Chapter 11
During the night, Clarke dreamt about the sound of that heartbeat. When she woke up, she felt like she was still hearing it. Gradually, the sound faded as she opened her eyes and became more alert. The first thing she did was look down at her stomach. Not that it looked any different than it had yesterday or last month, even. She felt like she looked a little bloated, but nothing more than that.
But there was a raspberry in there.
She sat up, pushed back the covers, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was about to get up and head into the bathroom—she wasn't really nauseous or anything, but she still had to pee—when she spotted the envelope on her nightstand, the one with the ultrasound images in it. She opened it, took them out, and gazed at them for a few moments, not quite sure how to feel. Yesterday, she'd felt a range of emotions, everything from excitement to panic. Mostly, though, she'd felt . . . blown away. There was just no other way to describe it.
Today was a different day, though, one that she'd been putting off for a while. Too long, probably. She'd gotten confirmation that she was eight weeks along. That was two months. Now she even had the first images of this baby, and . . .
And she hadn't told Finn. She hadn't told the baby's father.
Sighing deeply, she set the pictures down in exchange for her phone. His name and number were no longer in her recents list, nor were they in her favorites. She had to scroll down to find him, and when she did . . . it took her a few seconds of sitting there with her thumb hovering over her screen to finally press his name.
It started ringing as she slowly brought her phone up to her ear. That panicked feeling was back as she waited for him to answer. He had to answer, because if his voicemail kicked on, she'd just chicken out.
It must have been about the last ring, but finally he picked up. After fumbling around for a few seconds—probably still in bed himself—he mumbled, "I think you got the wrong number, Clarke."
"No, I don't." He understood why he thought that, though. It'd been about four or five months since she'd called him.
"You mean you actually wanna talk to me?" he said.
No. She didn't wanna be having this conversation at all. "Actually, I need to see you," she told him. "Are you at home?"
He groaned. "Yeah."
Well, there was no backing out now then, was there? He was at home, and it was Saturday, so she didn't have class or work. She had to do this. "Mind if I stop by?" she asked, feeling like she couldn't tell him over the phone. This was something they needed to talk about face-to-face.
Finn didn't seem too keen on the idea of her stopping by, but he sort of grumbled that it was okay as long as it was after lunch. Waiting a couple of hours was painstaking, to the point where she just got fed up with it and left her house at 11:30. She got to his place before noon, parked on the street, and walked up onto his porch. The doorbell didn't seem to work, so she knocked instead. No one came to answer the door, however, so she had to knock louder. Finally, it opened, and there on the other side was Atom.
"Whoa," he said, clearly surprised to see her there. "Hey, Clarke."
"Hey." She tried not to make a face and wrinkle her nose as she got a whiff of the inside but . . . good god, it smelled awful in there.
"You here to see Finn?" Atom asked.
"Yeah." She sure as hell wasn't there to see him or the other roommate, was she?
"Finn!" Atom yelled upstairs, leaving the door hanging open. He dragged himself through the living room and flopped down on the couch, where he and the other guy living there were getting high.
Finn trundled downstairs, at least looking a little more lively than the friends he lived with. "You wanna come upstairs?" he asked Clarke.
"No." If he thought she was there to fuck, then he was sorely mistaken.
"Let's go outside then." He came out onto the porch with her and shut the door.
"God, it reeks in there," she muttered.
"They like to get high," he said with a shrug. "So what? It's no big deal."
"It smells gross." She wasn't trying to be some saint up on her high horse or anything, but she'd just never wanted to engage in recreational drug use. Then again, she'd also had a mom who had lectured her repeatedly about the effects of drugs at a very young age.
"Whatever," Finn grunted, hopping up onto the porch railing. He sat with one leg up, the other dangling, and asked, "So how's what's-his-name?"
"Who? Bellamy?"
"Yeah, him. Is he keeping you . . . busy?"
God, she wished, but even if he had been, that wouldn't have been Finn's business. "No, it's not . . . it's not like that," she sputtered. "We're just . . ." She trailed off, thinking about how his hand had held hers yesterday through every second of that ultrasound.
"Friends?" Finn filled in. "If that's your story."
"What, are you, like, trying to slut-shame me or something?"
"No," he said. "You wanna fuck him, fuck him. Doesn't matter to me." Reaching into his pocket, he took out a cigarette and a lighter, neither of which she'd ever seen him walk around with before. He sparked it and took a few puffs.
"You smoke now?" she asked disappointedly, waving her hand in the air to try to clear away the smoke.
"Sometimes," he said. "You wanna try?" He took his cigarette out of his mouth and held it out for her.
Disgusting, she thought, although she took it from him anyway. She wasn't going to let her little raspberry be around any smoke, so she threw it down on the porch and snuffed it out with the toe of her shoe.
Finn rolled his eyes. "Why are you acting like such a bitch, Clarke?"
"Because you're acting like a jerk." He knew she hated secondhand smoke and the smell of weed and everything like that, so this was all really repulsive to her. "I came here to talk to you."
"About what?" he prompted.
"Not about Bellamy." She never planned on telling him that her ex-boyfriend had been the one to accompany her to her first ultrasound. That was just something he didn't need to know.
"What do you wanna talk about then?" he said, starting to sound impatient.
She ran her hands through her short hair, feeling the stress and anxiety start to pile on as she tried to ease her way into telling him. "I don't really know how to say this," she admitted.
"Just say it," he urged as he took another cigarette out of his pocket.
Oh, he wanted her to just say it, did he? Wanted her to just blurt it out? Well, then she wasn't gonna hold back. "I'm pregnant," she said as calmly as she could.
He fell silent, and the cigarette slipped from his hand. His face became very pale in an instant, and he got this look of fear in his eyes. "What?" he asked, clearly stunned. "You're . . ." He glanced down at her stomach, his eyes lingering there for a few seconds before he met hers again in disbelief. "What makes you think that?"
"I don't just think; I know," she corrected. "I'm pregnant. With your child."
Immediately, he shook his head. "No, you—you can't be," he stammered. "Did you take a test?"
"Yes. And I have an ultrasound to prove it." There was literally no doubt now. For that reason alone, she was almost glad she'd waited.
"But we—we haven't been together since . . ." He trailed off, clearly mulling it over.
"I'm two months along," she informed him. "Do the math, Finn."
Although he wasn't a math whiz, that math was within his capabilities. "How do I know it's mine?" he growled, sounding a bit angry now.
"Because I didn't sleep with anyone else." There was no doubt about that, either.
"Are you telling me the truth?"
"Yes!" What kind of question was that? Of course she was. "I wouldn't lie about this."
He rubbed his face with his hands, and she wondered if he was trying to conceal some tears. Standing up, he nearly shouted, "Why the hell would you just spring this on me?"
"I didn't know how to tell you," she confessed.
"How long have you known?"
She looked down at her feet, a bit ashamed that it'd taken her so long, and mumbled, "A couple weeks."
"A couple weeks?" he spat out. "Shit, Clarke. What am I supposed to . . ." He trailed off, some very clear and obvious tears in his eyes, and he just looked at her with complete panic on his face. "What're you gonna do?" he asked her.
She shifted uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"
"You know."
No. No. She didn't want to even go there. It was too heavy, too much for her, especially now that she'd had her first ultrasound.
She didn't even want to think about the question, but he actually went ahead and asked it: "Are you gonna have the baby?"
For a second, she felt like she couldn't breathe. "Yes, I'm gonna . . ." For some reason, maybe since they were in their twenties, she hadn't expected that question. "Yeah, I'm having this baby," she said shakily.
"Sorry," he said, "just had to ask."
Question answered then. She didn't ever want him to ask again. "We're gonna have to figure something out," she told him.
It seemed that he was doing some figuring all on his own, though—she could practically see the wheels of his very blindsided mind just spinning—and when his head shot up, he said, "What about adoption?"
For some reason, that made her touch her stomach.
"Think about it," he urged. "You know how many couples out there—married couples—wanna have a kid but can't? Lots of babies get adopted."
"And the ones who don't end up in foster care," she pointed out, dreading the thought. "Like you did."
Finn gulped, but he didn't say anything. Clarke didn't want to say any more about it, either, because his experience for the first eighteen years of his life had been . . . turbulent to say the least. He'd bounced around from home to home, never quite able to find a family. She didn't want that for her child. "I can't . . . I can't be pregnant for nine months just to give it up, Finn," she said. "I can't do that."
"Well, what're we gonna do then?" he demanded. "Because I'm not ready to be a dad."
"And you think I'm ready to be a mom?" she screeched. "I'm just as freaked out as you are." She was the one who actually had another living being growing inside her. She was the one whose body was going to change and who was going to have to give birth.
"But you just sprung this on me," he snapped.
"What, you think it was easy for me to sit in my bathroom all alone and take a pregnancy test?" Since they weren't together anymore, she had no other way to tell him other than to do it like this. It was going to be sprung no matter what. "You think I wasn't freaked out?"
"I think . . ." He pointed an accusatory finger at her and snarled, "I think you knew this was gonna happen."
"What?" Now he wasn't even making any sense.
"You wanted us to be together," he said, his voice lower now. "You were pissed I didn't wanna move in with you, so you hooked up with me that night on purpose. You probably weren't even on birth control, were you?"
She hadn't been, but that was just a mistake. "I was late with my shot . . ."
"See?"
"But I didn't plan anything. I didn't try to trap you," she fought back. "I didn't want this, either, but it happened, so we . . . we have to deal with it."
"How?"
"I don't know!" What did he expect, for her to have all the answers?
"Well, I gave you an idea," he reminded her, flapping his arms against his sides. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"I just . . . I guess I was just hoping I'd tell you, and you'd tell me everything's gonna be alright." She needed assurance right now, not anger.
"Well, it might not be."
She huffed, shocked that he couldn't manage to be even a little bit supportive or reassuring. "You know, I realize you just found out, but . . . this is really not what I need right now. This baby has a heartbeat, Finn. I heard it yesterday." She got teary-eyed just thinking about it. "It's there, and—and it wasn't just my fault. We did this together. We have to deal with it together."
"No, I can't—I can't deal with it," he decided, his shoulder knocking against hers as he walked around her and practically fled back into his house. She heard the door lock into place, a clear signal that she was supposed to stay out.
"Finn!" she yelled, but it was no use. He wasn't coming back out; they weren't going to keep talking about this. He'd pretty much just shut down the entire conversation, even though it was one they needed to have.
Feeling helpless, shoulders slumping in defeat, she stared at that closed door and tried not to cry. She hadn't necessarily expected a good reaction, and she certainly hadn't expected him to jump for joy or anything. But this had been . . . a lot. More than she'd been bracing herself for.
She thought about going home, but that just seemed lonely. She also thought about going to her mom's place, but since it was the weekend, she and Kane were probably out doing something. There was always Raven, whom she also still needed to tell, or Harper or even Lexa. Of course all three of them would react more favorably than Finn had, but after telling him, she really didn't feel like dropping the baby bombshell on anyone else today. Luckily for her, she had one friend who already knew.
Somehow, she managed to hold herself together as she drove over to Bellamy's. She didn't cry, even though Finn's words were still ringing in her head. She was actually pretty proud of herself for holding it together and being strong.
The door was open, so she just walked in and called, "Hello?" No response, but since his car was there, she felt confident that he would be. She stepped around a laundry basket in the hallway and made her way back to his room. "Bellamy?" she said, knocking on the door lightly as she opened it.
He was at his computer, watching a video, but he paused it when she came in. "Hey," he said.
"Hey. The door was unlocked, so I just came in. Hope you don't mind."
"No, that's fine." He spun his chair around and looked at her curiously.
"What're you doing?" she asked him.
"Oh, uh . . . watching construction videos on YouTube," he explained. "I wanna look like I know what the hell I'm doin' on Monday."
And I interrupted, she thought, feeling like a burden.
"What's up?" he asked her.
"Nothing. I just . . . I wanted to come see you." She made her way into his room, struck by the familiarity of it all. It looked almost exactly the same as it used to, except that he'd now pushed his bed over by the window, freeing up more space in the room. It was just a twin bed, so they'd always ended up being so scrunched up on it. She couldn't help but think about the fact that she'd lost her virginity in that bed as she sat down on it. "Do you remember how I used to fall asleep here?" she asked, running her hands over his bedspread.
"Yeah." He got out of his chair and came to sit down beside her. "Your parents got mad."
"They tried to ground me," she recalled.
"Didn't work."
"Nope." God, that'd been such a good year. She'd probably never been more rebellious, but she'd never been quite so carefree, either.
"Clarke."
She looked him right in the eye, seeing concern all over his face.
"Are you okay?" The way he asked the question made her feel . . . comfortable. So at ease. Like she could tell him anything. And that was probably why she'd wanted to see him.
"Not really," she admitted. "I, uh . . . I just talked to Finn. Went over to his place." Her bottom lip quivered with all the emotion that she'd been holding in while she'd driven over here. "I told him about the baby," she revealed. "It didn't really go so well."
Scooting a bit closer to her, Bellamy asked, "What'd he say?"
"Well . . . first he asked if it was his." She rolled her eyes. "And then he told me I should . . ." She couldn't say it. She just couldn't say those words right now. So she didn't. "Then he mentioned adoption, but I told him I don't think I can do that. And he said he thinks I did this on purpose. He didn't even believe me when I told him I didn't. I didn't plan anything."
"Don't worry, Clarke," he said, putting one hand on her back, rubbing it gently up and down her spine, "you don't have to convince anyone of that."
She snorted. "Well, apparently I have to convince him." If he thought that she'd been trying to trap him, then it was possible other people would, too. He could spread that rumor, and there would be people who believed him. "And when I tried to get him to calm down and help me deal with it, he just . . . he just ran away from me," she said, feeling the tears brimming, like a dam about to burst, "and he . . . I guess he doesn't wanna deal with it." She thought about where that left her, dealing with everything alone, and a giant sob just tore through her body, causing her whole torso to shake and crumple forward. She clamped one hand over her mouth, a pitiful attempt at holding her sadness in, but now that she was letting it out . . . there was no containing it.
Bellamy didn't hesitate to put his arms around her, both of them, and pull her in close to hug her. "Shh," he soothed, "it's okay." One hand held her tightly around the small of her back, and the other smoothed over her shuddering shoulders. His voice was a low whisper in her ear when he reassured her, "Everything's gonna be alright."
She really wasn't sure, though, if it would be. And there was no way he could be sure, either. In the back of her mind, she knew that everything was still very much up in the air, so she kept crying. But crying in Bellamy's arms made her feel just the slightest bit better.
...
Trying to resume watching the construction videos was pointless. Bellamy let a few of them play out, and he sat at his desk and sort of listened and sort of watched. But he found himself watching Clarke more than anything else. About half an hour ago, she'd lain down in his bed and fallen asleep. Crying seemed to have taken a lot out of her, so he'd pulled a blanket up over her and was content to just let her rest.
...
"Don't look yet." Clarke sounded so excited as she led Bellamy down the hallway. "Don't look."
"I'd rather just look at you anyway," he flirted, tempted to sneak a peek at her to see if that'd gotten her to blush. But she'd pounced on him in the parking lot and told him that she had a surprise for him, and he'd agreed to keep his eyes shut.
"Okay," she said as she slowed them to a stop, "you can look now."
He opened his eyes and found himself at his locker. "Whoa," he said, taking in the new look of it. It was usually just a plain old red thing, but now it had drawings on it and green and white balloons, and even a collage of some action shots of him that had ended up in the newspaper. There were bubble letters that spelled his name, Go Rockets, and his number. "It looks like a cheerleader threw up on my locker," he joked. "Look at all this school spirit."
"Do you like it?" she asked.
"Yeah, I do." It was a lot, but as he looked around at the other guys' lockers, he noticed that they all had decorations on them, too.
"Good, 'cause I put some work into this," she said. "Every cheerleader picked a player's locker, and I made sure I got yours."
He smirked when he spotted '#7 looks like he fell from heaven' at the bottom of the door. Catchy. "This stuff's cool, Clarke," he said. "Mine looks the best." He bent down and took a closer look at a drawing she'd done, sort of a caricature version of him and her. She had on her cheerleading outfit, he had on his jersey, and they were standing in the end zone, kissing. "This is good motivation right here," he said. "I win the game, I get this?"
"You win the game, you get more than that," she told him.
"Oh, now we're talking." He grabbed her waist, pulling her to him, and kissed her. She laughed against his lips. She sounded so happy.
...
Bellamy stared at the girl in his bed as the sound of her laughter rang out in his mind. He'd heard it yesterday, and a lot of times in high school. But not today. Today, he'd just heard sobs.
He really wished he could make her feel better.
There was no way he could take her mind off of everything she was dealing with—even right now, she was probably dreaming about it—but he felt like he could at least try to put a smile on her face. He abandoned the construction videos, exiting out of YouTube altogether, and he quietly got up and headed out to the kitchen.
Cooking wasn't exactly his forte, because really, only sex and football were his fortes; but he wasn't completely clueless in the kitchen, either. He wanted to try to make her some homemade macaroni and cheese, but he didn't trust that it would turn out tasting right. So he went ahead and made the stuff out of the box instead. Clarke loved macaroni and cheese. Whenever he'd taken her out to eat, no matter what the restaurant, she'd always checked the kids menu to see if it was offered, and whenever it was, she'd ordered it.
Because he put a little too much milk in, it ended up being a bit watery, so he let it thicken up for about ten minutes, then scooped an ample amount into a bowl and brought it into the bedroom. She was stirring when he walked in, rubbing her eyes before opening them. "Bellamy?" she said. "How long have I been asleep?"
"About an hour," he told her, shutting the door.
"Oh." She looked from side to side, and upon noticing that she was occupying all of his bed, she apologized, "I'm sorry," and sat up.
"No, you're fine." He sat down on the side of the mattress and held out the bowl for her. "Here, I made you some food. Your favorite."
He did get that smile out of her. Just the appreciative kind, but it was something. "Thanks," she said, taking the bowl from him. She dug the fork in, took a bite, and nodded her head in approval. "Very good," she said.
It looked good, and truth be told, he was kind of hungry himself. But if she wanted seconds, he'd go get her seconds. He'd made it for her. "Are your taste buds out of whack?" he inquired. "Are you craving anything yet?"
She shook her head as she swallowed another bite. "Not really craving, but . . . yeah, some of the things I normally eat don't sound very good right now. But macaroni still does."
"What about pizza?" She liked that, too.
Shrugging, she replied, "Sounds okay."
Just okay? That was a change. "Burgers?" he asked.
"Meh."
"Tacos?"
"No," she said emphatically.
"No?" He remembered her devouring his mom's tacos one time, and insisting they stop at Taco Bell on the way home from prom.
"No," she repeated. "That's sad, isn't it? Even tacos sound gross right now."
"Man, that's gotta feel weird." He couldn't imagine having things that had once smelled and tasted so good sounding disgusting now. But it wasn't like she really had a choice. Her body was going to do what it was going to do.
"It all feels weird," she said, lowering her head, staring almost forlornly at . . . nothing. Not the food in front of her, not the blanket on her lap. Not him. She looked . . . kind of lost. And he hated seeing her look that way.
Clarke did polish off that bowl of macaroni, but she wasn't hungry enough for another one. He went out to the kitchen and ate the rest of himself, and then he went ahead and did the dishes so his mom could just try to relax when she got home. Although it wasn't like he was doing anything strenuous, he walked back into his bedroom feeling like . . . like he just wanted to lie down, too. Like he just wanted to lie down with Clarke, who had turned over on her side and fallen back asleep, right there in his bed with his Baltimore Ravens blanket draped over her.
Maybe I shouldn't, he pondered as he neared the edge of the bed. Clarke had made it clear that they could only be friends right now, and he'd agreed to it. He really did want to respect her decision, but . . . he also wanted to be there for her, because he felt like she needed him.
Carefully, he lay down on the bed, moving in close behind her, spooning his body against hers. He lifted the blanket up enough to get underneath it, and though she stirred a little bit, she didn't wake up. When he slipped one arm underneath her head and draped the other over her waist, her body didn't tense up in the slightest. It stayed perfectly calm and relaxed, her breathing steady. She kept sleeping, and he closed his eyes so he could just lie there with her, completely still and perfectly content with his ex-girlfriend in his arms.
