CHAPTER 3: A GREAT GUY
01/02/2019
Seated in her car, Clarke was holding her head in her hands. She didn't know how long she'd been hiding in here. Her eyes burned and her cheeks were wet—she hadn't felt the tears fall, but she'd clearly cried a lot. She was in such a state of shock that nothing mattered anymore except the fact that she wanted to die.
One day. Not even one fucking day.
And she had seen him. He had seen her.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He wasn't supposed to see her, to talk to her, to touch her. He was supposed to live his life without her, as it always should have been.
If only they'd never met.
19/08/2015
Clarke was having fun. She'd met new people and everyone was nice. She felt good. The alcohol was helping a bit, though.
She'd been stressed all the way to this little party, but it was going very well so far. Miller had reassured her—"It's just a little thing we do before school starts again. It's just us, teachers." Plus, Clarke needed to socialize. She was going to teach art for the first time. The experience was going to be stressful enough, so at least she could try and make some friends. Thank god Monty had introduced her to Miller, who was already working at the school as a math teacher. He was cool, a bit snarky. They quickly got along. She saw him checking his phone for the fifth time in twenty minutes.
"Waiting for someone?" she asked him.
"Actually, yes," he said, shaking his head. He seemed frustrated.
"Can I ask who it is?"
Miller sighed.
"My best friend. He told me he would come, but he still isn't here and he isn't answering his phone."
"Oh. He's a teacher too?"
Clarke leaned against the counter behind her, her almost empty glass still in her hand. She wasn't drunk, just a little… tipsy.
"Yeah, history teacher," her new friend told her. "He's a really great guy. I'm sure you guys would get along."
That surprised her.
"Oh yeah?"
Miller shrugged.
"Yeah, I mean. You're an artist, he's a dreamer."
That made her think. Was she a dreamer too? Sometimes it felt like she only knew about nightmares. She used to dream, that's for sure. But since then her dad died, she dated a cheater, her best friend moved across the country, and her ex-girlfriend broke her heart. She was okay, most of the time. But now, everything in her life was changing and it was hard. Which was probably why she'd gotten another drink, and another.
"Maybe we don't dream about the same things," she said, after a while.
"Maybe. But that makes things more interesting, don't you think?"
He had a point.
"Yeah, true. But sometimes all we want is to be understood."
Miller looked at her, intrigued. His gaze made her feel a bit uncomfortable. She felt like he could read her thoughts. She tried to stop thinking in a stupid attempt to protect herself.
"You can understand someone and not want the same thing," he said calmly.
"Yeah but if y—"
"Sorry, I'm late. I, uh, forgot," someone cut her off.
A young man was standing before her. His black curls were all over the place, his shirt wasn't fully closed, his glasses were sliding down his nose, and there were dark circles around his eyes. Also, he was attractive. But he had just interrupted her and she didn't like that.
"Yeah, no shit," Miller said. "I've been waiting for you for more than an hour."
The young, attractive, annoying guy sighed heavily, closing his eyes. He apparently wasn't in a good mood. Well, neither was she. She was about to say something when Miller turned towards her.
"Anyway. Clarke, this is Bellamy, the history teacher I told you about. Bellamy," he said, as he looked back at him, "this is Clarke, the new art teacher."
Clarke was expecting him to apologize, or at least to shake her hand, something. Instead, the Bellamy guy barely looked at her. He clenched his jaw, not even the shadow of a smile on his face, and said the most unpleasant "hi" she'd ever heard in her life.
She put her glass down on the table.
"What the fuck?"
She was looking at him straight in the eyes, her arms crossed. Surprise took over the guy's eyes. It didn't last long though: he was frowning the next second. He finally focused his attention on her.
"I'm sorry, what?" he said, looking at her for real this time.
Fucking finally, Clarke thought.
"Who do you think you are? You come here, you cut me off, you act as if I don't exist, and you can't even say hello properly?"
"Wow, Clarke, it's okay it's just—" Miller tried to intervene.
"Oh, did I hurt your feelings?" Bellamy answered back. "Does everyone here have to bow to you because you're so fucking important? What are you, a princess?"
"Bell, calm down…"
Miller was starting to put himself between the two of them.
"You don't even know me, so don't you dare call me a princess!"
"I don't have to know you to understand the kind of person you are."
Oh, she was going to kill him. Right then and there.
"You son of a b—"
"Wow! Wow! Wow! Fucking calm down guys! What the hell is wrong with you two?"
Bellamy turned his attention back to Miller, his fists clenched.
"She started this whole thing!"
"You must be kidding me." Clarke tried to walk past Miller to reach Bellamy. She wanted to hit him.
"No!" her friend put his arm in front of her. "Clarke, you're drunk. I'll bring you home, just wait for me here. Try to calm down. And you," he said, pointing to Bellamy, "you come with me."
Miller forced his best friend to move, his hand on his arm. He couldn't prevent Bellamy from casting one last murderous look at Clarke. She tried really hard no to throw her empty glass at him.
"What a great guy indeed," she muttered to herself sarcastically.
She hoped she would never have to face him again. If she had to work in the same school as this idiot, then the less they saw each other, the better. With a little bit of luck, she wouldn't have to kill him on the spot.
