Chapter 40
When Clarke got done with work, she pretty much just wanted to get home. Having a job where she had to be on her feet so much sucked, especially with her feet and ankles becoming increasingly swollen—she'd caved and gone up a shoe size. Plus, her back ended up aching more days than it didn't. Luckily, Diyoza was very understanding and often cut Clarke's shifts short. However, even a short shift didn't allow her to escape Arkadia high school's trashiest homecoming queen in recent memory. Bellamy's ex-girlfriend seemed to be hanging out a lot there lately.
"Hey, Clarke!" she called, bounding outside after Clarke as she was leaving.
Cringing, Clarke slowly turned around. "Hi . . . Bree." Whenever this airhead came in, Clarke always avoided her and asked whoever else was working to serve her.
"You look so big!" Bree exclaimed.
What the hell? Who said that? Even though she was obviously pregnant, it didn't exactly feel like a compliment. Clarke wasn't sure how to respond, so she just said, "Your head looks so big."
"Really?" Bree touched her cheeks. "Huh. I only got surgery on boobs."
"No, I meant big as in . . . big head," Clarke attempted to clarify. "Like conceited."
Bree tilted her head to the side, looking perplex. "What do you mean?"
"But oblivious will do. Never mind," Clarke said, quickly determining that Bree's vocabulary wasn't the greatest. Oh, well. Sometimes making fun of people when you knew the insults were just going right over their head was great. "What's up?" she asked impatiently, ready to get this conversation over with so she could get home.
"Oh, nothing. Just thought I'd say hi," Bree said. "How's everything? How's . . . Bellamy?"
And there it is, Clarke thought, forcing a smile. "He's good."
"Yeah? He looks good."
So she's been looking at him, Clarke deduced. Wasn't surprising. Lots of girls in Arkadia did. She'd learned not to feel threatened by it a long time ago.
"I think about him sometimes," Bree confessed, twirling her long blonde hair around her finger.
"Oh, I'm sure you do."
Bree actually had the audacity to blush, and then her whole face lit up with excitement. "Hey, you know, we should hang out sometime," she proposed. "The three of us."
That idea was just so completely ludicrous that Clarke couldn't keep her fake smile in place anymore. "Bree. You do remember that you once keyed the word slut into my car, don't you?"
"Oh, that was like twenty years ago."
"Okay, math is clearly not your strong suit," Clarke mumbled. Another insult that just went right over Bree's simple head. "Look, don't think I don't know what you're doing. You don't want anything to do with me. You're just thirsty for my man, who is in fact mine."
Bree's perky little attitude immediately fell by the wayside, and she crossed her arms over her chest, shifting back into that bitchy persona Clarke recalled so well. "For now," she snarled.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well . . ." Bree nodded her head towards Clarke's stomach. "It's not really his baby, right? I mean, that's what I've heard. It belongs to some other guy?"
Clarke tensed, unused to someone asking her about that. "That's none of your business," she said. Sure, people knew, and she knew that people knew. But with that knowledge came some real possibilities for slut-shaming, or for making it seem like Bellamy wasn't going to be as much of a father as Finn was.
"It's okay. There's nothing wrong with that," Bree said. "I just think it's kind of unfair to tie Bellamy down with all that responsibility. He could do whatever he wants if it wasn't for you."
Clarke wanted to have a snappy comeback, but she had to absorb that for a couple seconds. But once she had, she metaphorically picked herself up and dished the other girl's pettiness right back to her. "Well, he doesn't wanna do you, Bree," she snapped. "So get your jealousy under control. It looks worse on you than your fake boobs do."
Bree gasped in outrage, and Clarke spun and stomped off to her car, even more eager to get home now than she had been when she'd ended her shift a couple minutes ago.
The short drive home felt kind of endless, mostly because she was exhausted. She could have been pissed off, too, but she decided not to waste any more energy on Bree. She'd always been jealous of Clarke's relationship with Bellamy, and she'd always resented that she'd lost her claim on him because of it. And she didn't know what the hell she was talking about.
When she got home, she noticed that Bellamy's vehicle was out front, but he wasn't downstairs. She heard movement on the second floor, so she headed up, already talking. "Bellamy, you're never gonna believe who I ran into today," she said, taking off her jacket and draping it over the railing. "Remember your old non-girlfriend Bree? Well, apparently her favorite pastime is still being a bitch, because do you know what she said to me?" Right as she was in the midst of peeling off her shirt, she reached the top step and collided with . . . a tall body. Taller than her boyfriend "Oh my god!" she exclaimed, pulling her shirt back down. "You're not Bellamy." This guy had longer hair pulled back into a half-ponytail, and he was wearing a Vanilla Ice shirt.
"Roan," he said in a husky voice. "Nice to finally meet you."
"Roan." She recognized that name. "You're the work friend."
"That'd be me."
Was Bellamy having bro-time, then? Did she interrupt that?
Peeking his head out of the room that would become the nursery, Bellamy said, "Hey, babe, what're you doin' home already?"
"My boss let me go early. Pregnancy perk," she said. Considering it was about the only pregnancy perk, she'd take it. "What about you?"
"Oh, I took the day off," he replied.
"So did I," Roan said. "Your guy here would've been lost on this nursery without me."
"You got the nursery done?" she asked Bellamy excitedly.
He came out of the room and shut the door. "Well, it's not completely done yet," he said, "so you can't go in there."
She pouted momentarily, but really, she kind of liked that he was making it a surprise for her. "Is it looking good?" she asked Roan.
"Not too bad," Roan said. "I'm gonna head out now. Don't screw anything up in there."
"I won't," Bellamy promised.
As Roan descended the steps, he said, "Nice to meet you, Clarke."
"Yeah, you, too." He seemed like a nice guy, and it was good to know that Bellamy had someone a little more experienced with building helping him out. "Are you sure I can't see it?" she asked her boyfriend, wondering if he'd give her just a little sneak peek.
"Not yet," he said, sticking to his guns. "So, Bree problems, huh?"
"Ugh, it's whatever. I don't really care," she decided, taking off her shirt now that Roan was gone. She unhooked her bra, too, as she meandered into the bedroom. "I'm kinda tired," she said. "I think I'm gonna take a nap." She grabbed a t-shirt—one of his—out of the drawer, and threw it on. The sweatpants could stay on. Those were comfy. "Can you come lay with me?" she asked him, depositing her special pillow on the floor. She'd rather snuggle with him right now.
"Sure." He waited until she got situated, then crawled onto his side of the bed and curled up behind her. His warm lips grazed the back of her neck, and one of his hands draped over her stomach. "You haven't been sleeping well, have you?" he asked.
"No."
"Why's that?"
Well, it wasn't just that her bladder had continued to wreak havoc on her. "Bad dreams," she answered vaguely.
"What about?"
She remembered a lot of them. They were detailed and unsettling, but according to everything she'd read online, they were normal. "It doesn't matter," she said. "Just cuddle with me. Cuddle with me and Avery."
"Hmm." He rubbed her belly lovingly, and almost as if she were responding to his touch, Avery moved around a bit. "Damn, she's active right now," he said.
"Yeah." It seemed like she was getting more and more active all the time, which was a good sign. "I'm glad I don't have to worry about kick counts, but . . . she's making it hard to rest."
He again kissed the back of her neck softly and said, "She just can't wait to come out and meet you."
"You, too," she said, glad that he could already feel all those movements Avery was making. It seemed . . . important somehow.
Against her better judgment, she thought back to what Bree had said, that awful tone in her voice when she'd said that this wasn't really Bellamy's baby. But that couldn't be true. It wasn't. He might not have been the one to put her there, but he loved her so much, just like her biological father should have.
...
Bellamy cuddled with Clarke for a long time after she got home, but he never fell asleep the way she did. His mind was on that nursery and on finishing painting the walls. He'd only gotten three of them covered today, and that fourth was bugging him. So when Clarke seemed to be sleeping soundly and the sun was starting to set, he carefully untangled himself from her and got out of bed so he could slip into the other room and finish the job.
Once he got in the nursery, he got busy with tasks besides painting. Like hanging up the new curtains or trying to mount the shelves to the wall. The latter was definitely going to require Roan's help, because he almost died trying to do it himself. It only took one unsuccessful attempt for him to abandon that task and move onto another: nailing the letters of Avery's name onto the wall, right above her crib.
He'd only made it to the E when he heard Clarke cry out.
Dropping everything, he ran back into their bedroom, where she was sitting up and clutching the covers to her chest, shaking.
"What, what, what?" he said, sitting down beside her, looking her over to see if anything seemed . . . wrong. "Clarke!"
She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head.
"What's wrong?" His heart raced with concern for her. There was no blood on the sheets, though, and she wasn't clutching her stomach like she was in pain. So more than likely, it was another bad dream like the one she'd had the other night. "Did you have a nightmare?" he asked, stroking her hair.
Wordlessly, she nodded, and her mouth quivered before she started to cry. It was the kind of crying that shook her whole body and made it impossible for her to speak.
"Come here," he said, scooping her all the way up into his arms. Her whole body . . . it was trembling. "Shh . . ." he soothed rubbing his hands up and down her back, trying to calm her down and get her settled again. But she kept crying and just clung to him like she was afraid to let go.
...
Clarke acted fine the next morning. But Bellamy was worried about her. That hadn't been normal last night. Right? It couldn't have been. He'd known Clarke to toss and turn during the night, but this was twice in the past two weeks that she'd woken up in a pretty hysterical state. It'd taken her a long time to calm down from it, too, and even when she'd stopped crying, he didn't feel like she'd slept very soundly last night. He sure as hell hadn't.
Because she insisted on going to class, he went to the hospital by himself. Just to see if Dr. Jackson had a couple minutes to spare to . . . put his mind at ease. Fortunately for him, the doctor was able to squeeze him in a little after 9:00, so Bellamy sat down in his office and told him what had happened. He didn't seem very concerned and practically ushered Bellamy out the door.
"So this is really all normal?" Bellamy asked as he walked out with him.
"Yes. Clarke isn't the first woman to have vivid dreams during pregnancy," Dr. Jackson assured him. "Believe it or not, people have done scientific studies about this."
If there were studies, then that meant they were answers. Or at least hypotheses. "So why does it happen?" he questioned.
"Well, the hormonal changes certainly contribute," the doctor explained. "Plus, pregnant women need more sleep, and when you sleep more, you dream more. And dream recall is certainly higher for her right now. If the baby moves in the night or she wakes up to go to the bathroom, she's more likely to remember what she was dreaming than if she slept straight through the night."
Makes sense, Bellamy thought. But that didn't explain why she was having more bad dreams than usual. "Why's she having nightmares?" he asked, slowing his pace. He wasn't going to leave until his questions were answered.
"Well, dreams reflect our thoughts and our hopes," Dr. Jackson replied. "And our fears. As she gets closer to the third trimester, Clarke's probably dealing with a lot of anxiety and uncertainty. It wouldn't be uncommon for her to be dreaming about labor and delivery or about making some kind of mistake once the baby's born. She's a first-time mom. She's dealing with a lot of stress when it comes to bringing another human into the world."
Bellamy supposed he couldn't quite understand that, because even though he was preparing to be a dad, he wasn't actively creating another person inside him, and he wasn't going to have to give birth or breastfeed or anything like that. Babies were more dependent on their mothers. But that didn't mean he couldn't be of assistance. "How can I help her?" he asked, stopping altogether right in the middle of the hallway.
Jackson stopped, too, as nurses squeezed past them. "Talk to her about her dreams, if she wants to," he suggested. "Some of them might have scared her, confused her, or maybe even made her laugh. I once had a patient who dreamt she gave birth in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory."
"So it's really nothing to be worried about?" he asked . . . again.
"No. Perfectly common," Dr. Jackson assured him. "Although that doesn't mean she should ignore her dreams altogether. A lot of times what we dream reflects our insecurities. If she feels like she needs to talk through anything with a professional, we've got people on staff right here at the hospital who can listen to her."
Knowing what he knew about Clarke, she'd be opposed to that, so he said, "I'll try talking to her first," and then told the doctor, "thanks." This really put his mind at ease.
When he headed back out past the waiting room, he saw Abby standing at the check-in counter, looking over the schedule of patients. She saw him, too, and her greeting was a mere, "Bellamy."
Oh, crap, he thought, shoving his hands in his pockets. He managed, "Hi," but not a smile to go along with it.
"Hi," she said. "What're you doing here?"
It must have been weird to see him there without Clarke, but he didn't want to go into detail about it. "I just wanted to see Dr. Jackson about something," he answered.
"Is everything okay?" Abby asked, tensing up immediately. "Is Clarke-"
"She's fine." For all he knew, she was dreaming about Willy Wonka.
Her mother breathed a small sigh of relief and said. "Good."
Is that it? he wondered. Were they done?
"Well, I'm glad to run into you."
Apparently they weren't. "You are?" he said, instantly confused. Abby was never happy to see him. In fact, she'd probably loved the fact that he'd been gone for five years.
"Yes." She moved a little closer and lowered her voice, almost as if she didn't want anyone else to overhear. "I wanted to . . . to thank you for convincing me to extend an olive branch to Clarke. She and I had a very nice conversation the other day, and I think we're gonna be able to move forward from here."
What the fuck? he thought, his head spinning. First she'd apologized to him, and now she was thanking him? Was the world off its axis, or was he just living in an alternate reality? Neither of those things ever happened. "That's good," he said, downplaying his shock.
"And I just wanted to say . . ." She paused for a long time, to the point where he thought she might have forgotten what she wanted to say. But then she said it: "I'm glad she's not going through all of this alone. You've been . . . a really good support system for her."
Oh, the world was definitely off its axis. Either that or Clarke had made her swear that she'd try to be nicer to him or they'd never speak again. Something drastic like that. "I think that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he told her. And hell, he would take it. She wasn't exactly inviting him to become her son-in-law anytime soon, but any conversation of theirs that ended with something other than a disagreement was something to cherish.
...
Bellamy was in a good mood when he finally got home early that evening. Sure, work had been tiring, but work was always tiring. That was nothing new. His surprisingly un-antagonistic run-in at the hospital . . . that was.
Clarke was sitting on the couch, an open textbook to the side of her while she used her stomach as a tabletop for notetaking. She looked like she was in the zone, but he had to interrupt and tell her about what had happened today. "Guess what?" he said. "Your mom was nice to me today. She said hi to me, and I said hi to her, and then she talked to me without making me feel like a complete and utter failure at life."
Clarke set her notes aside and smiled up at him. "That's great," she said. "Where'd you run into her?"
"At the hospital."
Her brows furrowed curiously. "Why were you at the hospital?" she asked. "You don't have erectile dysfunction, do you?"
He chuckled and moved the pillows on the couch aside so he had room to sit beside her. "You know I don't," he said. "No, I just . . . I stopped by to talk to Dr. Jackson. About the dreams you've been having."
She tensed up a bit at the mention of those. "Vivid dreams are common during pregnancy, Bellamy," she said. "I looked it up."
"Yeah, that's what he said." He definitely felt better having gotten an expert opinion, because a lot of people online didn't know what they were talking about. "I was just worried about you," he admitted. "Anything you wanna talk about?"
"No," she answered quickly. "I don't even remember what I dreamt last night."
"Really?" That . . . seemed odd considering how distraught she'd been. "He said you'd probably remember a lot of detail."
"Well, I don't."
She did, though. He sensed that she did. "You can talk to me," he reminded her, placing a hand on her stomach.
She set her hand atop his and mumbled, "I know. But it's . . ." She trailed off, and when she spoke again, her tone was completely different. "Hey, we should stay up tonight," she suggested.
"We should?"
"Yeah. It's a weekend. Why not?" She shrugged and smiled. "We could have a slumber party."
"Key word: slumber."
"Okay, a slumber party without the slumber then," she amended.
The thought of no slumber tonight actually sounded . . . kind of awful. He was beat. And she should have been, too. "You need rest," he reminded her.
"I'm fine," she insisted. "I wanna stay awake with you."
Of course . . . the upside to staying awake was that they could have a lot of sex. "Okay," he decided, withdrawing his hand from her stomach so he could undo his pants. "I'll try to be a marathon man."
But she reached out and stopped him. "No," she said.
"No?" He was so confused.
"You get really tired after sex."
"Well, yeah, 'cause my technique isn't easy," he said. "I work hard to make you cum." And he enjoyed every damn second of it.
"Come on, let's go find some fun stuff to do," she said, struggling to get up off the couch.
"Sex is fun," he pointed out as she grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.
Although Bellamy was glad he didn't have to help Clarke study—even if he hadn't been dyslexic, all that medical terminology in her textbook would have gone right over his head—he wasn't sure what to think when she started spouting off ideas for things they could do to while away the hours. It started out with an impromptu guitar lesson, which he sucked at. She tried to teach him what she deemed to be an easy song, but he proved to be unteachable, so they ended up moving to the piano instead. He did manage to get "Chopsticks" down, but when they moved onto "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," that got a little more complicated, and she had to rearrange his fingers for him on the keys a lot.
After the music lessons, she dragged him into the bathroom and told him to sit on the counter. When she brought out the makeup, he knew it wasn't going to end well for him. But when you were a guy and your pregnant girlfriend told you to do something, you just did it, no questions asked. So he sat there and let her put eyeshadow on him, and mascara. Or whatever it was called. He couldn't quite keep his eyes open when she came out him with a dark pencil, though so she skipped that and went straight for lip gloss. When he looked at himself in the mirror afterward, he about keeled over with laughter. He pretty much looked like a drag queen. Fortunately, even though she snapped a few pictures of his makeover, she vowed not to post them online and let him wash his face right after.
Clarke started to get hungry after that, but instead of just popping something in the microwave, she insisted on actually cooking dinner to pass the time. She had an old recipe book from her grandma, one that she never used, so she cracked that open, and they searched for something they had the necessary ingredients for. It ended up being some kind of casserole with a name Bellamy couldn't pronounce, but it looked good enough. Unfortunately, it took a while to cook. It had to be in the oven for forty minutes, and when they took it out, it was too soupy to eat. They must have done something wrong. Clarke ate a couple bites, made a face of disgust, and suggested that they just order pizza instead. While they waited for that, she smeared some of the failed casserole on the side of his face, and he retaliated by dropping a glob of it on the top of her head. They had a bit of a mini-food fight after that, but when the kitchen started to get too dirty, she said they had to stop.
The pizza got cold as fuck when they headed upstairs to shower off. But even though they didn't have sex in the shower, they were both content to stay in there together for a while. They cleaned each other off, did some kissing, and ran some shampoo through each other's hair.
Clarke opted for one of his t-shirts and her bathrobe after she got out of the shower, and he just put on some sweatpants and called it good as they headed back downstairs to heat up their pizza. She ended up just eating her slices cold, though, as the microwave zapped the taste out of it for her. After eating, they put on some music and had their own private dance party all through the living room. Bellamy didn't consider himself a horrible dancer, but even with a baby in her belly, she still had way more rhythm than him; so he mainly tried to copy Miller's moves—Miller called his style "pimp style"—and got a kick out of his girl trying to lean back and do the Bernie. They also filmed a video of themselves dancing to the Baby Mama song, because . . . why not?
The dancing didn't last long since she ran out of breath easily, so they slowed it down after that—fine by him since it was getting late—and settled down on the couch. She put her feet in his lap and asked for a foot-rub, and while he was in the middle of doing that, she suggested that he crack open a book and read to the baby. With one hand, he gave her feet a much-needed massage, and he held open some cheesy Nicholas Sparks book with the other, painstakingly making his way page by page through a couple chapters. Sure, some of the d's looked like b's, and he had to pause once in a while to make sure he was reading it correctly. But she didn't rush him or get annoyed with him. In fact, she told him Avery liked hearing his voice, because she was moving around a lot.
Around midnight, he was really starting to get tired, and he couldn't contain his yawns. But Clarke was still full of ideas for things to do. She brought out a bunch of old board games, things he hadn't played in years, and proceeded to kick his ass at every single one of them. Chess was one of her favorites. She had a good strategy in place, and he neglected to tell her that he didn't actually know how to play.
"Checkmate," she declared, knocking his king off the board with her queen. "I win again."
He slumped over the kitchen table, rubbing his face and struggling to keep his eyes open. "I'm so fuckin' tired."
"Why?" she said. "It's only 1:00 a.m."
"Only? We were up at 6:00." He used to be able to stay up late all the time, function on only a few hours of sleep if that was necessary. But the older her got, the harder it was to do that.
"I'm not tired," she said. "You wanna play again?"
He groaned. "I wanna sleep."
"No, stay up, Bellamy," she said, already arranging her pieces on one side of the chessboard. "You promised."
He had. But his body was protesting that promise. She had to have been feeling it, too, but she was just more set on this slumber-less slumber party than he was. And it was pretty obvious why. "You can go to bed, you know," he told her. "You're not gonna have bad dreams every night." Hell, maybe she'd have a good dream tonight and remember that one in detail.
"We have to do this kind of thing now," she said. "When the baby's born . . ."
"When the baby's born, we'll be up all night," he interrupted. "We should be sleeping now, while we still can."
She shook her head stubbornly and said, "You can go to bed if you want. I'm gonna stay awake."
He sat there with his hand supporting his head, watching her hands move quickly as she set up his side of the chessboard, too. What was she going to do, sit there and play chess by herself while he nodded off on her? No, he couldn't let that happen. "I'm awake if you're awake," he decided, making the first move with one of his pawns. Hell, maybe he'd finally win a game.
She didn't say anything to thank him for staying up with her, but the small smile she gave him was thanks enough.
...
Feeling like he couldn't keep his eyes open for another minute, Bellamy just barely managed to make it to his mom's house. She'd invited him over for lunch, but he'd had leftover pizza for breakfast, and eating sounded like it required more energy than what he currently had.
"Mom, I need my bed," she he announced as he lumbered through the door. "Just for a couple hours. I need to lay in it."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because Clarke's friends came over, and I can't sleep with them there." Yawning, he took his shoes off, then rubbed his eyes and groaned, "I'm so tired."
"You look like you didn't get any sleep," she remarked.
"I didn't. Clarke kept me up all night."
"Oh." She made a face. "Possibly a little too much information."
"No, not like that. There were games, and there was makeup. And food."
"Again, honey . . ."
With that description, his poor mom probably thought they'd been up to some kinky shit, but he felt too lethargic to adequately explain it to her. "I'm just gonna crash. Don't mind me," he said as he headed down the hallway and practically fell into his bedroom. He flung himself onto the bed, face down, and didn't move once he hit the mattress. His pillow was covering half his face, but he didn't care. It was comfortable as fuck, and it wouldn't take him long to fall asleep.
...
"Bellamy!" Octavia hollered, pounding on the door to his bedroom like the brat she could be. "You're supposed to drive me to Alina's house today!"
He paused momentarily with his hand on his cock, trying desperately not to lose his erection. But that was difficult when his little sister was being so annoying. "I don't know who that is!" he shouted back.
"Jenna's sister."
Jenna? Did he know a Jenna? Had he slept with a Jenna before?
"Bellamy!"
"Octavia!" he yelled. "Go away!" He resumed pumping his cock, going at a pretty fast pace.
"I'm bored," she complained. "Why is your door locked?"
Because I'm jacking off, he thought exasperatedly. But he couldn't very well say that to her. So he went with, "Because you annoy me," instead, and once again told her, "Leave!"
There were some audible and exaggerated whines on the other side of that door, but much to his relief, she did seem to go away. Thank the fucking lord, he thought. Now he could concentrate on what he was doing.
Rubbing one out just wasn't the same as getting head or having sex. He could get himself off, and he would, but it was so much better when a girl did it. Especially Clarke, with her soft lips and small hands. Or her hot, wet . . .
Just thinking about it made him growl low in his throat, and he really started jerking himself off, desperate to cum.
Right as he was starting to feel close, another knock disrupted him. This one came from his window. No one ever knocked on his window. Unless . . .
No way, he thought, trying not to get his hopes up. But he wanted it to be her. Pulling his boxers up, he sprang out of bed and ran rushed to the window, shirtless and pitching a metaphorical tent. It was gonna be painfully obvious what he'd been doing.
When he pulled back the curtain and saw her face, he felt himself smile from ear to ear. He pushed open the window eagerly, so excited to see her. "Hey, what're you-"
"I miss you," she said, crawling in through the window quickly. She flung herself against him and kissed him deeply. Almost . . . hungrily.
"I miss you, too," he said, putting his hands on her waist, her hips. God, it felt so good to touch her again. "Does your mom know you're here?"
"No. I snuck out." She grinned, trailing her hands down his chest. When she got to his happy trail, she teased, "And what were you up to?"
"Just thinkin' about you."
"I see that." She slipped one hand underneath the waistline of his boxers and grabbed hold of his cock, stroking up and down his length. She was being so forward, so aggressive, and he loved that. It let her know just how much she wanted him.
"Oh . . ." he groaned, struggling to keep himself quiet. His sister was still home, and he didn't want her hearing anything. It felt so fucking good, though; her hand was so much better than his, and within less than a minute, he came. She didn't stop touching him until he was done.
"Is that better?" she asked, slowly removing her hand.
"Much." This was like a fantasy, her showing up here just like this. Breaking her mom's stupid rules, doing whatever she had to do to see him.
Clearly Clarke was feeling just as horny and deprived as he was, because she yanked his boxers down and pushed him back towards the bed before he could even completely step out of them. He practically fell onto his mattress, and she hopped on top of him and started kissing him like she couldn't get enough.
Maybe she really couldn't get enough. Maybe neither one of them could.
...
When Bellamy finally woke up, it was getting dark outside. The short nap he'd planned to have at his mom's had gone on for hours. But he finally felt rested.
He'd wound up on his back, and when he glanced down at his crotch and noticed the bulge in his pants, he knew exactly what kind of dream he'd been having.
...
Clarke was busy gorging on dessert by the time Bellamy got home that evening. "Hey, look what Raven brought over," she said, pointing out the pan full of fudge-frosted brownies next to her on the counter.
"Are those special brownies?" he asked as he shrugged off his coat.
"No, just the regular kind." She popped the last bite of her second one into her mouth, forcing herself to walk away from them, even though she could have probably eaten three more.
Bellamy took the smallest one out of the pan and ate almost the whole thing in one bite. "Did you have fun with her and Harper?" he asked her.
"Harper couldn't make it," she told him. "She ended up having to do some rehearsal for her performance tomorrow night."
"Right, her performance," he said, nodding slowly. "The one we're going to. That is the one, right?"
"Right." Ever year around this time, the dance majors at Arkadia put on a winter recital of sorts, and then they did one at the end of the year, too.
"Isn't it, like, a ballet thing?" He made a face.
"Yes. So you have to dress up." She kind of loved it, to be honest. The fancy dresses on the girls, nice suits on the guys, and of course the dancing itself. It all kind of made her forget that she was in Arkadia, because it felt more like an upscale New Yorker thing.
"What about you?" she asked him. "How was your day?"
"Good," he said. "I went over to my mom's, got some sleep."
He definitely did look more rested. And she couldn't blame him for wanting to hit the hay. Last night had been a struggle for her, too, even though she hadn't acted like it. "I'm not even tired," she claimed, although that wasn't completely true. Had Raven not hung out with her today, she probably would have nodded off on the couch.
Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her skeptically. "You sure?"
"Yeah," she fibbed. "In fact, I could probably stay up again tonight."
His response came swiftly. "No, you can't. Babe . . . you gotta take care of yourself."
She knew he was right, but the thought of having another nightmare . . . possibly one about the same thing . . . It literally scared her. Because when she woke up from those dreams, it felt like they were real. "Well, I don't wanna go to sleep," she muttered stubbornly.
"I'm right there," he said, closing the distance between them so he could rub her arms and shoulders. "I'll cuddle with you; we'll snuggle. Nothing to be afraid of."
Logically, she knew that. She knew that she could curl up with him, and he'd keep her warm, and he'd cover her up again if she kicked all the blankets off. If she started to toss and turn, he'd try to comfort her. And if she did wake up crying and screaming again, he'd hold her until she felt better. But . . .
"They're really bad dreams, Bellamy," she said.
"Okay," he said calmly. "What about?"
Her heart kind of . . . squeezed in her chest. Because he was being so sweet and so supportive. But she couldn't talk to him about this. "Nothing," she said dismissively.
"Well, it must be something."
It was. Something she didn't want to talk about.
"Look, I got online, and I was reading about this woman who dreamt she gave birth to a cactus," he said. "And she woke up with her legs in the air telling her husband she had to push."
That sounded . . . weird. But Clarke would have rather had a dream like that.
"And then this other woman dreamt she was having sex with Napoleon Dynamite at her gynecologist's office," he went on. "Nothing's too weird or embarrassing. You can tell me."
She shook her head adamantly. "No, I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because . . ." She just couldn't.
"Look, I can't help you deal with anything if you won't even tell me about it," he said. "So why don't we sit down, and you can just tell me-"
"No, I can't," she insisted.
"Why not?"
"Because I keep having dreams where you leave me!" The words just tumbled out. She couldn't stop them. And then they just hung there, getting louder and louder with each silent second that passed. The look on his face when he heard her say that was . . . stunned at first. Then confused. Then hurt.
She'd hurt him.
Knowing that, she hurried upstairs as fast as she could so that she wouldn't say something that would hurt him even more.
