Chapter 13
Even though she was dead on her feet, Clarke tried to perk herself up for work. When she walked into the bar, someone chirped, "Hey, Clarke," and she said, "Hey," in response without even looking to see who it was. Probably somebody from class. Or a former class. Or somebody from her LGBTQ+ group. God, they had a meeting this week, didn't they? She didn't have the energy for that.
Despite how lethargic she was, there was one thing—or rather person—who managed to wake her up a little bit. And he was sitting in the same booth she'd grown accustomed to finding him in, not too far away from the bar. He'd become a regular.
"You look tired," Bellamy said as she approached.
"I am." All the apps she'd downloaded said it was perfectly normal to have less energy at this point in the pregnancy. That coupled with the fact that she couldn't drink any caffeine was wearing on her. She wasn't much of a soda drinker, but coffee used to be part of her morning routine. "It doesn't seem to matter how much sleep I get. I just have no energy," she groaned. "And I'm waking up and peeing every couple hours. It's awful."
"You didn't wake up when you were lying in bed with me," he pointed out.
"Well, I was extra comfy." Slipping into the back room for a moment, she popped open her locker, stashed her keys inside, and tied her apron around her waist. She checked to make sure her order pad and a pen were in it, then lumbered back out into the bar. "So what've you been up to?" she asked him, heading behind the counter to grab him another can of beer.
"Not much," he said. "Went to work today."
"Oh, yeah? How'd that go?"
"Well, I didn't break anything or injure anyone, so I'd say I did alright."
She laughed, popping open the tab on the new can before she handed it to him. As she loomed over his table, though, she noticed that someone else appeared to be sitting with him. There was a nearly empty Budweiser bottle and a bowl with some pretzels in it. And on the seat of the booth was . . . a woman's purse. "Oh, are you . . . here with someone?" she asked, trying to keep any hints of jealousy out of her voice.
"No," he said. "This girl from high school came in, sat down and started talkin' to me. She's in the bathroom now."
So he hadn't shown up with someone, but someone had shown up and spotted him. Interesting. "Which girl?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too nosy.
"Roma," he answered.
"Roma." She let that name roll over her tongue, and it sounded familiar right away. "The girl you lost your virginity to?"
Before Bellamy could answer, out of the bathroom came a tall, confident brunette. "That's me," she declared. "His freshman year. He got into his first game, ran for the winning touchdown, and I knew I had to have him. So I did." She walked around Clarke and slid into the booth, downing the rest of her drink in one big gulp.
"Clarke, Roma. Roma, Clarke," Bellamy introduced them quickly.
"Hey," Roma said with a slight head nod. She didn't seem interested in Clarke at all, though—why would she be?—because she immediately said to Bellamy, "So how much do you remember about that night?"
"Oh, it's all kind of a blur," he admitted. "I remember partying after the game, gettin' pretty wasted, feelin' you up."
"Once we started fucking, you didn't last very long," Roma told him.
"I was fourteen," he reminded her.
"It's okay. You got better." She grinned at him, as if she'd been the one to teach him.
Just like he taught me, Clarke thought, feeling very out of place, almost like she was interrupting something. Bellamy and Roma had had a connection once. Maybe not as intense or long-lasting of a connection as she'd had with him, but still . . . it was there. And maybe he wanted to explore it again. "Well, you guys probably have some catching up to do," she said, awkwardly backing away from the table, "so I'll leave you to it."
"Oh, hey, could you bring me another one?" Roma asked, holding up her now empty bottle.
I have to wait on her? Clarke thought, cringing inwardly. "Sure," she said, forcing a friendly smile as she took the bottle from her. She headed back behind the counter, tossed it, and took her sweet time getting her another. First she wiped down the counter. Then she did a little rearranging in the beer fridge. It wasn't a mess or anything, but she figured things could be alphabetized and they'd be a lot easier to find. Plus, keeping busy with that gave her a chance to eavesdrop on Bellamy's conversation with his first ever fuck friend.
"So what've you been up to?" Roma asked. "Besides looking so good."
Clarke rolled her eyes, hoping she didn't sound so desperate when she flirted with Bellamy.
"Nothing much," he answered. "Just traveling."
Roma grunted. "That's a hell of a lot more than what I've done."
"What did you do?"
Please be boring, Clarke thought as she moved Corona onto the other side of Busch. Or unimpressive. She could settle for something unimpressive.
"Got knocked up," Roma blurted. "Had a kid."
Clarke's eyes bulged. Bellamy's must have been doing the same, because he sounded surprised when he said, "Oh, really?"
Well, that definitely wasn't boring. But it wasn't it wasn't, like, tempting, either.
"Yeah. He's five years old now," Roma said. "I'm supposed to be at his soccer game right now, but fuck that. I hate soccer."
Clarke frowned, feeling sorry for her son. Yeah, a lot of people hated soccer, but if her kid was playing . . . what kind of mom would just bail on him like that?
"My mom went to all my football games, even when I was little," Bellamy said, and Clarke couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard a little bite of judgment in his tone.
"Well, your mom's a saint," Roma said. "It's torture. Nobody ever scores, you get bleacher butt, and it's just an all-around miserable time."
And you're an all-around miserable date, Clarke thought, finally giving up on the fridge long enough to take a bottle opener to Roma's beer and bring it over to her. "Here you go," she said, noting the tension in Bellamy's shoulders. He didn't want to be sitting there with her right now. There would be no reconnecting with him and Roma, physical or otherwise. What a relief.
"Thanks," Roma said. She took a drink, a big one, then said, "Do yourself a favor, Bellamy. You, too, Claire."
"Clarke," she corrected.
"Never have kids," Roma advised emphatically. "They drain the life out of you."
Clarke shot Bellamy a look, and he shot one right back up at her. Neither one of them said anything about it, and Roma didn't seem to notice.
For the next half an hour, Clarke tried to focus on the other customers. It was just her and her boss on duty, and Monday nights were actually pretty crowded. It was more of the work crowd instead of college kids, older men who liked to stop and have a drink before heading home for the night. One of them decided he had the right to slap Clarke's ass, so she turned around, grabbed his hand, and told him if he ever did that again, she'd rip his dick off and throw it in the ocean. He apologized, and she didn't anticipate having any issues with him again. This was the kind of job where you had to have a zero tolerance policy with guys like that, not let them get away with anything, otherwise they'd just keep doing it.
Finally, Roma got up to leave. Bellamy walked her out to her car, and Clarke watched through the window as they said goodbye. She wasn't a body language expert by any means, but it sort of looked like Roma was sending some signals, perhaps asking if he wanted to come over for a while after she went and picked up her son. Whatever she was saying, Bellamy was shaking his head and shrugging, probably trying to let her down easy. They didn't hug goodbye. Roma just ended up getting in her car and driving off. But Bellamy came back inside and came right up to the bar.
"So . . ." she said. "That was Roma."
"Yep." He sat down on a stool and leaned forward, elbows on the counter as he raked his hands through his messy hair. "She's a lot different than I remember her."
"Hmm. No offense to her or anything, but . . . I hope I don't become like her when I'm a mom," Clarke said. "I'd rather be supportive and involved, like your mom."
"You will be," he predicted.
"You sound so sure of that."
"Well, I am sure." His eyes stared straight into hers, and he said, "You'll make your son or daughter feel really special. I know that."
"And how do you know?" Personally, she only knew what she was hoping for, not what would actually be.
When he responded with an ultra-serious, "Because you made me feel that way," she nearly lost her balance and stumbled backward. So often when she thought about their past, she thought about how he'd made her feel, because that was what she'd experienced. But he'd felt things, too. And it seemed like he still did.
...
Clarke had to hand it to Bellamy: He seemed determined to keep kissing her, even though her hands had found their way to his zipper. She tugged down, reaching inside to handle him through his underwear. His cock was, like, throbbing or something. Like it needed attention.
Moving down on the bed, she kissed a path on his chest, in between his pecks and over his abs. When she got down to his groin, she stopped, sat up, and pulled his pants down. He helped by pulling his legs out of them, and she was so impatient to get him in her mouth that all she did was peel down the waistband of his boxer briefs so his cock could spring free. Gripping the base of it in her hand, she lowered her head, engulfing as much of him as she could right from the start.
"Yeah . . ." he groaned as his hips bucked off the bed. He kept them down after that, though, seemingly content to let her take control of this and do whatever she wanted to him. Really, all she wanted to do was make him feel good.
She bobbed her head up and down his length, thoroughly coating him in her saliva. The musky, masculine scent of him filled her nose, and the taste of his pre-cum dribbled down the back of her throat.
"Oh, fuck yeah," he ground out, reaching down to tangle his hand in her hair. It must have been hard for him not to move her head up and down, because he was pretty used to being in control. But what she liked about Bellamy was that he didn't mind relinquishing some of the control, either. And now that she was feeling more confident in the bedroom, more experienced, she didn't mind taking it.
"Shit, Clarke," he swore, and when she sneaked a peek up at him, his head was pressed back hard into the pillow, eyes shut, his Adam's apple bobbing.
Releasing him from her mouth with a loud pop, she teasingly asked, "Are you gonna cum or what?"
He looked down at her through hooded eyes and said, "Yeah, I'm gonna cum. Keep goin'."
Already prepping herself for an onslaught of semen in her mouth—she was going to swallow this time—she resumed sucking on him, applying some pressure with her mouth and with her hand at the base of his length. Every squeeze or suction made him grunt or groan, and his voice was so low and sexy that it really tuned her on. With her free hand, she reached down to rub her pussy through her leggings.
"Oh fuck," he said again. "Oh . . ." He squeezed his eyes shut and almost grimaced as he came right into her mouth, almost as if it were painful even though it was pleasurable. She stilled her head and let him coat her mouth, her throat, her tongue. It was warm, sticky, and sort of salty tasting. Definitely an acquired taste, but the more she did this, the more she was acquiring it.
It got a little sloppy as she tried to lift her head. Some of his cum seeped out the sides of her mouth, and she wasn't able to get it all off his cock. First, she swallowed what she had, then she carefully licked at the underside of his cock, then the tip, and finally, his stomach, cleaning up anything that had spilled there. She didn't want to leave a drop. Whenever he went down on her, he always seemed disappointed there wasn't more of her to taste when she came.
Slowly slithering back up his chest, she smiled at him, enjoying the dazed look on his face. "You're gettin' so good at that," he told her.
"Practice makes perfect." She straddled his stomach, bending down to murmur against his lips, "But I think I should practice some more."
"Fine by me." They kissed, and Clarke wondered if Bellamy could taste himself on her lips. His tongue darted out to brush against hers, and she felt like he had to taste that. How could he not?
When he pulled back, he was surprisingly soft with her as he tucked her hair behind her ear and ran his thumb over her cheek. "I'm havin' so much fun, you know that?"
"Me, too." It wasn't going to be fun when she broke curfew tonight, but oh, well. Her parents were already mad at her for losing her virginity—well, mostly her mom was—so it really didn't matter if they got mad about smaller things, too.
As nice as it would have been to just keep fooling around with him, in the back of her mind was a to-do list of things she needed to accomplish tonight, and at the top was world history. "Ugh, I have a test tomorrow," she lamented, "and I really need to study." She repositioned herself so that she was sideways, halfway dangling off the bed so she could reach down into her backpack and search around for her notebook.
"No, let's keep having fun," he said, smoothing his large hands over the curve of her ass.
"You can quiz me," she said, pulling out a blue spiral notebook. "And every time I get one right, I get a kiss." She flipped to the right page and handed him her notes, hoping he'd be generous with where he kissed her.
"Okay, that does sound kind of fun," he admitted.
"Right?" She reached down and pulled his underwear up over his now limp cock, just so she didn't have any unnecessary distractions, then settled in beside him. "Just give me the definition and I'll say the term."
First he held her notebook close, squinting at what she'd written. Then he held his arms all the way out so that it was farther away. Again, he squinted.
"What?" she said. "Is my handwriting that sloppy?"
"No, it's . . ." He set her notebook down on his stomach and grumbled, "I can't read."
Maybe that explained the thick, dark-rimmed glasses on his nightstand then. She reached over, grabbed the glasses, and put them on him. "Better?" she asked, taking a moment to appreciate how cute and nerdy he looked. So very different from the stud on the football field.
"No," he said without even trying to make out her notes again.
"No?"
He sighed frustratedly and took the glasses off. "It's not my eyesight, Clarke; it's . . . I just can't read very well."
"What do you mean?" He'd said stuff about reading before, but just barely.
"It's stupid," he mumbled, sliding out of bed. "I don't wanna talk about it." He even grabbed his jeans off the floor and stepped back into them.
"Whoa, Bellamy." She sat up, not sure what was happening here. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He picked up her notebook again, took one quick glance at it, and shrugged. "Look, I just can't read, okay? It takes me forever. The fuckin' letters get all scrambled up when I look at 'em. They look backwards and out of place and . . ." He trailed off, tossing her notes onto the foot of the bed as if he were mad at them. "It just sucks."
What he'd just described definitely sounded familiar. And not all that uncommon. "What, like . . . dyslexia?" she asked unsurely. Maybe it was something he'd been diagnosed with, but maybe not.
That look on his face was so unlike Bellamy. He looked . . . resigned. Maybe even a little embarrassed. She was so used to Bellamy being confident and sure of himself that seeing him look anything but was kind of head-spinning.
"That's okay," she said, climbing out of bed. "Lots of people have dyslexia."
"Lots of dumb people," he muttered.
"No. Walt Disney and Picasso and even Albert Einstein."
He gave her a confused look, like he didn't understand how she knew that stuff.
"I did a project over this in fifth grade," she explained. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Bellamy."
"Yeah, well, I don't really talk about it." He wouldn't even look at her. Instead, he kept looking off to the side.
"You can talk to me," she told him. She wasn't just here to give him blow-jobs. She could be here for other stuff, too.
It took him a minute of contemplation, but finally, he did start talking. And he looked at her as the words left his mouth. "I almost got held back in second grade because my reading was so bad," he admitted. "They had me on an IEP until middle school. Then my mom got me off it 'cause I didn't want people to know anything was harder for me. And I still don't, so don't tell anyone."
"I won't," she promised. It was nobody else's business, probably not even really hers.
"People just think my grades suck because I'm too busy with football and girls," he said. "Which is kind of true, but . . . hell, even if I studied, they still wouldn't go up."
"You do study, though," she pointed out. "Monty tutors you."
"Yeah, so I can stay eligible." He exhaled heavily and shook his head. "It just sucks, you know, 'cause I really like history. Sometimes I think that's what I want my major to be. But I hate reading about it, 'cause it takes me forever. So pretty much everything I've learned, I've learned from videos."
"There's nothing wrong with that." She tried to reach for his hand, but he pulled it away.
"It just kinda makes me feel like a dumbass."
It broke her heart to hear him say that about himself. "Bellamy, you are not dumb," she told him. "And so what if reading's not your strong point? There's a lot of other stuff you can do that other people can't."
He snorted. "Throw a football."
"No, it's more than that." Sure, his athleticism was a skill, but he had plenty of other skills, too. "You're not just the quarterback; you're the leader. People look up to you. They listen to you. They wanna be like you. Think of Jasper."
"Oh, that kid . . ." He shook his head. "He doesn't know which way's up."
"Yet you befriended him anyway." Now that they'd started their own lunch table, things were kind of rearranging in the cafeteria, with Miller and Raven and Zeke of course coming to sit with them, but the other day, Bellamy had invited this scrawny freshman to sit with them, too. Apparently he'd convinced him to join the football team.
"So what you're saying is, I might not be able to read for shit, but I'm still a decent guy?" he summarized.
She reached for his hands again, and this time, he let her take them. "You're a good guy," she told him. "And a good boyfriend." As soon as that word left her mouth, she felt like she'd screwed up. This thing between them, whatever it was . . . she'd been very conscious about not referring to him as her boyfriend to anyone. Let alone to him. "Sorry," she apologized. "I know we said we weren't gonna attach any labels to this."
He could have freaked out on her, and some guys might have. But much to her relief, he just smiled at her, intertwined their fingers, and said, "You're a good girlfriend, too."
Her knees got all weak when she heard that word. Girlfriend? He'd never called her that before.
It wasn't something they needed to make a big deal out of, so she tried to play it cool and just stood up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. Any insecurities he'd had about his dyslexia seemed to vanish the instant their lips met, and he was back to being the same old Bellamy again. Back to being . . . her boyfriend.
...
Charmaine Diyoza was a blessing of a boss. She noticed that Clarke was dragging and let her leave early. It was still 9:30 before she got out of there, but hey, that was an hour and a half earlier than when she usually got to head home. She'd take it.
Even though she had no energy and just wanted to go home and crash and fall asleep, Clarke had done some thinking today about what her next steps needed to be. At this point, all the most important people in her life knew . . . except for her parents. Her dad was going to have to find out by phone, unless he spontaneously and miraculously decided he wanted to come pay her a visit. But her mom . . . that was a conversation that needed to happen face to face, and it needed to happen sooner rather than later. Now that Finn knew, there was no telling who he'd let it on it. If word started to spread and her mom found out from someone else instead of directly from her, that'd be awful.
Instead of going home, she went to her mother's house. She used her key to let herself in, and she both saw light and heard voices in the living room. As it turned out, her mom and Kane were cuddling on the couch, watching some cheesy movie on the huge flat-screen mounted on the wall. Kane was the first one to notice her. He looked over his shoulder and said, "Oh, hi, Clarke. Didn't hear you come in."
"I was quiet," she said, sitting down on the arm of the couch.
"What're you doing here, sweetie?" her mom asked. "It's late."
"I know. I just got off work, and . . ." She let out a nervous shy, trying not to lose her resolve. "I thought I'd come see you guys."
"Oh, well, here, sit down," her mom said, patting the couch.
Slowly, Clarke slid down from the arm of the couch onto the cushion.
"We were just watching this Hallmark movie," her mom said. "It's not very good."
"They never are," Kane mumbled.
"I think you like them more than you let on," her mom teased him.
"I only watch them because I know you like them."
Her mother smiled sheepishly. "I do. I do like them. I try not to, but it's just so nice knowing it'll have a happy ending."
Yeah, Clarke thought, envious of the obnoxiously sweet couple on the screen. That would be nice. Whoever these characters were, they were kissing in the park now, and it was raining and looked all romantic.
"What did we watch on Netflix the other day?" her mother asked Kane, distracted from the movie now. "Oh, what was it called?"
"I can't remember," he said.
"Well, anyway, I thought it was gonna be a sweet romance. Turns out, it was this tragedy."
Like my life, Clarke thought dismally. That was probably over-dramatic as fuck, because there were plenty of people who were a lot worse off than her. But seriously, what kind of cruel twist of fate was it that her first ex-boyfriend finally came back into town not long after her second ex-boyfriend had gotten her pregnant?
"I need to tell you guys something," she said quietly, hoping she'd feel better and lighter once the big secret was out.
"Was it called Let Me In?" her mom asked Kane, apparently not hearing her."Leave Me Be? I can't remember."
"Mom . . ." Clarke really needed her to focus here.
"Maybe it didn't even start with an L. I don't know."
"Mom, I'm pregnant," she blurted, knowing that would get her attention.
And it did. Her mother's head whipped towards her, a sharp look on her face, panic in her eyes. "What?" she spat.
You heard me, Clarke thought. No need to say it again.
Her mother stared at her in shock, and all she could manage was, "Clarke . . ." Her bottom lip quivered, and tears immediately filled her eyes.
"I'm in my ninth week now," Clarke informed her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just didn't know how."
Her mom threw her hands up in the air. "I knew it. I knew this would happen. Bellamy Blake comes back to town, and you end up pregnant."
"Mom, Bellamy hasn't been back that long," she pointed out.
"Then—then who's the father?" she sputtered, sounding horrified now. "Do you know?"
"Yeah." At least she had that much figured out. "It's Finn."
"Finn?" her mom echoed, wrinkling her forehead as she tried to puzzle it out. "But I thought you broke up with him. I . . ." She stopped abruptly as the pieces connected in her head. "Oh. I see."
That was, like, everyone's reaction, it seemed. Assume it was Bellamy, then be confused as to how it could be Finn when they were no longer together. Then be upset, but try not to show it.
"I'm so sorry," Clarke apologized, knowing this had to come as a major disappointment.
"You don't have to apologize," Kane piped up.
"Yes, she does," her mother snapped, taking on quite a different tone. "Clarke, how could you be so irresponsible? How could you let this happen? Weren't you still getting the shot?"
"Yeah, but I spaced it and-"
"You can't do that!" her mom yelled. "How many times did I tell you there can't be any lapses?"
"I know. I know you did." She blinked back tears, feeling like such an idiot. It really had been irresponsible. She should have known better.
"And condoms . . ."
"Yeah, you told me about that, too." Most of the time, she and Finn had used condoms, just to be extra cautious, but he'd always hated it. "I was careless," she acknowledged.
"Why? Why after all the talks we had about being careful would you . . ." Her mom looked like she was about to pull her hair out as she shot to her feet. "I don't understand!"
There wasn't an explanation, not one that would make a whole lot of sense. It'd just been one night, and she'd been drunk and lonely, and Finn had just been there, and . . . "Look, I didn't mean for this to happen," she said, her voice shaky. "And Finn's already reacted badly enough, so I just really need you to support me right now."
"But what does this mean for you?" her mom asked, pacing around in front of her now, looking completely frazzled. "You're supposed to be going to med school next fall and . . . how are you gonna do that with a baby? And is Finn gonna help you, or are you on your own?"
"I don't know. I don't know, Mom." That was all too much to think about right now. "I'm just trying to take it day by day." Right now, her priority was getting this damn paternity test done so Finn could shut up about all his doubts.
"Abby," Kane said, his voice soft and calm, probably the same tone he took when mentoring one of his troubled youth, "I think what Clarke needs-"
"No, I need a little space," she said. "I—I'm sorry, I just can't . . ." Crying, she ran up the stairs, and Clarke heard her bedroom door open and then slam shut. Even with the movie still playing on their huge TV, she could hear her mom just wailing. Sobbing. Bawling.
"I'll go talk to her," Kane said, getting up. He gave Clarke's shoulder a supportive squeeze and said, "Congratulations, kiddo," before he went upstairs after Abby.
Yeah, congratulations, she thought bitterly. During the ultrasound, things actually managed to feel congratulatory, but during moments like these, it felt anything but.
She had a feeling it was going to take Kane a while to talk her mom down from her hysteria, and she didn't really want to just sit there and wait around. She felt way too close to crying her own eyes out, so she decided it was best to just leave without saying goodbye.
