Chapter 33
Although it was nighttime and he was tired, Bellamy wasn't intimidated by the prospect of spending hours driving. And according to Google Maps, it would take hours to get where they were going. Probably about seven. More if he ran into construction or shit like that.
Clarke tilted the passenger's seat back as far as it would go, curled up with her full-body pillow as well as she could, and went to sleep pretty early in the drive; so Bellamy turned the radio on low and used that to keep himself awake since he couldn't engage in any conversation with her. After only an hour on the road, she woke up and said she had to go to the bathroom. So he pulled off at the next gas station and filled up the gas tank while she did her typical nightly business in an atypical location. When she came back out, she made sure he knew in explicit detail just how disgusting that bathroom had been, and then she fell back asleep almost as soon as they got back on the road.
Only three hours into the drive, Bellamy really started feeling the effects of the exhaustion. And it got worse when he ended up in a bit of a traffic jam. He'd expected hardly anyone to be out traveling on Christmas night, but there were cars lined up as far as his eye could see. Apparently there had been an accident, and that had both sides of the interstate at a stand-still. At one point, he'd gone so long without even inching forward a bit that he ended up falling asleep right there in the driver's seat. Another passenger had to get out and come knock on his window to jolt him awake again.
Time for an energy drink, he decided as he slowly drove forward, making slow progress until he was past the wreckage. Once he was zooming again, he zoomed straight to the next gas station. Clarke woke up when they got there, trudged inside to the bathroom, and Bellamy went in and got a couple of Red Bulls so he could finish his drive.
Seven hours ended up being a joke once he finally got them to their destination. It'd been nine, easily. But some of that had been because of the gas station stops, and the traffic, and . . . oh, well, it didn't really matter, because even though it'd taken longer than expected and the sun was actually up already, they were there now, and that was all that mattered.
"Mmm, Bellamy, stop," Clarke moaned sleepily as he pulled into a parking spot outside their hotel. "We have to stop. I have to go pee again."
"Actually, that's perfect timing," he told her, "because we're here."
"Really?" She opened her eyes, squinted against the daylight coming in through the window, and looked around the parking lot and at the large Best Western building in front of them. "Where is here, exactly?" she asked him.
"Wilmington, North Carolina," he replied.
"Oh my god." She sat up straighter, suddenly alert. "That's where they filmed One Tree Hill. Am I meeting the One Tree Hill cast?"
He laughed at her sudden enthusiasm for the place. "No. But we can go to some of the places where they filmed stuff, like the school and the bridge and . . ." He realized he was giving away way too much about his own television viewing habits, so he mumbled, "Wherever else they filmed. I don't know, I've never watched that show."
She quirked a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
"Really."
"Then how do you know about the bridge?"
"Every show has a bridge." He got out of the car and hustled around to her side to help her out as well.
"So not that I'm complaining," she said, "but what made you decide to take me here?"
"Well, my mom and I stopped here on the way down to one of my college visits," he explained. "Might've been the UCF one. I thought it was cool, always wanted to come back."
She looked around some more and remarked, "Seems nice."
"You've barely even seen any of it yet," he pointed out.
"But I'm sure I'm going to."
Putting his hand on the small of her back, he led her towards the entrance of the hotel so they could check themselves into their room. "Yes, you are." He'd done his research on this place, so he had a lot of things planned for them to do. Plus all the sex.
...
Apparently the Wilmington Riverwalk was a must do. Clarke had never actually been one for hiking, but it wasn't like they were going up in the mountains or anything. All they literally had to do was walk along the river. One of the front desk attendants at the hotel said that it was 1.75 miles long. Bellamy asked her if she could handle that, and she reminded him that pregnant women needed exercise, too.
Walking alongside the river hand-in-hand with her boyfriend made Clarke feel all mushy and romantic. The scenery was beautiful, and even though they had to wear coats and hats, it wasn't so chilly that the weather was uncomfortable. It was just a nice, leisurely stroll. It made her feel carefree. Until she saw the iconic "Naley bench" from One Tree Hill, which she most certainly cared about. She made Bellamy sit down on that bench with her, and they had someone take a picture on her phone. Of course, Bellamy acted like he didn't know what scene he was talking about, or who the characters even were, but it was so obvious at this point that he'd at least seen the whole first season.
Along the Riverwalk were so many local boutiques, souvenir shops, and other places they were able to stop in and visit. They didn't really buy anything, but it was fun to look around. Clarke was particularly interested in the candy store. There were free samples of some things there, and she enjoyed taste-testing them.
Towards the end of the walk, her stomach started to growl to signal her hunger, and they sat down at a café to grab lunch. While they waited for their food, Clarke went through two full glasses of water. The Riverwalk had been more exercise than she was used to these days.
"Here you go," the waitress said as she poured Clarke yet another glass.
"Just what you need," Bellamy said sarcastically. "Now you can get up and pee every half hour tonight."
"I'm thirsty, okay?" she said.
Smirking, Bellamy said, "Oh, I know." And he definitely meant thirsty in a horny way.
The waitress laughed at their banter, then said to Clarke, "Congratulations, by the way."
"Oh, thank you." At this point, she'd just accepted the fact that her pregnancy was . . . obvious. She just kept getting bigger.
"Are you guys from around here," the waitress asked, "or just having a romantic getaway?"
"A getaway," Clarke replied. "This guy here surprised me."
"I'm full of surprises," Bellamy said.
"That's sweet," the waitress said, "and a good idea to take a vacation before the baby's born. Because once it is . . . well, I had a baby last year, and let's just say, my husband and I can barely find any time to ourselves anymore."
Clarke looked across the table at Bellamy, dreading the thought of not having enough . . . private time with him. Sex with him was the only thing keeping her sane during this pregnancy, and it would probably be something to keep her sane after it, too. But if there wasn't enough time for it, then that would be awful. Just awful.
When their food showed up, Clarke ate fast, partially because she always ate fast these days, and partially because she wanted to head back to the hotel room with Bellamy to . . . utilize their time productively. He must have still been exhausted, the poor guy, functioning on such little sleep these past few days, but he still climbed into bed with her and made her feel amazing. Numerous times. And in numerous positions, too, because they were getting to the point where they were having to get more creative.
Lying on her side, facing her lover after another incredible orgasm, Clarke thought back to the troubling thing that waitress had said. She desperately didn't want her sex life with Bellamy to take a major hit like that, so she said, "We're always gonna make time for this, right?"
"Of course," he said, rubbing his hands all over her body—her arms, her sides, her ass. He liked to keep touching her, even when they were just basking in the afterglow like this.
"But that waitress was right," she reluctantly admitted. "It's not gonna be easy. We're gonna be so busy and exhausted."
"Well, we'll just have to cut back on the foreplay."
"But I love the foreplay," she protested.
"I know, but sometimes you gotta just get to the point."
"I guess." She'd never exactly said no to a quickie with Bellamy, either. But days like this where they could just spend hours together in bed . . . they were so nice, and she didn't want to give them up completely. "Just promise me we'll still do this," she said.
"Oh, I promise." Smoothing his hands up and down her back, he said, "Don't worry, I could never stop having sex with you."
"Except for when you did. For five years," she pointed out.
"Yeah, but that was miserable."
"Oh, yeah, right," she scoffed. "You had sex with plenty of other women."
"But it didn't even compare," he said. "Didn't even compare to being with you."
Damn, he was good. He always knew how to take something she'd said and turn it around as a compliment to her. And it totally turned her on. She had a major praise kink, so anytime Bellamy said anything to flatter her performance in the sack, it sent tingles through her body. "God, Bellamy, you're such a smooth talker," she said, clamoring to get on top of him so they could do it again.
...
Bellamy had to play it cool on the day he and Clarke decided to go visit the bridge from the opening credits of that damn TV show. But it was kind of hard to. Being right there in that spot where that kid bounced the basketball across the bridge . . . it was kind of awesome.
"Okay, imagine how amazing it would be living in this town back when they were actually filming One Tree Hill, though," Clarke said as she walked along the bridge. "And just seeing the cast out and about. Like, 'Oh, hey, James Lafferty.' He was my favorite."
"Why are you so into this show?" Bellamy said, continuing to downplay his own interest. "Basketball's stupid."
"How do you know it's a basketball show, huh?"
"Because I've . . ." Damn. Caught again. ". . . never seen it," he lied.
"Just admit it: You've watched it and you like it."
At this point, it was pretty fucking obvious, so he decided to own up just a little bit. "I only watched it 'cause the girls are hot," he said. "But it'd be better if it was about football."
"It was about relationships," she said, ambling towards him. "That's what all the best stories are about. Sports are just the backdrop."
Yeah, she was probably right. Hearing her say that made him think about his own high school experience as a student athlete—well, more like athlete student in his case. "What if somebody made a teen soap opera about our relationship?" he said.
"Oh god. Episode 1: Clarke Loses Her V-Card."
"People would watch that. We might be onto something here."
"TV shows need lots of drama, though," she pointed out.
He gave her a look. "Oh, Clarke, we had some drama."
...
Getting Clarke out of his truck wasn't easy. Getting her into the house wasn't any easier. Getting her to stay quiet? Impossible.
"Hey, this is my house!" she exclaimed as she stumbled forward with his assistance.
"Shh," he whispered. "We don't wanna wake up your mom."
"Too late for that." A lamp in the living room flicked on, and there was Abby, sitting in Jake's chair. But Jake was away for work. Which sucked, to be honest, because confronting him right now would have been less intimidating than confronting his wife.
"Hi, Mrs. Griffin," Bellamy said, practically holding Clarke up.
Glaring at him, she noted, "It's 1:30. You said you'd have her home two hours ago."
"I know. I'm sorry," he apologized. "We lost track of time."
Slowly, Abby rose from the chair, surveying her daughter. "Is she drunk?" It was a question that didn't even need to be asked.
"No," Bellamy lied feebly.
"I'm not drunk, Mom," Clarke said, pulling her arm away from Bellamy's grasp. "But . . ." She started to wobble, held her hand to her head, and groaned, "Oh, I need to sit down." She flopped down on the couch, tipped over on her side, and closed her eyes.
"I didn't let her out of my sight," Bellamy promised. The party had gotten kind of wild, but he'd kept an eye on her at all times. "I took care of her."
"Is that what you call this?" Abby spat. "Look at her."
He did, and he had to admit . . . it looked bad. Clarke was completely wasted. She'd wake up tomorrow with a massive hangover, and she'd be sick and throwing up.
"Do you really expect me to put up with this?" Abby yelled.
"No." He understood why she was upset. Really, he did. And he actually kind of felt bad for letting Clarke get this drunk. It was just . . . she'd been having such a good time.
Abby crossed her arms over her chest and sternly asked, "What about you? Have you been drinking?"
"I'm not drunk," he insisted.
"That's not what I'm asking. Did you have something to drink and then get behind the wheel with my daughter in the car?"
He wanted to lie, but if she sensed that he was lying, then it'd be even worse. Trying an honest tactic, he admitted, "Yes."
She shook her head angrily.
"But I only had one drink," he assured her. He could handle one drink easily. "I know you don't believe me, but . . ."
"You're right, I don't believe you," she growled. "And I won't allow this."
What did she mean? She wouldn't allow . . .
"Go home, Bellamy," she ordered. "And don't bother coming back."
He just stood there for a second, like a deer caught in the headlights. She didn't want him coming back . . . tomorrow? For the rest of the week?
Ever?
He wished Clarke was coherent enough to help him handle this, but one glance at her slumped over, sleeping form on the couch was a reminder that she wasn't. So he lowered his head, turned, and sulked back out the way he had come in, trying to respect Abby's request. For tonight, at least. But he couldn't stay away from Clarke for much longer than that. She was his girlfriend, after all, and he liked her. A lot.
...
"I don't know if that's juicy enough drama for a TV show, though," Bellamy reconsidered as he finished reminiscing out loud. "I mean, it wasn't like we were sleeping with other people or anything, and that's what most shows use for drama." Were it not for Clarke's mom, there probably wouldn't have been any drama in his and Clarke's high school relationship. It'd been smooth sailing. Hell, even their breakup had been mutual. "Hmm. Might have to put this Clarke and Bellamy show on the back burner," he decided. He was still joking around about it, but when he stopped to take a look at Clarke, she had a more serious look on her face. And she wasn't looking at him. "Clarke?" he said.
Her head snapped up, and she met his eyes again. "Let's go somewhere else," she said, turning and walking off the bridge briskly.
He followed her, wondering what she'd been remembering while he'd been recalling his confrontation with Abby. Maybe she just found it harder to joke about her mom's disapproval than he did. Maybe it bothered her more than it bothered him.
Clarke recognized and pointed out a few more locations from the TV show on the way to their next destination, the Battleship North Carolina. The ship was a museum now, but it had been a World War II ship, so Bellamy was pretty interested in it. As long as he didn't have to do a whole lot of reading about history, he enjoyed learning about it. They went on a self-guided type of tour through the ship, but luckily, if there were any information plaques to read, Clarke handled that for him by reading them out loud. She probably wasn't as interested in it as she was, but she did a good job of pretending.
The next day, they headed out to another one of the top attractions in Wilmington, a huge mansion from the Civil War time period, a mansion that just happened to have an awesome name.
"Ah, so this is why you wanted to come here," Clarke said, "to see the Bellamy mansion."
"Please. Like I'm that shallow," he said. But when they entered the huge and former home of the Bellamy family, he grabbed the nearest guide and said, "Uh, my name's Bellamy. Do I get a discount on this tour?"
Nope. He didn't.
There was an option to follow along with the tour guide, but both he and Clarke preferred exploring things at their own pace. Again, it was more of a history-related attraction, but Clarke seemed a bit more interested in this one. There were twenty-two rooms to see, all of which had been restored to be as accurate to the time period as possible. It made Bellamy wonder if someday people would turn Jake's house into a museum. It was big enough to be one.
"So let me get this straight," Bellamy said as they looked out the window at the garden area. "This John Bellamy guy was a doctor, gardener, a farmer, an investor . . ."
"And a businessman," Clarke added. "Don't forget that."
"So he was good at everything." Damn, he thought. Here he was only good at football and sex. And kind of construction. He was still learning there.
"Well, he was a slave-owner, too," Clarke pointed out.
"Oh, so I got him beat there."
"Yep." She linked her arm with his and said, "You're definitely the superior Bellamy."
Oh, he definitely wasn't, but it was nice to know that she thought that. He gave her a kiss as they headed into the next room. A children's playroom, apparently. Huh. How appropriate.
...
Bellamy had promised that their last full day in Wilmington was going to be Clarke's favorite, and he was right. They woke up, did some nice, lazy, early-morning lovemaking, and then got ready to head out to the Cameron Art Museum. Clarke absolutely loved getting to see all the exhibits on display. There were so many cool works in different mediums. Paintings, sculptures, some more modern mixed-medium stuff. The museum showcased a lot of things from local artists, and Clarke couldn't help but wonder if any of them were college students just like her.
"Okay, I know you liked the battleship, but to me, this is cool," she said as she fawned over some gorgeous abstract paintings. It would've been great if Arkadia were big enough to have its own art museum.
"I had a feeling you'd like it," he said.
"See, isn't this just . . . don't you think it's beautiful?" she said, marveling at a piece titled Slippery Window. "Look at the lines and the colors." It wasn't really a traditional window on the canvas, but Clarke still felt like she could look through it and see something.
"What's it supposed to be?" Bellamy asked.
"Well, it's art. It's open to interpretation." She knew that a lot of people, maybe even Bellamy, would look at a lot of these paintings and just see lines and scribbles. But she saw so much more.
"It's open alright," he said. "It looks like a vagina."
"It does not." Although with that title . . . She tilted her head to the side, giving it a closer look.
"You can't un-see it now, can you?" he said.
"No." Maybe Slippery Window was a euphemism.
One of the best things about this particular art museum was that they also offered classes, and an hour into their visit, Bellamy revealed that he'd signed them up for one. He really had done a lot of planning in advance for this trip. She wasn't sure when. Maybe when she'd been sleeping.
"How much did this cost?" she questioned as they sat together at a table during the class on watercolor painting. Clarke had limited experience with watercolors herself, so this was actually beneficial.
"It's just a one-day workshop," he said. "Don't worry about it."
She dipped her brush into the water, then pressed it against the blue paint, thoroughly coating it. When she pressed it against her paper, a deep but fluid blue color appeared. "I wish we had stuff like this back home," she said, keeping her voice quiet so that she didn't disturb her fellow students. "Do you know how many people would benefit from this? It's such a stress relief." It was quiet and relaxing and peaceful. They'd received some initial instruction, but the class was intermediate level, so a lot of it was just devoted to independent work time.
"Speak for yourself," Bellamy said as he swirled his brush around on his paper. "I'm pretty stressed about how crappy mine looks."
Clarke cringed. His . . . definitely was something. He'd tried blending too many colors together, so instead of all sorts of beautiful pastel shades, he'd ended up with . . . sort of this muddy brown. "What is that?" she asked. "A 'slippery window?'"
He chuckled. "Sure, let's go with that."
Oh, she got a kick out of him. Bellamy was by no means an artist. His hands were good at many other things, but not at painting.
The instructor came by their table, looked at what Clarke was doing, and said, "That's lovely."
"Thank you." She really didn't have any image in mind. She was just working on a sky for now. Maybe it'd end up being a night sky. A sunset. She wasn't really sure yet.
"Are you an artist?" the instructor asked.
Was she? No, technically, she was a biology major. "In my free-time," she said.
"I'm not, obviously," Bellamy piped up.
The instructor shifted focus to Bellamy's work, and obviously he was just trying to be nice as he said, "Everyone has to start somewhere. Keep going."
Poor Bellamy, Clarke thought, having to stifle her laughter as the instructor continued roaming the classroom. He needed a beginner level class for this.
"Stop it," he said, though he was smiling, too. "This isn't as easy as throwing a football, okay? I suck at this."
"But I love you for trying," she said. How many girls out there had a boyfriend who was willing to sit through a watercolor workshop with her? She was pretty lucky.
As if the day hadn't already been nice enough, that evening, Bellamy revealed that he had one more surprise lined up for the weekend. And when he brought Clarke outside the hotel and she saw a horse-drawn carriage—a literal horse-drawn carriage—waiting for her, she nearly cried. It was just so sweet and so fairytale-like, and again, it made her feel so lucky. She really didn't deserve this mini-vacation with him. But she climbed up into that carriage anyway, loving that this was how they were spending their last night in Wilmington.
"Okay, now this is the pinnacle of romance," she said as the carriage took them through the historic district. It was pretty chilly out, so she really had no choice but to snuggle up with Bellamy. He kept her plenty warm.
"You feel like a princess?" he asked.
"Yep."
"Good." He tightened his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder.
"This has been so nice," she said. "I don't wanna go back to the real world."
"Me, neither," he said.
"Back to work, back to classes . . . back to reality."
He seemed to think about it for a moment, then said, "Ah, reality's not so bad, though. I mean, I get to wake up to you every day, come home to you every night. I got it pretty good."
"Me, too." As nice as it was to be away from everything, they'd go home tomorrow and have New Year's to look forward to. Together.
Suddenly, she felt movement in her stomach, the kind that definitely was not gas. "Oh my god," she gasped, sitting up straighter.
"What?" Bellamy had this immediate look of concern on his face.
"The baby," she said.
"What is it?"
"She's kicking." There was no mistaking it. That little girl was moving around. "Stop the carriage," she told the driver, and as they slowed to a halt, she said, "Here, feel," and grabbed Bellamy's hand. She placed it on her stomach, right over the spot where she was feeling the kicks from the inside. "Do you feel her?" she asked him.
Bellamy kept his hand pressed to her stomach, a look of awe in his eyes and all over his face "Yeah, I do," he said, looking like he was about to cry. There were tears in his eyes.
There were tears in hers, too, as she smiled and laughed a little, and the baby just kept kicking. She definitely understood now why some mothers described it as a popcorn popping sensation. It felt exactly like that. But feeling it herself was one thing. Knowing that Bellamy could feel it now, too . . . that just made it even more special.
