CHAPTER 10: EVERY DAY

14/02/2019

"I'm sorry," She said. "It's hard for me to talk about it."

She'd been trying to find the words. She didn't know where to start, what she should or shouldn't tell him. She would lose herself in her own memories, one thought leading to another.

Bellamy was being so patient with her, even though she could see it was all very confusing to him. She was acting so weirdly, her behavior probably didn't make any sense. He'd promised her he would keep everything to himself, but it was still difficult to let go of her fear. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but Bellamy didn't know why she'd asked him to do this. Why wouldn't he tell Octavia about her? She was just an acquaintance at this point. There was nothing wrong with that. Except, she was Clarke Griffin, and if he said too much, Octavia or Miller or someone else would figure out her true identity. She preferred not to think about what would happen then.

Her fake name was her only real protection. She could hide behind it. She also reassured herself by imaging what her friends would tell her. Monty, Harper, Jasper, Raven… she knew they would encourage her if they were there with her. They'd always been by her side, even after everything. She wasn't alone.

"Maybe you could tell me about how we met?" Bellamy suggested, his voice calm.

She considered it. But if she told him she was an art teacher at the same school he used to work at, he would make the connection to Miller. He would ask him about her. Clarke couldn't let that happen.

"At a party," she just said, because she was too afraid to give anything else away.

She wasn't good at this. How frustrating this must be for Bellamy. She couldn't give him the answers he'd been searching for. She sighed. Her eyes landed on the painting behind him. It was very simplistic, just a few brush strokes. It was probably just a generic painting bought from some store. She'd never seen it before. The chairs weren't the same either. The walls had been painted in a different color. Clarke suddenly found herself noticing every detail that had changed in the café, and she couldn't help but imagine her old self, with another Bellamy, in this same room three years ago. She could see, in her head, the small table in the corner. She could visualize Bellamy smiling at her, his notebooks all around her. It was so vivid it hurt.

"We used to come here," she said.

She didn't immediately realize she'd said it out loud. It just felt so natural to say, because it was… obvious to her. It was the truth. But, contrary to what she would've expected, she didn't feel the familiar panic growing inside her chest, making her regret ever uttering those words. Afterall, she'd kept all those memories to herself for so long. It felt good to just let one of them out.

More than that, she wanted him to know. She wanted him to laugh and cry with her as she told him about everything they'd been through—the good and the bad. Because a part of her, even if she hated to admit it, still hoped she could find her Bellamy again.

But as long as she remained Claire Graham, it would never happen.

"We did?" Bellamy asked her.

She heard the eagerness to know more in his voice. She felt the intensity of his stare. She was well aware that he was hanging on her every word, on every piece of information she gave him. She met his gaze and once again was overwhelmed by how much kindness she saw in his eyes. She knew him well enough to know he was trying to hide his nervousness, as if to reassure her. The thought alone broke her heart, because it was exactly what he would have done three years ago. He was treating her as if she was a friend, as if he understood her. Even though, in reality, she was no one to him.

For the first time, she thought about telling him everything. Everything. Because he deserved to know.

But not yet.

"Yeah," she said. "We used to meet here and eat together. Everyday."


24/09/2015

Clarke didn't intend to linger, really.

She just wanted a coffee. She was supposed to drink it and be gone in five minutes. She should be eating a sandwich in the park, waiting for the rest of the hour to pass before going back to work.

But, well.

The café was crowded when she arrived. For some reason she thought only a few people knew about the place. She shouldn't be surprised, as she obviously wasn't the only one working in the neighborhood. It was the first time she'd come here, but she'd spotted the café weeks ago. Well, now she knew what to expect.

She sighed, searching for somewhere to sit. She didn't have much time to eat before her next class, which was very inconvenient. She didn't feel like driving back home to cook and, most of all, she needed coffee. So, the café will do. She scanned the room, looking for at least a free chair, but most of the tables were taken by groups of friends, and sitting next to them would just be awkward. Her eyes finally landed on a small table in the corner, covered with notebooks. A man was writing in one of them, his black curls hiding his face. What a mess, she thought. The guy didn't seem to care at all. He was so fully invested in what he was doing that probably nobody dared to disturb him.

He straightened, frowning.

'Oh,' Clarke thought.

Bellamy.

Maybe she could sit with him. He knew her, so he wouldn't refuse. Right? She froze, not knowing what to do. He seemed busy and determined to finish whatever he was doing. She didn't want to bother him, but it was one of the only seats available. Maybe he wouldn't mind if she only stayed for 5 minutes. She would be quick, silent. Hopefully, she wouldn't annoy him too much.

She walked towards him, putting on what she hoped was a warm smile on her face. The least she could do was to act cool. No big deal. She just wanted a cup of coffee.

She was a few feet away from the table when some girl suddenly got in her way, making Clarke stop abruptly. The girl didn't even apologize and quickly grabbed the chair in front of Bellamy.

"Is this chair available?" she asked, feigning innocence.

'No, can't you see it's already taken, you idiot?' Clarke wanted to say, just so spite her. What the fuck. There was no need to be so rude. She could've just asked nicely.

Clarke was about to search for another table when Bellamy looked up, clearly not pleased to be interrupted. She could feel his frustration radiating from him, which was a bit frightening. But he wasn't doing anything to hide it. He stared at the girl, his fist clenching around his pen. He seemed to be thinking, probably looking for a good excuse not to let that girl sit with him. Then his eyes landed on Clarke. For a second she felt weird, just standing there. If he was surprised to see her there, he barely showed it. His attention went back to the girl in front of him, a polite smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was waiting for someone."

And he pointed at Clarke.

The girl turned around to face her, pursing her lips. Clarke, who'd absolutely not expected Bellamy to say that, couldn't hide her shock. She closed her mouth, realizing she'd been gaping at him. Then she put a big, fake smile on her face dedicated to the irritating girl and took her time to sit in the chair, playing along with Bellamy's plan. The girl didn't move at first, but she left after a few seconds, obviously offended. Both Clarke and Bellamy were savoring their victory.

"Hey," Clarke said. "Thank you."

"Thank you. She seemed unbearable," Bellamy growled.

"Well, I was just at the right place at the right time."

Bellamy smiled—a tiny movement at the corners of his lips—then picked up a pen and wrote something down. It was as if he'd already forgotten she was there. She waited for him to finish his sentence before she spoke again.

"Don't worry, I won't bother you for long. I'm just here for coffee."

"Oh," he said, looking up. "You're not going to eat?"

She shrugged.

"I usually pick up a sandwich somewhere and eat in a park or something."

Bellamy nodded, then started rummaging through his stuff, looking for something. She laughed when he pulled out the small menu of the café under one his papers.

"Here. They've got some sandwiches and salads if you want. I'd recommend the salads," he said, grinning.

He was much more comfortable with her than she expected after the other night. They hadn't really talked since he'd slept at her apartment. Maybe because he felt a bit ashamed, or maybe because he thought he'd been a bother to her.

"Do you often come here?" she asked him.

He brought his right hand up to his head and started playing with his hair.

"Uh, every day, actually."

"Alone?"

"Most of the time, yeah."

She nodded. She'd imagined Bellamy was the kind of guy always surrounded by friends. It turned out he was more of a loner than she expected. They remained silent for a few minutes, not knowing what else to say. Clarke found herself noticing the freckles on his face, details she hadn't paid attention to before that morning in her workshop. Bellamy locked eyes with her at that very moment, and she suddenly felt like a teenager. 'Idiot,' she thought.

"Anyway," he said, "I just wanted to thank you again for the other night. That was nice of you."

He looked down, which confirmed her suspicions: he was embarrassed. It was understandable, they barely knew each other and she'd seen him in a very… miserable state.

"Don't worry, it's fine. We've all been there."

She smiled, hoping he would feel better. If she'd been drunk and Bellamy had found her, she would feel the same. Plus, she knew he had a girlfriend, and he's literally slept at another woman's apartment. Maybe that was also one of the reasons he felt a bit uncomfortable. She thought about his call and what he'd said of Gina—if that was her name. She remembered his apology, after the night they first met. 'I was having a hard day.' She wouldn't ask him about it—she didn't know him well enough—but she had a feeling Bellamy was having many hard days recently. Maybe having some company would actually please him.

"You know what? I think I'm going to take one of their salads," she said.

From that day on, they ate together at the café every day. Sometimes they didn't even speak. But other times, they would talk about everything and nothing at all. He would tell her about history, his sister, his childhood. She would tell him about her dad, Wells, her passion for painting—which he'd obviously noticed. They could complain about their day to one another, and if they wanted to work on something instead, they would. Every day Clarke would pass by that flower shop, come into the café and spot Bellamy. He was always in the same corner, at the same table. He would smile or wave at her and it just felt so casual.

After a week, she asked him about all of his notebooks. He told her about his project. He'd been working on a book for years. It was about gods and goddesses inspired by mythology, a subject she discovered he was passionate about. He didn't give out many details, but he could've kept it all to himself. Instead, he let her see a part of his world.

There were days where she could see exhaustion on his face. His jaw was clenched and he didn't seem to be able to concentrate enough to write something. She would ask 'are you okay?' and he would say 'yes,' so she wouldn't push, because if he wanted to talk about it, he would. But she still wished she could do something to help him, to make him smile a bit. She always wondered what exactly made him so sad.

Then he would come back the next day and it was as if nothing happened. But she wasn't blind, she knew something was up.

"I think we can say we're friends now, right?" she asked him, one day.

Bellamy smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, I think we can say that."

But he never, ever talked about Gina.


09/10/2015

Bellamy wasn't there.

He was nowhere to be seen. It was surprising, it'd never happened before. 'Something must've come up,' she thought, and went to sit at their usual table only to find it occupied by someone else. She found somewhere else to sit and sent a message to Bellamy.

'The table was taken. I'm on the right. When are you coming?"

She waited half an hour before she ordered her salad. She was hungry.

After 45 minutes, she ordered a cappuccino. She checked her phone, but still nothing. She texted him again a few minutes later.

When a full hour passed, she got her computer out of her bag and started working.

She waited an hour and half.

He never came.


10/10/2015

Text Message
Today : 11:52 AM

'What happened? Are you okay?'

Today : 3:45 PM

'Why aren't you answering my texts? Have you lost your phone or something?'

Today : 7:01 PM

'Are you coming to the café on Monday?'


11/10/2015

Text Message
Today : 1:18 PM

'Bellamy, I'm getting worried. What happened? Did I do something wrong?'

Today : 5:49 PM

'I just hope everything's fine.'

She sighed, putting the phone beside her. She couldn't help but wonder why he wouldn't tell her anything. Did he just not care? It'd been two days, and still no response.

She wished she didn't feel so disappointed.


12/10/2015

"Finally." she said in lieu of a greeting, clearly pissed.

She let her bag fall heavily on the table in front of her. He'd finally come back to the café, as if nothing happened. No text, no call, nothing. He owed her a fucking explanation.

She was about to show him how irritated and hurt she was, the words already forming in her head and her fists clenching, when she noticed the sadness in his eyes.

Again, she thought.

After a hesitation, she sat, sighing.

"I'm sorry. It's just, uh… I was very busy…" he said.

He was struggling to find the words. He seemed so tired that her anger immediately dissipated. She didn't have the heart to start an argument.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?" she asked him instead.

She tried to sound calm, comprehensive. She hoped he felt comfortable enough to talk to her. But he remained silent, playing with one of his pens. Clarke waited. Maybe he needed some time to think. After a few minutes, it became obvious he had no intent to share more with her. So, she got her computer out of her bag, deciding she was going to get some work done and try to forget how upset she was. He wouldn't talk to her anyway. She wondered if he ever would, and it hurt because she felt ready to tell him about very personal things, but he obviously wasn't.

"Gina came back on Friday."

Clarke looked up, her eyes widening with shock. It was the first time he'd even said her name. She thought he would stay silent for the rest of the hour, as he often did when he felt down. But for some reason, he'd talked. Clarke didn't know why, but it didn't matter. Slowly, she closed her computer and put it aside, then joined her hands on the table. It was now or never. He needed this.

"Okay," she said.

"She's my girlfriend," he added.

She nodded. Until then she hadn't known for sure.

"That's why I couldn't come. I forgot to warn you, I'm sorry."

She felt bad, hearing that. He hadn't meant to annoy her, of course not. He had no reason to apologize to her.

"Bellamy, look at me."

He'd sounded so remorseful, she couldn't let that happen. He had to know she was there for him, that she didn't blame him. He had to feel supported, whatever he was going through. Her eyes finally locked with his and she smiled at him.

"It's fine."

Without thinking, she took his hand—it was so warm. He didn't take it away, but she felt him freeze at the contact. He looked down at their joined hands, frowning. She immediately let go. She didn't mean to embarrass him, all she wanted was for him to feel supported. It such a simple gesture, but maybe it was already too much.

Bellamy stayed silent. She wished she knew what he was thinking, because now she didn't know what to do. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Clarke winced, hoping she hadn't ruined the moment.

"Shouldn't you be happy that she came back?" she finally asked him.

She couldn't stand this weird tension between them. She had to say something, even if he wouldn't answer.

"Sometimes, I..." he started, which was a good sign.

He sighed. She patiently waited—she didn't want to rush him. He was looking down again, avoiding her gaze. She could sense it was hard for him to talk about this. The words didn't come out easily. He started a few sentences that had no endings.

"She was away for a month. It's just complicated," he said.

Clarke nodded. 'It's complicated' meant 'I don't want to explain what's going on,' which meant she wouldn't learn anything more. Not today. She pursed her lips, frustrated in spite of herself.

Fuck it.

"Bellamy, are you happy?" she asked.

She'd wanted to ask this for a while, but never dared until then.

"Yeah," he immediately responded.

It was a lie. They both knew it.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. It was too late. The moment was over. Bellamy was back to his old ways.

But she couldn't blame him. She'd been there before. She knew what it was like.

"Well, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. Okay?" she only said.

He nodded—a tiny, tiny smile in the corners of his lips. Maybe one day she would know the truth. But she would have to wait until he was ready.