be able to sleep, but at least she could get some shut eye here. She felt more comfortable lying on the couch than she'd felt in her room, and she knew that Raven and Octavia were in the room with her, and the sunlight that was shining through the windows was soft and warm and more comforting than the darkness that came with the night. So maybe she did have a chance to get an hour or so of sleep. Or maybe she'd just have an hour or so to keep her eyes shut, to do absolutely nothing. Maybe that could be enough.
"Uh... Octavia?" Raven whispered softly, lifting her eyes from her laptop screen.
Octavia looked up, but not without sending a quick glance toward Clarke, who appeared fast asleep on the couch. She raised an eyebrow at Raven, curious and a little bit concerned by the woman's somewhat alarmed expression.
"Have you talked to Bellamy at all?"
"What?" Octavia questioned, even more puzzled. "No, why?"
Octavia hadn't even thought to tell her brother about what had happened. Lincoln was the only person outside of the apartment that she'd told. Even so, all he knew was that Clarke had returned, and she'd made him promise that he wouldn't tell anyone. It wasn't Octavia's story to share, so she had no intentions of telling anyone until Clarke herself wanted to do so.
"He just texted me asking how Clarke is doing..." Raven whispered, biting her lip nervously as she looked back to her laptop.
Octavia's jaw dropped slightly. She stood up quietly but hurriedly and motioned toward the kitchen. As she made her way into the room, Raven gently got up from the couch and did the same. Once they were both in the kitchen, Octavia took Raven by the arms and looked at her seriously.
"How does Bell know she's even here?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Raven shrugged, rocking her jaw.
"Did you tell anyone?" Octavia pushed, her tone low.
Octavia stared at her intensely, glancing back and forth between Raven's eyes, searching for an answer. It wasn't that she didn't have any faith in Raven, because deep down, she knew that Raven wanted nothing more than to help Clarke... but Octavia also knew that she hadn't told anyone, so Raven was the only other person who could have told someone.
Raven took a step back.
"No," she responded with a scoff, clearly offended by the accusation.
"Are you sure?" Octavia pressed, raising an eyebrow.
Maybe she didn't trust Raven... No, it wasn't a matter of trust. She knew that Raven had Clarke's best interests at heart. But at the same time, Octavia couldn't help but think that Raven didn't quite understand the gravity of the situation. Raven didn't know just how important Clarke's privacy was right now. She didn't understand how out of control Clarke was feeling right now, how vital it was to keep this entire situation under the radar until Clarke was ready to face their friends again. Raven didn't understand, but Octavia did.
Maybe it was a selfish thought. Maybe it was completely unfair to assume that Raven was oblivious to all of this. Maybe it was irrational, even. But Octavia wasn't thinking rationally. She hadn't been thinking rationally since she'd found out what had happened to Clarke. As calm and collected as she was trying to be for Clarke, she could also feel her own apprehension rising with each passing minute. And she could feel the tension and frustration building up inside of her, and maybe that was at Raven's expense.
"What the fuck, dude?" Raven took another step back and held her hands up. "No, I didn't tell anyone anything. I wouldn't do that. But fuck you for assuming I did."
"Raven..." Octavia sighed softly.
She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She knew that Raven's reaction was more than fair, and she knew that it was pretty shitty to just assume that Raven had betrayed Clarke's privacy. But it wasn't like her assumption was unreasonable.
"You know what, no. I'm not dealing with this right now," Raven muttered, shaking her head. "You can go ahead and call your brother, figure out how he found out. I gotta run to to the work anyway, so just-"
"You're going to work? Now? Are you kidding me?"
Raven scoffed, narrowing her eyes at Octavia.
"Yeah, Octavia, I am. Because I told my boss that I can't make it in this week, which means I have to go pick up a bunch of paperwork so I can at least work from home. Unless you're worried I'm tell Wick all about what happened. I mean, if that's the case, I can just quit if that's what you want."
Octavia took a breath and shut her eyes once again. Maybe she was being a bit harsh.
"Look, Raven, I just-" Octavia tried softly.
"Nope." Raven cut her off with the wave of her hand. "Save it. I can't do this right now. Just call Bellamy, see what he knows. You can apologize to me later."
With that, Raven spun around, grabbed a set of keys that hung on the wall, and walked out of the open kitchen. Octavia watched as she made a beeline for the door. She half expected to hear it slam as the engineer left, but Raven closed the door gently, clearly making an effort not to wake Clarke.
Octavia let out a breath. She clenched her jaw and leaned against the refrigerator, shutting her eyes and she willed herself to calm down. She didn't know why her temper was so short with Raven right now, or why she was acting like she didn't trust her. Octavia knew that Raven was one of the most reliable people in her life, and she knew that Raven was actively prioritizing Clarke over everything right now, but there was still something nagging at Octavia. Something that she herself didn't have the words for because she didn't completely understand it. Was it jealousy? Did she envy the fact that Raven didn't seem as affected by all of this? She wasn't sure. She didn't know why she felt this small pit of rage burning in her stomach, or why she'd been so close to jump to the conclusion that Raven had told people about Clarke. It was wrong and she knew it... but she just couldn't help it.
Octavia opened her eyes and pulled out her phone. There was a notification at the top of the screen that she'd missed a call from Bellamy, but that was it. No texts. No questions. Nothing.
She sent him a short text, telling him that Clarke is alright and asking how he knew that she was with them. A text bubble popped up in the corner of the screen almost immediately. Then disappeared. Then reappeared. Then disappeared again.
"Come on, man," Octavia muttered, rolling her eyes. Why couldn't he just answer?
She sent him another text, reading "what do you know?"
The text bubble appeared again, lasted for a minute or so, then disappeared again. Then it reappeared, only to disappear once more. Just as Octavia was ready to call him, he finally sent his reply:
"I'm on her case."
Octavia's mouth hung open. She nearly dropped her phone. She hadn't been sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. It made some sense. Bellamy was a cop, after all, and she knew that he was on track to become a detective. But the thought that he would be put on Clarke's case hadn't even crossed her mind. It was a big city, there were probably hundreds of other cases that he could have been assigned to. Why did it have to be Clarke's?
After a few minutes, she finally responded, telling him that she would call him later. He didn't reply.
She sat down on the ground, leaning back against the fridge. She felt like the world was spinning around her. She knew this feeling. It wasn't one that she'd experienced any time recently, but it was still familiar, although only faintly. She hadn't had a panic attack in years. But right here, right now, she could feel one coming on.
She shut her eyes, placed her palms on the cold tile of the kitchen floor.
Inhale. One, two, three, four.
Hold. One, two, three, four.
Exhale. One, two, three, four.
Hold. One, two, three four.
Repeat. Repeat again. Repeat again. Repeat again.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but finally, she opened her eyes. She still felt a little bit light headed, but her heart wasn't racing. She could feel her hands. Her ears weren't ringing. She'd stopped it from getting bad before it had the chance to do so, and for now, that was enough. At least she'd remembered what to do, even if it had been years since she'd last had to ground herself like that.
She stood up slowly, carefully. Took a breath. Shoved her phone into her pocket.
She stepped into the living room quietly, glancing toward Clarke. The blonde was still asleep. She hadn't moved since Octavia and Raven had left the room, and her expression was calm, more relaxed than it had been since she'd come back. At least she hadn't heard the argument. At least, for now, she didn't know that anything had happened. And at least she didn't know that Bellamy knew what had happened to her... yet.
She was running. Running. Running. Running for her life, running for fear of being caught, running for miles and miles through the dark. Her feet pounded asphalt and her frantic, heavy breaths drowned out the sounds of the city. She couldn't see more than a few feet ahead of herself. There were no streetlights, no porch lamps, no windows illuminating the empty street. Just pitch black darkness.
But she had to keep running. She had to keep running until she was home, until she was safe, and even then, maybe she would still have to keep on running.
"Clarke," a voice echoed.
She spun around, nearly falling backwards as she did so. But no one was there. Nothing was there. Just the darkness. She took a few steps back, looking around in a panic.
"Clarke."
She had to keep running. But as she started to turn back around, she realized that she didn't know which direction to go. She couldn't see which way the street led. She couldn't see where she was going. She couldn't tell if she was facing safety or facing danger.
She jumped as she felt hands on her shoulders. But as she turned to face whoever had grabbed her, she found that no one was there. There was no one behind her. She was alone.
She had to keep running.
She wasn't sure if she was even running in the right direction, but she couldn't stand still. She couldn't just stand there, waiting for the darkness to consumer her. She had to keep running. Had to keep running. Had to keep running.
"Clarke, come on, wake up!"
Clarke's eyes flew open and she gasped for breath, sitting straight up and reaching out to grab whatever was in front of her. It took her a moment to realize that she was gripping Octavia's arms, that Octavia was sitting on the couch right in front of her, that she wasn't alone. She could barely feel Octavia's hands on her shoulders, could just barely register the faint sound of reality tv laughter in the background.
She breathed deeply, eyes wide, attempting to ground herself. She just gripped Octavia's arms and stared down at the ground, taking in a deep breath, letting it out, taking in another, letting it out. She blinked a few times in an attempt to clear her vision.
Finally, after what felt like ages but was probably only a minute or so, she leaned back into the cushion behind her. Her breathing was steady, her mind was at least a little more than it had been when Octavia had pulled her out of the nightmare. She was fine. She would be fine.
"You okay?" Octavia asked gently, looking at Clarke with deep concern. There was almost a fear behind her eyes, like she was afraid that Clarke would shatter or something. Like she was fragile, a piece of glass that could fall apart at any time.
"Yeah," Clarke exhaled, letting go of Octavia's wrists and shutting her eyes for a moment as she took another breath.
She couldn't even remember what she'd been dreaming about. She just knew that the visceral fear that she'd felt in the dream was still lurking in her chest. It wasn't a terror as much as it was this deep rooted uneasiness.
"Sorry," she said, opening her eyes and glancing to Octavia, who was now sitting back into the couch as well, looking at her softly.
"What?" Octavia responded, confused for a moment. "No, Clarke, you don't have to apologize, you're fine. I promise-"
"Yeah," Clarke grumbled, shifting her weight slightly as she tried to sit comfortably. "Still. Thanks for being cool about it."
It felt awkward. The apologies, the assurances, the thank you's. It all just felt awkward and forced and unnatural, and Clarke knew it. She felt it. But how do you say "sorry for having a nightmare" and "thanks for not being mad at me for how much of a mess I am right now" without it feeling awkward? It just wasn't possible. At least, if it was, it didn't feel possible.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Clarke pretended to watch tv, while Octavia pretended to scroll through her phone. In reality, though, they were both lost in their own thoughts. Octavia felt even more nervous now that Clarke was awake. It didn't feel right to sit across from her while keeping the fact that Bellamy was involved in her case a secret. It wasn't fair to Clarke. None of this was fair. But in a situation where Clarke should have as much autonomy as she needed, in a situation where Clarke should feel as though she had some semblance of control over who knew what she went through, it was so horrifically unfair that Bellamy had been assigned to her case, especially when she had no say in the matter, no warning.
Octavia looked up when she heard a small grunt come from Clarke. The blonde was grimacing slightly, trying to adjust her position on the couch. It was obvious that she was in pain, that sitting comfortably was in itself a task for the blonde. And as concerned as she was about that, Octavia wasn't surprised. Clarke's injuries were pretty intense to say the least. The cast, the bandages, the bruises, the cuts. It was... a lot.
"Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
Clarke immediately shook her head.
"No, I'm fine," she muttered, letting her head fall back against the arm rest.
A few seconds passed, then Clarke grimaced again, a pain shooting through her side. She clenched her jaw and shifted a bit once more, but it was useless. There was no point trying to get comfortable when her whole body was sore. She closed her eyes, let out a heavy breath, and gritted her teeth the pounding in her head and the shooting pains in her side seemed to merge together.
"Actually, uh..." Clarke started hesitantly, her eyes still shut as she spoke. "There's a bag in my room with all the medications and everything from the hospital. Could you just, could you just grab it for me?"
Octavia was honestly surprised by Clarke's request. Clarke was stubborn. She hadn't expected that Clarke would actually ask for Octavia to do anything for her, and she certainly hadn't expected Clarke to simultaneously admit that she was in some sort of pain. The brunette wasn't sure if she should be worried by Clarke's honest request, or if she should be relieved that the blonde was allowing herself to ask for help. Regardless, Octavia was more than happy to do whatever Clarke needed, and she returned less than a minute later with the large zip-lock bag filled with small pill bottles.
Octavia handed Clarke the bag, and the blonde took it wordlessly, jaw clenched. Clarke rummaged through the bottles, searching. Her vision wasn't exactly remarkable at the moment -her swollen eye and constant headache wasn't very helpful. The cast around her arm didn't make digging through the bag any easier. After a minute or so, though, she pulled out a bright orange pill bottle.
She eyed the medication intensely, turning it over in her hand. She knew that she needed it -that her body needed it- but a part of her just wanted to flush the pills down the toilet. Clarke had never struggled with addiction. She'd smoked weed plenty of times in college and it never became an issue. She loved getting drinks with her friends just like the next person. She'd even smoked a few cigarettes in social settings, and she'd never felt the urge to buy her own pack. She'd never have any problems with substance abuse... but her mother had.
Abby Griffin was a complicated woman. Clarke loved her, but she didn't really like her. It hadn't always been that way. In fact, it wasn't until a few months prior that Clarke's perception of her mother had changed so drastically.
When Clarke was a kid, she and Abby weren't particularly close. Clarke had been a perfect replica of her father. She'd had his sense of humor, his love for nature, his artistic talents. He'd been her best friend growing up, which was especially important considering the long and late hours that Abby had usually had to work. Clarke had loved her mother, sure, but they hadn't spent much quality time together beyond family outings and the occasional shopping trip.
After her father's death, Clarke quickly grew close to Abby. As it turned out, Clarke had inherited something from Abby beyond a love for medical science: her inclination to nurture. Abby had always wanted to care for Clarke, to offer her reassurance, to motivate and inspire her. It wasn't something that Clarke had noticed enough as a child, but it was something she'd always known. Abby had been motherly. She'd been gentle. And patient. When Jake Griffin died, Clarke had wanted nothing more than to comfort her mother, to be there for her, to offer reassurance and love and patience. They'd taken care of each other during that time, and they quickly grew close.
Then, years later, Clarke learned that her mother was an addict. It had been going on for almost as long as Jake had been dead. At first, Clarke tried to be patient and understanding, while still encouraging her mother to get help. At least Abby was a functional addict. At least she knew better than to go to work high. At least she wasn't shooting up, or snorting coke. At least it was still technically medicine, and at least she had a reason. The loss of her husband, the struggle of being a single mother. Abby was under extreme stress. It took a few years and a few emotional arguments until Abby chose to become sober. And she remained sober for years. As far as Clarke knew, Abby hadn't taken pills since Clarke was still a college senior.
But Clarke herself had never taken serious pain killers. And she didn't want to. She didn't want to run the risk of turning into her mother, of gradually becoming addicted to the pills. Yet, she needed them. She was in so much pain, physically and mentally. She just needed some peace, some escape from the pain. The pain was a sharp and unforgiving reminder of what had happened to her, and she just wanted that to go away. At least for a while.
She finally opened the pill bottle after making her decision. She stared into the small tube for a moment, eyeing the pills. She took a breath, reminded herself that she wasn't Abby. Then she shook the tube lightly, caught one of the pills in her palm, and put it into her mouth. She didn't even bother asking for a glass of water. She just swallowed it whole, once again reminding herself that needed medicine didn't make her an addict. S
She shut the bottle and looked up to Octavia.
"Can you, uh, can you hold onto these?"
Octavia nodded, but she looked puzzled.
"Just cause my mom... you know?"
A wave of realization passed over Octavia. The brunette gave Clarke a firm nod and Clarke handed her the bottle. Octavia moved toward the kitchen counter, set the bag of medications down, and put the bottle of painkillers into her pocket. Then she stepped back toward the couch and sat down across from Clarke, whose eyes were closed once again.
Octavia let out a soft breath, watching her blonde friend's expression, recognizing the pain and discomfort. She wished that she could do something, that she could say something. But it would only feel forced and awkward. What was there to say at this point? Every time Octavia spoke, she felt guilty, because she knew that she was keeping a secret from Clarke. A big one.
