CHAPTER 8 : WELCOME TO NARNIA

18/09/2015

"Hi guys."

"Claaaaarke!" Jasper shouted, excited to see her there.

She was the last of the group to arrive at the bar. The Grounders was already very crowded and the music was loud, so it'd taken her some time to find her friends. They were all gathered around a small table, some of their drinks already empty. Harper came to hug her.

"I'm happy you could make it!"

Clarke had a lot of work to do, so she wasn't sure she would be able to come. But it was Friday night, and frankly, she deserved to have some fun. So here she was. As she said hi to Monty and Miller, she noticed one of the drinks was untouched and belonged to no one else. She hesitated, then picked it up.

"Is this for me?" she asks.

Monty shrugged and the others didn't care. She took it as a yes and brought it to her lips. They must've ordered it for her, knowing she was late. She wouldn't drink too much though, she had to drive back home. She took a sip, trying to hear what her friends were saying.

"That, was my drink," a voice said on her left, startling her.

She put the drink down, almost choking on it, then turned around.

God no, she thought.

Bellamy Blake was standing in front of her. And she'd been sipping his drink.

Well, it wasn't entirely her fault. Yes, she knew he was invited. The truth is, they were still very awkward, and she was kinda hoping he wouldn't be here. But her friends could've told her he'd come, and they didn't. So, yeah. Now she felt so damn ashamed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know," she said, wincing.

If she was a bit lucky, he wouldn't try to kill her and it would be fine. They'd just recently made peace and she'd ruined it within a few seconds.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. She felt ridiculous, not knowing what do. She smiled at him and regretted that immediately. She felt even worse. Dammit.

She felt Miller getting closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him frowning. He too, was worried things would get out of control. He'd been really pissed at them the first time. Which was understandable.

But to her surprise, Bellamy smiled back.

"Don't worry, it's fine," he said.

Both she and Miller relaxed at those words. Bellamy didn't hate her. Cool.

She didn't have the time to think about anything else to say, because suddenly Harper was grabbing her arm and taking her away from the table.

"Come on, Clarke!" she shouted.

Clarke didn't resist, laughing. It gave her a good reason to escape this awkward situation. Another song came on and the two girls started dancing. Or rather, Clarke started jumping everywhere and Harper danced. She was so good at it, her moves fluid and sexy. Clarke didn't have the same talent, so she would laugh and shake her head and raise her hands until she felt exhausted. She forgot about the real world for a moment, though she didn't know how long. It felt so good. When another song came on, she decided to stop for a while.

"I'm gonna get a drink!" she shouted at her friend, still dancing.

"Okay!"

When she came back to their table, a Virgin Mojito in her left hand, she noticed the number of empty drinks had drastically increased. Monty had joined Harper to dance with her. Meanwhile Jasper was laughing so much he was crying. Bellamy wasn't doing any better. Seeing them like this made her smile. Miller came to sit next to her, rolling his eyes.

"Look how drunk these two are," he said.

"Are you gonna drive them home?" she asked, because he was obviously sober.

Miller pointed at Bellamy.

"This idiot only. I think Harper is taking care of the other two."

She nodded, relieved to know someone was watching Monty and Jasper. These two were capable of anything, including taking the car while being completely drunk.

"How are you getting home?" Miller asked her.

She shrugged.

"I drove here. I'm not drinking either," she clarified, raising her alcohol-free cocktail to prove her point.

But Miller didn't seem to hear her. He was staring at something, or rather someone at the other end of the room. She followed his gaze and spotted a young man staring back at him. Something was clearly going on there. Miller put his drink down.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, and walked toward the guy.

Clarke smiled, watching him leave. They were only three people left at the table now. Clarke listened to Jasper telling Bellamy about one of his numerous funny high school anecdotes, sipping her drink. She'd finished it by the time Monty and Harper came back, coming to sit in between Jasper and Clarke, pushing her towards Bellamy. As Jasper continued his story—and Monty kept correcting him or adding details—she saw him take out his phone. 'Gina' was written on the screen. It took her some time to remember when and where she'd heard that name. She'd been the one he was talking to on the phone the other day. His girlfriend, probably. Bellamy didn't answer and put it back in his pocket, a sad look on his face. The same look he had on that day. She frowned.

"Rough times?" she asked.

She immediately regretted asking. She wasn't his friend. He didn't know her. She was the last person he would want to talk to.

"Yep," he said.

He didn't seem to mind at all, surprisingly. He took his beer and swallowed what was left of it. Then he put the drink down, almost spilling another in the process.

"But not for long. Or at least, that's what she tells me…" he mumbled.

Of course he wasn't bothered by her question. He was completely drunk. He probably didn't even realize what he was saying or who he was talking to. Clarke still felt bad. She shouldn't be hearing this.

But Bellamy didn't say anything else on the matter. He was suddenly very interested by Monty and Jasper's debate on who had the idea to have a barbecue in the neighbor's backyard, in the middle of the night.

An hour or two passed. They laughed, they danced, they drank. At some point in the night, Harper leaned toward her, shouting:

"We're going back home!"

"Yeah, I'm leaving too!" she said.

She was tired. Since she'd started her new job, she was used to going to sleep early. She felt like a grandma. She'd resisted until now, but it had been hard. She followed her friend outside, putting her jacket on. She saw Monty and Jasper from afar, already on their way to Harper's car, stumbling every two steps. She felt too exhausted to catch up with them and say goodbye. They probably wouldn't remember anyway.

"Night!" Clarke said to Harper, hugging her.

"You too!"

Clarke walked back to her car, parked a few meters away, in the opposite direction of Harper's. It felt good, walking in the night. It was too cold, but it was so quiet, so calm compared to the bar. Clarke slowed down her pace, breathing in. Her ears were buzzing after hours in the bar, the music so loud they could barely hear each other at times. She was a few feet away from her car when, seated on a bench, she spotted a familiar figure.

"Bellamy?" she said, surprised to find him there.

She got closer, worried. He seemed completely lost, and sick. His shirt was stained with something. He'd disappeared earlier to go to the bathroom. She'd thought Miller had found him and brought him home. She didn't think he was out here, alone.

"Are you alright?" she asked him.

"Yeah…" he said, his voice hoarse.

She looked around her, but no Miller to be seen.

"Where's Miller?"

Bellamy shrugged. He leaned in and took his head in his hands. She thought he was going to puke, but he just stayed in that position. He was way too drunk to be left alone. She sighed.

"Great." she mumbled.

She sat beside him, looking at him up and down. He had his jacket, which was great. She found his wallet and his keys inside, and she could see the shape of his phone in the pocket of his jeans. She felt relieved, at least he hadn't lost anything.

"I'm gonna call Miller," She told him, picking up her phone.

He was supposed to bring him home. Where the hell was he?

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Come on!" she mumbled.

Beeep. 'You have reached Nathan Mil…'

She called again. Ring. Ring. Ring. 'You have reach…" She sighed. She took a quick look at Bellamy. He hadn't moved.

She tried again. Once, twice.

No answer.

"Fuck."

She hung up, thinking. She could go back into the bar to look for him, but she was too scared to leave Bellamy. He was unpredictable, he could do something stupid. She waited for a few minutes, hoping Miller would call her back. But he didn't, and Bellamy was drunk, and she was tired. Fuck him. He didn't leave her any choice.

"Can you get up?" she asked Bellamy.

He mumbled something she didn't understand, his eyes closing.

"Oh, no, no, no. Come on."

She tried to help him stand up, tugging on his arms. It wasn't easy, but after a few minutes of struggle, he finally got off that bench. He didn't move for a second. Then he turned around to puke.

"Shit," she said.

She let him do his thing, still holding his arm to make sure he wouldn't just collapse. Eventually, he straightened, looking a bit better. She took a handkerchief out of her purse and helped him clean his face a bit. Then she put his arm around her shoulders and held onto his waist. He was too heavy for her, but the car wasn't far. She just had to hang on. Bellamy almost fell twice, even though they were walking so slowly Clarke felt like they hadn't moved at all.

"Wow. Everything's… spinning…" Bellamy mumbled.

It felt like years before they finally reached her car. She opened the door and helped him get in the passenger seat. She sighed, checking again if Miller had called her back, just in case. He hadn't.

She didn't know where Bellamy lived, and she couldn't ask him because he'd just fallen asleep in his seat. Suddenly everything felt so complicated.

She bit her lip. Well, she didn't have many options. She called Miller again.

"Miller, it's Clarke," she said on his voicemail. "You're not answering your phone and I don't know where you are, so uh… Just so you know, Bellamy's with me. And he's like, really drunk. I'm bringing him to my place. We'll talk tomorrow. Bye."


19/09/2015

Clarke had slept like a baby. She was slowly waking up, her eyes still closed. It had been a dreamless night, it felt like she'd fallen asleep half an hour ago. She opened her eyes a little, then closed them again. She rolled around, she stretched, she yawned, and decided she wasn't leaving her bed. She was going to enjoy her Saturday morning. As minutes passed, just lying in bed, memories of last night resurfaced. It had been fun. She remembered dancing with Harper, listening to Jasper's jokes, drinking her virgin mojito… She was going through the events of the night in her head, finally reaching the part when she got home. With a drunk Bellamy.

Bellamy.

She opened her eyes.

"Shit."

She got up, fully awake. Maybe, just maybe, she'd forgotten he was here. She finally remembered struggling to get him upstairs, helping him lay on the mattress and getting his shirt off. He'd puked on it. She winced, hoping he wasn't awake already. Because if he was, knowing how drunk he was last night, he wouldn't recognize where he was and panic. That was a situation she would prefer to avoid. She was already dreading his reaction when he finds out she brought him home. She was probably the last person he would want to see after such a night—which was understandable if she was being honest.

She checked the time on her phone: 10am. She had a text from Miller, received at 5:06am.

'Sorry, I got distracted. Thank you so much, I owe you one.' Miller had written.

Yeah, he fucking did. She was still pissed at him. It was his job and he didn't even have a good excuse to give her.

Clarke sighed. First, she needed to pee. Then get dressed, because she was only wearing an old shirt and—even though Bellamy had now officially slept at her place—neither of them was ready for that kind of intimacy.

Once she was done, she went to the kitchen and took two glasses off a shelf. She filled the first one with water and the other with orange juice, which she drank in a few gulps. The first glass was for Bellamy. Knowing how drunk he was last night, he was going to have a nasty hangover. She pitied him.

Clarke took an aspirin and the keys in her right hand, the glass of water in her left, and walked across the room to open the front door. She loved her apartment. The kitchen was only separated from the living room by a counter, which gave the impression that the apartment was bigger than it was. She was also proud to say that she was renting it on her own, with her own money. Her mother could've helped her get a nicer place, but she wanted to prove she could manage just fine.

She had been lucky, though. Around the time she was looking for a new place to live, Jasper's parents moved out of town and decided to rent out their previous apartment. So here she was now, thanks to Jasper who had made this possible. It felt good to live there. This place had history. It was like it was alive in a way.

But what Clarke loved the most about it was the room above the apartment. She got out, carefully closing the door behind her. The building was old and it held secrets no one would ever suspect. If Jasper had never shown her, she wasn't sure she would have found it. To the left of her apartment was an old, wooden door that looked like a closet. Clarke took out the keys and opened it. Behind it were stairs leading up to her favorite room ever.

"Welcome to Narnia," Jasper had told her.

He wasn't wrong., It always felt magic to her, even after all these months. She went up the stairs after closing the door behind her and turning on the light—it was dark and narrow in here. It seemed like the stairs led to nothing at all, only a wooden ceiling. But her hand reached for a trap door above her and she pushed it open.

The light, so bright, blinded her for a second. She went up the last few steps and finally stepped into the room. It was rectangular, about seventeen feet long. Three walls were all painted in white, but you could still see the old stones they were made of. The last wall, on her right, was made of only glass. It started from the floor and reached the ceiling, set at a slight incline. It was so big, the light lluminated the room all day.

When Clarke first found out about this place, it was almost abandoned. It was too small to actually live in, so Jasper's parents were using it as an attic. It was full of old furniture and clothes and toys. The glass was so dirty you couldn't see much through it. The walls were bare. And it didn't smell good. She put so much of her time giving new life to this place. It took months and much more money that she initially thought she would need—but she was dedicated to the project. Fortunately, her friends helped her a lot. She spent her whole summer in this room. Her own little work shop.

But it was worth it. She was so proud; it was everything she ever wanted.

Clarke startled when she heard something moving on her left. She shook her head, getting out of her reverie. Bellamy was still sleeping on the mattress she'd put in a corner of the room, which she mostly used to read or to watch Netflix when she wanted a break from painting. She'd never slept a full night in it. She didn't have a pullout downstairs, so she'd brought him here the night before.

She walked to the mattress, careful not to make too much noise, and put down the glass of water and the aspirin beside the bucket she'd set there—just in case. Bellamy didn't move. He kept snoring.

She didn't mean to stare, really. But he was sleeping on his side, facing her, his curls all over the place and his lips slightly parted. Her eyes swept over his face, noticing for the first time his freckles. He looked younger this way, peaceful. It was interesting, she felt like she was discovering a new side of him. A side she wanted to know more about.

She should've stopped there. She knew she should've stopped there. But her eyes kept moving down, following the freckles on his skin, and soon she was staring at his collarbone, his shoulders, his bare torso. His left arm was positioned in such a way that it emphasized his muscles—his biceps, his pecs. She'd never noticed how well-built he was. As her stare focused on his abs and finally reached the point where all she could see was jeans, she felt her cheeks warm.

Suddenly realizing what she was doing, Clarke stood up, ashamed. Dammit. He had a girlfriend. What the hell.

But. It wasn't her fault. He was cute. He had a six-pack.

To get rid of the weird feeling she had in her belly, she decided to get herself busy while waiting for him to wake up. At the back of the room was her personal, favorite mess. Shelves full of jars, themselves full of paintbrushes of all sizes. Paint of every color everywhere. Sketches scattered on a small desk. The easel her mother gave her for her birthday two years ago, a canvas perched on it. Clarke went to sit on the stool in front of it. Painting landscapes was never her thing. She much preferred portraits, sometimes of people she knew, sometimes of people she imagined. It always took her hours to make them perfect—to get the exact expression she wanted, the right glint in the eyes. She'd stopped counting the number of times she'd thrown out everything to start again. It could be frustrating, but it always felt thrilling. When she painted, she was in her own world.

Maybe because so many things had changed in her life recently, she'd found herself melancholic. She'd started painting her father. Thinking about him always made her sad, but years had passed since he died. Now, she was able to think about the good memories and smile when she talked about him. A couple of years ago, she wasn't strong enough to do that.

She picked up the brush she'd left on the desk beside the easel. She thought for a moment, then started painting.

She didn't know how long she'd been working on the portrait when she heard a shuffle behind her. She turned around to see Bellamy sitting up on the mattress, frowning. She got up.

"Hi," she said.

She put down her pencil. Bellamy struggled to open his eyes, the light too bright. He brought his hand up to his forehead, wincing.

"I brought you an aspirin," she told him.

Clarke waited for a moment, but he seemed so lost. He tried to look around him, but his eyes kept closing and opening again and again. She came near him and sat on the ground beside the mattress, handing him the glass and the aspirin.

"Here," she said, calmly.

He looked up at her, his eyes squinting. She tensed, wondering if he was pissed at her. She hoped he wasn't, because after everything she'd done for him, she deserved at least a thank you. He took the glass off her hand and swallowed the aspirin.

"Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse.

"You're welcome."

She waited for him to feel a bit better. Explaining everything right away would probably be overwhelming for him. When he was fully awake, he would ask her anyway.

Which he did, after a few minutes.

"Where am I?"

Clarke looked around her.

"You're uh… You're at my place. I mean, my apartment is just below this room. I brought you here last night because I couldn't find Miller."

Bellamy slowly nodded, processing the information. She forced herself to focus on his face. She was not going to stare at his perfect body again.

"Miller knows you're here, by the way," she clarified.

"Okay."

His eyes wandered around the room. She wondered what details he was noticing, what he was thinking. His eyes remained on the portrait for a few seconds, then on the small sink she used to wash her hands after painting.

"Is that my shirt?" he asked.

She'd forgotten she'd put it there, hanging. She'd meant to wash it but was too tired to do so. Her cheeks flushed.

"Uh yeah. You puked on it."

She didn't want him to think she was some kind of pervert.

"Oh," was all he said.

He looked down, staring at his hands. He probably still had an awful headache. They stayed silent for a while. Clarke felt awkward sitting there beside him, not doing anything.

"Do you want anything?" she asked him.

He focused his attention back on her, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

"No. No, thank you. You've done a lot already. Thank you," he repeated.

She felt relieved. At least he was being grateful. He pushed on his arms, trying to get up, but Clarke stopped him.

"Wait. You're probably not feeling well. You can rest a bit if you want."

He deserved it, after all. He sighed, seemingly exhausted, and sat down again.

"Yeah, maybe I'll do that. If you don't mind."

"Not at all," she said, smiling at him in a way she hoped was reassuring.

She got up, giving him some space. As she walked back to her easel, he suddenly asked:

"Who is this?"

She turned around. He was staring at the portrait, a gleam in his eyes she couldn't quite comprehend. The kind of gleam she would love to paint. She was surprised he would ask her that. She didn't think it would interest him, especially in such a state.

"It's my father," she told him. "He died."

She didn't know what exactly made her say that, but it came out of her mouth before she could even think about it. She couldn't control it. She feared she'd said too much, but Bellamy smiled at her. A sad smile, one that was telling her 'I understand what you've been through'.

"It's beautiful," he said.

Her heart sank. Suddenly she couldn't speak, afraid her voice would break. She just nodded, a sad smile on her lips too. Their eyes locked, and just for a moment, it felt like they understood each other beyond words.

The moment ended when Bellamy looked away.

Her heart beating fast in her chest, Clarke turned her back on him and walked to her painting, processing what had just happened. Behind her, she heard Bellamy lie down.

A few minutes later, he was sleeping.