Thank you for all the reviews ❤️ Only ten chapters left (including the epilogue), hope you'll enjoy the ride!

CHAPTER 19 : Friends

30/01/2016

Clarke was bored.
And uninspired.

She'd been fidgeting with her brush for about twenty minutes, staring at her canvas as if it could somehow tell her what to do with her hands.
Well, it didn't help at all. Instead, she was getting increasingly more frustrated with herself.
She sighed for the hundredth time.

Since the canvas wasn't interesting enough, she turned her attention to Bellamy, seated at his desk. He too was staring intensely at a blank sheet, his hair falling on his face. She watched him for a few seconds, hesitating. She didn't want to bother him but… actually, she wanted to do just that. She was being petty, but she didn't really care.

She got up and walked to him.

"What ya doin'?" she asked.

She sounded like a bored, impatient child waiting for her parents to distract her. But, well, she was desperate. And Bellamy was there. Maybe they could be bored together.
She sat on his desk as he put his head back, leaning on his chair.

"Thinking. Struggling," he mumbled, closing his eyes.

She watched as he brought both of his hands in his hair, massaging his forehead. Her hands twitched and she winced, fighting the impulse to do it herself. He looked so handsome in that moment, it almost pissed her off. It should be illegal to look like this. How was she supposed to not stare? She looked at her feet, trying to think about anything else than Bellamy Blake's face, and his hair, and his body.

"Yeah, I can't paint anything either," she told him.

They both sighed. It was a crappy day for artists, apparently.

"I think I'm done for today," Bellamy said. "My head is spinning."

Clarke took a quick look at him, just enough time to see he was frowning. She started swinging her legs, just to have something to stare at.

"Everything okay?" she asked, even if she already had an idea of his answer.

Bellamy shook his head, letting go of his hair.

"Yeah, I mean… I just have a few things to handle, you know."

Clarke nodded. She did know what was going on.
Gina was coming back in about two weeks. And Bellamy had a hard time thinking about anything else but that. Clarke could see it, and she hated it. And she hated herself for hating it.

As always, when it came to Gina, Bellamy didn't talk much. Clarke wouldn't insist either, but sometimes she wanted to. Was he happy? Stressed out? Conflicted? Relieved? She was absolutely clueless. He didn't seem excited, yet it didn't feel like he was dreading Gina's return either. He just… avoided the subject.

Clarke often wondered about what would happen once they were reunited. What if Gina had the time of her life in Europe, living a life without Bellamy? What if they decided to end their relationship? What if, on the contrary, the distance only made their love stronger?

Clarke shook her head, refusing to think about this any longer. It was none of her business, and she shouldn't be making theories about Bellamy's love life.
She shouldn't feel so involved, either. She was his friend. That was all.

She suddenly lost her train of thought when she heard Bellamy chuckle beside her.
She looked up, surprised.
He was staring at her, a big smile on his face.

"… What?" she asked.

Bellamy chuckled. Again. He slowly raised his hand towards her face, his fingers gently brushing her cheek. That simple touch sent chills all the way up to Clarke's spine. She held her breath.

"You've got paint all over your face," he told her, almost whispering.

Clarke didn't move, didn't hear what he said. She could only focus on the feeling of his hand on her skin, the sound of her heart beating so fast. It only lasted for a second, and yet time seemed to freeze at this exact moment.
But then it ended, as quick as it'd started.

Clarke let out a deep breath.
And Bellamy was still staring mockingly at her, which made her realize what he'd just said. She straightened, frowning.

"Well," she said, just a little bit irritated. "It happens all the time."

She started rubbing her cheek, exactly where his fingers had landed a few seconds ago.
His grin grew bigger.
This time, she crossed her arms.

"What?" she asked again.

Bellamy shrugged, but his eyes were saying so much more. Whatever he was thinking, it was very funny to him.
She raised one eyebrow, her expression dead serious, expecting an answer.

"It's just…" Bellamy laughed. "You look like a child."

And maybe she should feel offended by his comment, but it didn't sound like something bad in his mouth. It sounded like something cute, amusing and charming, and it was everything she wanted to be… for him.
And also, because
, she had been acting like a child. She only got what she deserved.

Yet, it seemed that cocky smile on his beautiful face was challenging her, and her desire for revenge grew inside of her. A terrible idea was making its way to her mind and soon she too was smiling, for a whole different reason.
She got up the desk, rolling her eyes.

"Whatever," she said, feigning irritation. "At least I'm not a grandpa."

'Contrary to you', she was clearly implying.
She turned her back on him, heading for her own, much messier desk.
She heard Bellamy snorting behind her.

"Yeah, I heard that before," he said, and she knew he was smiling just by the sound of his voice.

She started gathering the brushes she'd used a few minutes ago. Thanks to her numerous ideas that led to nowhere, the hairs were covered in paint of all colors. She held them all in her hands, and took them to the small sink on her left.

"I wonder why…" she teased him, rolling her eyes.

She put the brushes down and turned the water on. She smiled at the sight of her hands. It looked like she'd painted a rainbow on them.
She turned around to face Bellamy, putting her hands behind her back.

Bellamy was getting up from his chair, but his eyes were still on her. Her heart missed a beat bit at the idea of him staring at her all along, even when she wasn't looking.

She hated herself for thinking this but… there had to be a reason.
She wasn't stupid. She'd been in a relationship before. She knew when someone was flirting with her, when someone…
liked her.
It was wrong. It was all wrong.
But she couldn't help it.

Bellamy closed the old, leather covered notebook he was writing on, and walked up to her. His cocky smile remained on his lips as he got closer. Clarke clenched her fists behind her back.

"At least I admit it, " he joked.

He was now only a few feet away. Close. So close.
Clarke didn't hear what he said, only the beating of her heart in her ears.
She stared at him, silently, for exactly five seconds.
It was now or never.

She rose her left hand in front of her, as fast as she could… and left a long, blue mark on Bellamy's cheek with a single brush stroke.

"So now, who looks like a child?" she said, proud of herself.

It was stupid really. She'd been holding the brush firmly behind her back, waiting for the right occasion. Bellamy had come to her by himself, which made it all so easy.
Watching him as his face froze, his mouth agape, made it all worth it. Clarke burst out laughing.

Bellamy remained still for so long Clarke eventually stopped and frowned. But as she was about to apologize, he leaned in, picked up a brush from the sink, and started rubbing it against her face. Clarke let out a cry, trying to get away from him, but he caught her arm. She tried to protect herself, raising her hands before her, but it didn't help much. Her face and her arms were already covered in a flashy, green paint. She gave up and picked up other brushes, deciding that at least she would go down fighting.

Bellamy had the strength to keep her still, but she was fast. It was a mess. They had paint all over them, in their hairs, on their - now ruined – clothes. But they didn't care, and kept going, laughing and screaming and struggling.

"Stop it! You lost, anyway," Bellamy chuckled, one hand holding both of her wrists, and the other up in the air, to keep the brushes away from Clarke.

She winced, fighting against his grip, but he didn't let go. Instead, his victorious smile grew bigger on his face.

"Ugh."

"I already won," Bellamy said, waggling his eyebrows to tease her even more.

Clarke struggled a bit longer, then sighed. She rolled her eyes and finally stopped moving.

"Okay. Fine," she gave up.

But Bellamy didn't move, his eyes narrowing. He was hesitating. Clarke raised one eyebrow, challenging him to let her go.

"You're never gonna let go of this, are you?" he said, wary of her.

Clarke took a step closer, her wrists still trapped in his huge hand, staring intensely at him. Her body was pressed against his, she could feel his torso moving to the rhythm of his breathing. His eyes were dark and warm, surrounded by stains of paint of all colors, blending in with in freckles.

"Am I?" she said whispering, and it felt harder to breathe suddenly.

She leaned in, just a bit. One inch. She couldn't think, couldn't speak.
She waited, but he didn't move. His lips parted. So did hers. She felt the heat invade her body. Her heart was about to get out of her chest. Two inches.
He only kept staring at her.

She took a breath.
She stood on her tiptoes.
She closed her eyes.

And slowly, very slowly, her face got closer to his. She felt his breath on her cheeks, then her nose was against his. She could almost feel his lips against hers…
The world stilled.

They touched, for a split second.
Not even a second. Less than that.

Then her hands were free, her body was cold, and his lips weren't on hers.

"No."

She opened her eyes.
At the sight of him, her heart dropped, and broke, and shattered into pieces.

"I-I can't… I'm not…" he said, shaking his head.

He looked at her as if she'd betrayed him. As if… she'd ruined it all. His eyes were full of disappointment, and anger, and sadness.

Clarke felt his rejection to her very core, leaving her speechless. The pain was so vivid, so sharp, it brought tears to her eyes.

Bellamy turned his back on her, pacing, his hands rummaging through his hands. He was breathing heavily, frowning. He seemed so tortured, a part of her wanted to reassure him, to hold him in her arms.
But she couldn't.
Because she'd made a mistake.
Because she was a stupid, selfish bitch.
She closed her eyes, as Raven's face invaded her mind.

She remembered perfectly the first time she'd met her. Raven found her and Finn in each other's arms in his apartment. Clarke didn't know he had a girlfriend. But in that moment, she knew she was the other woman. She'd broken this woman's heart. The guilt she felt when she looked at Raven's face, seeing the betrayal in her eyes, was unforgettable. It remained with her, always.
Raven's face faded, succeeded by Gina's.
And this time, she couldn't hide behind
'I didn't know'. Because, oh, she knew. He wasn't hers.

And she'd tried to kiss Bellamy anyway.

"Bellamy. I'm so, so sorry," she said, choking up.

She opened her eyes again.
He wouldn't even look at her.
He didn't say anything.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved. Then he picked up his jacket, where he'd left it on the chair, and walked up to the trapdoor, looking down.

"I have to go," he said, coldly.

"Bellamy…" she said, taking a few steps toward him.

"Don't."

She stopped.
His whole body tensed.

"Don't. Follow. Me," he ordered her through his clenched teeth.

He seemed to hesitate to say something else. He didn't.
He opened the trapdoor and disappeared behind it, still covered in paint. She listened as he went down the stairs, and slammed the door behind him.
Tears fell down Clarke's cheeks.


06/03/2019

The headlights. Again. Getting closer, faster.

"Bellamy, listen."

He tried to calm down, to do as she said.

"What?"

"Listen. Why won't you listen?" she kept telling him.

The headlights. The headlights.

"Why won't you listen, Bellamy? Listen to me!"

He tried to look at her, to focus on her. Her face was blurry, her words were hard to hear. She was telling him something, but it was as if a wall was between them. He tried to get closer to her, to take her hand, but the more he tried the harder it got.

"Gina!" he screamed, at last, as the light blinded him.

Bellamy woke up.
It was the third time he'd had this dream. On the one hand, he was getting used to it. It made it easier to calm down, and not give into panic. On the other hand, it was both worrying and intriguing to him. It didn't make sense, not really. He wasn't sure these dreams even had a meaning. Yet, they kept coming back.
He straightened on his bed, stretching his arms. For once, he didn't wake up in the middle of the night. Rays of sunshine were illuminating the room, making him wince. He waited for a few seconds as his eyes adjusted to the light.

His phone buzzed beside him.
He sighed, looking at it. He already had an idea of who it could be.
Miller, Octavia or Clair… Clarke.

"Clarke," he repeated out loud.

Her real name.
The name she'd been hiding from him since the very beginning. His heart still broke each time he was reminded of that. He thought he could trust her, and that she trusted him. But apparently, he wasn't worth knowing who she really was.

Who was she, exactly? Was he supposed to believe everything she'd told him? Or did she make it all up, like she'd created Claire Graham?
The worse part of all of this was, it all made sense. Octavia and Miller had never heard of Claire, because she didn't exist. He couldn't find her on Facebook, because her real name was Clarke Griffin. He should've known.
But who was he supposed to believe? He had no one. His sister, his friends, Clarke, Jasper, Monty. They all lied to him.
And it fucking hurt.

It was his life, his story. Yet, he didn't even have a say in it.

He picked up the phone, clenching his jaw. He unlocked it unwillingly.
Three calls, and seven texts from Clarke. Eleven calls from Octavia. One call and two texts from Miller.
He sighed. He'd been avoiding all of them for two days. He just needed to process things, on his own.

Text Message
Today : 7:48 AM

'I'm sorry . This is not what I wanted. I can explain. I'm sorry.'

He already knew what he wanted to say to Clarke. He typed the message without thinking, and sent it before he had the time to hesitate.

'I just need some time."

And that was all.
He wouldn't call Octavia, not yet. She just had her baby, so an argument with her brother was the last thing she needed. If he was being completely honest though, he was dreading this conversation more than anything.

Actually, the idea of having to face anyone made him extremely nervous. His heart dropped because of that simple thought.
No. He needed to be alone. Just for a few days.

It was like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, and he couldn't get back, couldn't hang onto something. The only way to get through this was to jump, but he didn't know how hard the fall would be.
Soon, he would have to jump. It was just a matter of time.

He knew refusing to talk to Clarke, to Octavia or to Miller wouldn't make things better. The past couldn't be changed, even if it could be forgotten. One day, he would know the truth.
He always thought he was ready for it. Now that everything seemed so much more complicated, he kept doubting himself. But he had to be ready. He didn't have a choice.

~oOo~

Someone aggressively knocked on his door a few hours later.
Bellamy turned his tv off, his senses alert. He had a feeling he didn't want to see the person behind this door, and if he could pretend to not be there, then he would.

He waited, silently waiting for them to leave. It didn't matter who it was, anyway, because he didn't feel ready to talk to anyone. He had deliberately avoided ordering food for that exact reason.
But the person knocked – or more like, hit – on the door again. It made such a noise, this time, Bellamy startled.

"I know you're in there. Open the door," a voice, Miller's, shouted.

Bellamy sighed.
God, he hated this.

"Don't be an idiot, Bell. I heard the TV," Miller continued.

Fuck.
Bellamy clench his fists.
Fuck.
He couldn't do this. Not yet. It was too hard.

"You can't avoid this conversation forever," his lying best friend told him through the door, and Bellamy hated to admit that he was right.

But it wouldn't go well. He knew it. Miller probably knew it, too.
Things had to be said, and yet none of those things would resolve the situation. If anything, it would only make it worse.

But it was now or never. Because maybe Bellamy would never gather the strength to face them all. The sooner he did this, the sooner he would find peace.
At least, that was how he was trying to convince himself to open the fucking door.

He mustered the courage to get up from the couch and walk across the living room, reaching the entrance of the apartment. He stopped abruptly, facing the door, feeling fear growing inside his chest.
He closed his eyes and focus on his breathing. He could do this. He could hear Clai… Clarke's voice in his head, telling him to calm down the night he called her. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
He did that for a minute, clearing his head.
He opened his eyes, then opened the door.

As expected, of course, Miller was standing on the doorstep, looking both pissed and relieved. At the sight of him, Bellamy's whole body tensed, preparing himself for the confrontation.
He silently stepped aside to let him in, neither of them even blinking as they stared at each other. Miller stepped in, and Bellamy slammed the door behind him.
For a moment they just stood in front of each other, saying nothing. Neither broke eye contact. It lasted for so long Bellamy felt the need to speak.

"So? What do you want?" he asked, his voice low.

Miller remained still for a second, his face expressionless, then he sighed, his shoulders falling. He looked defeated. He rose a hand before him, as if he was already trying to ease the situation.

"Listen…" he started, calmly. "I don't know what she told you…"

Those simple words, the mention of Clarke, was enough for Bellamy to feel fury invade his chest.

"What she told me?" he repeated, raising his voice.

The discussion had barely begun, and Bellamy was already losing his temper. This was about to be exhausting and draining.
Miller tensed, his eyes narrowing like a warning not to provoke him.

"She's a liar," he said, his voice firm. "She isn't who you think she is."

Bellamy clenched his jaw. He hated the fact that he couldn't deny it. He didn't know her, not really. Maybe she was the biggest liar he'd ever met. But maybe she'd been the most honest out of all of them.

"And how could I trust you ? Huh ?" he blurted in frustration.

Not only did he feel angry, but also so, so hurt. Miller was his best friend. And he didn't tell him anything. He thought he could count of him.
So many lies. For years.
It suddenly exploded inside of him.

"You didn't tell me a fucking thing! About my own life!" he shouted, the anger he'd been feeling for weeks, or maybe for years, finally coming out of him.

Bellamy took a step closer. Miller stepped back. Not because he was impressed, but because he seemed to be fighting against his desire to hit Bellamy in the face. His fists were clenched, his face closed.

"There are things you don't want to know," he said.

Bellamy gritted his teeth so hard he thought they would shatter. It took all of his strength to get away from Miller, feeling this dangerous rage slowly taking over his body. Bellamy didn't trust himself in that moment.

"You don't have the right to decide," he growled.

Miller snorted, shaking his head.

"So what?" he exclaimed. "She told you all about the happy memories you two shared together? So great, so perfect, huh?"

Bellamy remembered their meetings, the things she'd told him about. Their animosity the first time they met, the night he was drunk, the workshop, their friendship.
Yes, they seemed to be good memories. Memories he wished he remembered.
But Miller's words hit the right spot. What if she'd been lying from the beginning? How much did she hide from him?

"She was my friend," he said, trying to ignore his own doubts.

Miller's eyes were suddenly mean, mocking.

"Oh yeah, a good friend, that's for fucking sure," he cackled.

Bellamy frowned, not sure to understand what he meant. Or maybe… he didn't want to understand.

"What do you mean?"

But Miller only shook his head and turned his back on him, refusing to answer. Bellamy, torn between confusion, anger and sadness, was frozen. He found himself unable to do or say anything. Maybe he was just tired of the situation. Maybe it was too much.

"Fuck. If you guys…" Miller muttered.

Bellamy waited for him to continue.

"If she… if I didn't introduce her to you, you wouldn't have…"

Bellamy's heart seemed to stop.

"What?"

A pause.
Miller turned around to look at him.
Bellamy couldn't believe what he just heard.

"So, not only did you know her, but you fucking introduced her to me?" he shouted, shaking.

Miller clenched his teeth, but remained silent.

"Are you kidding me?" Bellamy yelled, to make him react.

Miller took a deep breath, resigned.

"Yeah. I did," he said. "And that was a fucking mistake."

A part of Bellamy wanted to ask him why. But another part of him was too resentful to let it go.

"Oh? And lying to me for the past three years isn't?" he shouted. "What else did you hide from me? Are you gonna tell me Gina never fucking died?"

"YOU KNOW VERY WELL SHE DIED!" Miller exploded. "DO NOT DISRESPECT HER LIKE THIS!"

Bellamy froze.
He shouldn't have mention Gina's death. Too far, too much. It was a mistake.

"Yeah, Gina died," Miller repeated.

He got so close to Bellamy, he could feel the heat of his breath on his face.

"And you know what?" he said, slowly. "She died because of Clarke."

The air got stuck in his chest.
Bellamy stepped back as if he'd just slapped him.
No. It couldn't be.
Not this, not her.
How? Why?
No. The girl he knew could never do such a thing.

"You're lying," he murmured.

His voice was shaking. Tears invaded his eyes.

"She was there, the night of the accident," Miller said.

"I don't believe you."

Miller snorted, then walked past Bellamy. He opened the front door, then turned around one last time to look at his friend.

"Ask her, then. Let's see if she has the guts to tell you the truth," he spat before leaving.


16/02/2016

Seventeen days.
More than two weeks. Half a month.
And Bellamy still refused to talk to her.

The shame she felt was so overwhelming, it was like she was dying inside. She didn't have the courage to talk about it to anyone. It was her fault. She'd done something terrible, and because of that she'd lost him.
Bellamy. Her friend.

For months, they had seen each other every week. Almost every day. He was with her, all the time. Even if he wasn't in the same room, she knew she could come to him, talk to him whenever she wished.
It was all over, so suddenly.
She'd never felt so alone.

She tried to apologize so many times. Through texts. Through voice messages – he wouldn't answer her calls.
At work, he avoided her, obviously. She thought maybe he just needed some time, so after a week she decided to leave him alone.
Nothing.

And she got it. He had every right to be pissed at her.
But, if he could only
listen to what she had to say. She didn't ask much, she didn't even want him to talk. She just wished he would give her a chance to apologize.
She had been patient. Now she was desperate.

She was pacing in front of his car, on the parking near the school. It felt wrong, forcing him to face her. But she was tired of waiting, and if their friendship was over for good, then at least he could say it once and for all. She needed this to move on.

She kept going through her phone, putting it back into her pocket, looking up, pacing, sighing, picking up her phone again, and so on. She couldn't stand still, shaking with anxiety. He should be there any minute.
Several times, she heard steps coming towards her, and she straightened thinking it was him. Then, seeing it was someone else, her shoulders would fall, torn between being relieved and disappointed. She hated this. Waiting for him felt worse than having to confront him.
She looked at her phone, again. She went through the same apps, looking at the same tweets, posts and pics for the hundredth time. She closed and opened them again. She closed them again and looked up.

Her heart dropped. Her body froze.
He was there, standing a few feet away from her. His stare was focused on her, his jaw was clenched. Clarke held her breath. She was suddenly at loss for words. She couldn't think properly, couldn't remember what she was supposed to say. He was there, and it was all that mattered.
She watched him as he took a look at the school behind him, as if he was considering going back inside to avoid her. She waited, expecting him to leave. But he didn't move, and sighed.

Clarke saw this as an opportunity and took a few steps towards him. She stopped at the sight of the expression on his face.
He was still pissed at her.
She looked down, ashamed. She took a deep breath.

"Can… Can we talk?" she asked him, quietly.

He didn't answer.
She looked up, thinking maybe he was pretending not to hear her, but his eyes were on her.
Apparently, he'd decided to punish her with silence.

"Please," she begged.

Just one discussion. Nothing more. After that she would leave him alone, if he wished for her to.
He seemed to hesitate
, again. He looked around him for some reason, then walked toward his car. Past her.
She stood still, not daring to make a move toward him.
This is it, she thought. He was leaving.
He opened the door.

"Get in," he said, his voice so low she wondered if she'd imagined it.

He got into his car and slammed the door. Stupidly, she waited for him to start the engine, still expecting him to leave her there. When he didn't, she hurried up to get inside.
She let out a long sigh, closing the door. It felt strange, sitting so close to him after weeks of silence and avoidance.
She glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking. He was looking straight ahead, frowning, his body tense. He clearly wished she was somewhere else. Clarke stared in front of her, too.

"Bellamy…" she started.

She saw him wince out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm sorry," she said, swallowing hard. "I never wanted… I wasn't thinking."

She stopped, just in case he had something to say. He didn't. She sighed.

"Listen, I… It's just… It's been a while since I've been with someone, okay? The way I reacted… I didn't control it. I'm sorry. And you… uuugh!" she exclaimed.

Her cry of frustration seemed to surprise him. A reaction from him, at last.

"We're adults, Bellamy. Sexually active adults. You can blame me all you want for trying to kiss you, and you would be right to do so, but you have to admit that you could've seen this coming," she blurted.

Out of all the scenarios she'd imagined about this discussion, she never actually thought she would be saying this.
Yet, here she was. Her heart was beating so fast.

Bellamy looked down then, pursing his lips. He was still refusing to speak, but she could see her words had impacted him.
She closed her eyes, and sighed.

"Again. I'm sorry. If you don't want to see me ever again, fine. Just say it once and for all," she sighed, suddenly tired.

She started playing with her hands, focusing on her breathing. She was shaking. She decided she wouldn't get out of this car until he gave her an answer.
She'd been waiting for two weeks. She could wait for a few more hours.

"Do you have feelings for me?"

Clarke looked up.
Her heart dropped.
Did she hear that right?

"What?"

He was staring ahead, again.
He clenched his jaw.

"Do you. Have. Feelings. For me?" he said, articulating every word.

His voice was calm, too calm. It was like he was hiding something.
Out of instinct, Clarke wanted to shout
'no!'. And yet, she found herself unable to speak, the word stuck in her throat.
She told herself she didn't love him.
She shouldn't love him.
He was her friend. He was… in a relationship.

"N-no," she stuttered, and she wished she sounded more convincing.

She sighed, swallowed, and clenched her fists.

"No," she said firmly. "It was a mistake. That's all."

And slowly, very slowly, Bellamy turned his head towards her. They locked eyes. For the first time since that day at the workshop, he wasn't looking at her with animosity.
He looked… sad. Tired.

"I promise," she whispered.

After a few seconds of complete silence, he nodded.

"Okay," he said, and it wasn't quite a smile on his face, but it was enough.

Clarke felt the relief invade her chest and the weight get off her shoulder.
It was fine. Everything would be fine.
She would make made sure of it. She would be the friend he wanted her to be.
'Nothing more, she told herself.