Chapter 41

Bellamy had a rough day at work. It was just hard to get through, because he hadn't slept much, and he didn't want to be there. When he'd finally gone upstairs to talk to Clarke last night, she'd already been asleep. Or at least she'd pretended to be. But she hadn't moved around in the night nearly as much as she did when she was actually sleeping, so chances were, they'd both lain awake, just not saying anything.

Emerson got pissed at him for "slacking off on the job." He tried to explain that he'd just had a rough night, but his boss presumed that to mean that he'd been out drinking and partying. Instead of bothering to correct him, Bellamy just sucked it up, apologized, and got back to work. He even skipped lunch to make up for his perceived laziness.

It felt good to get home. For about two seconds. And then he remembered that he wouldn't be there for long. He and Clarke had agreed to go to that stupid dance thing tonight. Which meant they probably weren't gonna have time to just sit down and talk out their . . . issues.

Was it an issue, though? Or just a bad dream?

When he walked into their bedroom, he found her standing in front of the full length-mirror, surveying herself as she donned a brand new dress. It was this short-sleeved beige gown with a bunch of sparkly shit on the top. Real flowy on the bottom. It looked comfy for her. "Wow," he said, taken aback by how fucking gorgeous she was. "You look beautiful." It wasn't that he ever forgot his girlfriend was a total babe. It was just that, when she got all dressed up like this, he was in awe.

"Thanks," she said, casting him a quick, modest smile. She probably didn't feel as hot as she looked.

"Is this new?" he asked, entering the room.

"Yeah." She smoothed her hand over the curve of her belly and lamented, "None of my old fancy dresses fit me anymore."

She didn't need any of those old dresses then. This one looked good on her.

He stood behind her, comparing his reflection in the mirror to hers. She looked like . . . well, like a princess. And he had smudges of dirt on his shirt and filthy hands. "Can we talk about what you told me last night?" he asked, figuring it was better to have the conversation—or at least start it—before they left tonight.

"We don't have to," she mumbled, looking downward.

"Yeah, we do," he insisted. It wasn't going to do them any good to sweep it under the rug.

Turning around, she looked him up and down and said, "You need to get ready. This ballet starts in, like, an hour."

"Two hours."

"Then Raven and Murphy will be here in forty-five minutes."

"I can be ready in fifteen," he claimed. "Listen, when I talked to the doctor, he told me the dreams you're having right now can be based on your fears and insecurities. I don't want you feeling afraid that I'm gonna-"

"They're just dreams, Bellamy," she cut in. "They don't matter."

"I think they do."

She met his eyes, and for a moment, she looked like she was going to say something. But when she did, it was only, "You need to get ready." She patted him on the chest, then left the bedroom, heading downstairs to . . . avoid talking to him, he assumed.

As it turned out, Bellamy's claim that he could get ready in fifteen minutes wasn't realistic. He had to hop in the shower, and even though he made it a quick one, his hair still had to dry afterward. He passed the time until Murphy and Raven showed up by doing a little beard-grooming, and he put on his suit and debated whether or not to wear a tie. He ended up ditching it, because although this was a formal event, that was just too formal to him. When Murphy and Raven showed up and he saw that Murphy was doing the same no-tie look, he felt better knowing he at least wouldn't be the only one slightly under-dressed.

The performance was taking place at the theater on campus, and parking was crowded. Murphy offered to snag a handicapped spot and said he had a permit to hang from his rearview mirror. Although they all considered it, they eventually decided against it and parked in one of the farthest away rows.

"Just kill me now," Murphy grumbled as he got out.

"Oh, come on," Raven said, a scolding tone to her voice. "Don't be so over-dramatic."

"This isn't exactly my idea of fun," Murphy said. "You think it's gonna be as boring as last year's?"

"No. Harper's a senior this year," his girlfriend pointed out. "She'll have a bigger part."

Bellamy helped Clarke out of the car and too her feet—easier said than done these days—and held out his arm for her to link hers with.

"I'm just gonna call it now," Murphy said. "Not a single one of us is gonna stay awake."

"Oh, I'm sure Clarke will," Bellamy mumbled. She didn't wanna end up dreaming that he'd leave her again.

"Let's just go inside," she said, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "It's cold out here."

No, it's not, he thought. But he headed inside with her anyway.

Stepping into the theater was like stepping into a different world, one where everyone was dressed in their best and where classical music played through the loudspeakers. Contrary to popular belief, the theater wasn't just for performances from the college. Polis didn't have a good venue for shows of any kind, but they had an adult improve group that often utilized part of the space. And Bellamy recalled his mom going on a date with some guy once to see a production of Fiddler on the Roof. There hadn't been a second date, though, so maybe it hadn't been that good.

Bellamy had never been in there once before, so he had to marvel at the ornate architecture, the hand-crafted detail on the railings of the balcony that overlooked the first floor. Now that he was in construction, he knew just how hard it was to build things, and he couldn't imagine being part of the team that had been assigned to build this place.

"Okay, you have to admit, this is pretty cool," Raven said as the four of them strode beneath a large crystal chandelier. "Makes me feel a lot wealthier than I actually am."

Me, too, Bellamy thought. It was kind of . . . a lot. Nice, for sure, but . . . if there was an intermission, what was he going to eat? This didn't seem like the kind of place that would serve up hot dogs and nachos. What if there was only caviar and escargot?

"Is this what it feels like at your mom's fancy charity events, Clarke?" Raven asked teasingly. When she got no response, she said her friend's name again. "Clarke?"

"Huh?" Clarke was clearly unfocused. Or maybe just tired. Probably the latter.

"Are you okay?" Raven asked her. "You're extra out of it tonight. Both of you are."

"Yeah, it's not making for very good footage," Murphy complained. Unbeknownst to Bellamy, he'd whipped his phone out and was recording them.

"Sorry," Clarke apologized.

"Yeah, it's just been a weird couple of days," Bellamy said. If he'd known things were going to get this weird, he would have spent some of that slumber party night talking to Clarke about all of this, getting her to open up sooner.

"There's Monty," Clarke said, looking over the balcony.

Murphy put his camera away, and Raven's attention was sufficiently diverted as Monty approached them. "Ooh, there he is!" she exclaimed. "So tell me, just how proud is the proud boyfriend tonight?"

"Extremely," Monty said. "Thanks for coming, guys. I know Harper really appreciates it."

"She'd better," Murphy grunted. When Raven jabbed her elbow at him, he changed his tune. "I mean . . . we wouldn't miss it for the world."

Maybe Raven and Monty wouldn't, but Bellamy had a feeling the rest of them would have liked to.

"Let's just go find our seats," Clarke said. "These shoes are killing me."

Monty led them to their seats, which weren't great. They were probably cheaper, though. He had a seat farther up front, of course, where the chairs looked comfier and more spacious. Something Bellamy knew Clarke definitely would have benefited from.

"Jesus Christ," Murphy swore. "Way back in the nosebleeds."

"No, it's better back here," Raven said as she settled in on the end of the aisle. "You get a better view."

"Of what? Prancing men with their packages bouncing around?" Murphy snorted. "No, thanks."

"Sounds like Miller's type of show," Bellamy said. Too bad he couldn't have had his friend come in his place.

Clarke looked like she couldn't get settled right from the start. She took her shawl off and folded it up underneath herself to sit on it like a seat cushion, but that didn't stop her from rubbing her back as she tried to get comfy.

"Here," he said, giving her his suit jacket. He put it behind her back like a pillow, allowing her sit up straighter and have something better to lean back against.

"Thanks," she said. But she barely even looked at him. She was sitting right next to him, but somehow, she felt so distant. Like she was keeping him at a distance. He wasn't used to that.

When the lights dimmed and the music began to swell, everyone in the theater fell quiet. Harper was the first to take the stage, all by herself. When Bellamy thought of the ballet, he expected frilly tutus and shit, but Harper was dressed in what looked like a thin black slip. Nothing fancy or bedazzled or anything like that. She looked . . . really hot, actually, and when Bellamy cast a quick look at Murphy, he could tell by the other guy's face that he was thinking the exact same thing.

There wasn't any speaking involved, so it was all just movement, the interpretive kind. Bellamy wasn't sure what exactly was going on, but it seemed like kind of a romantic production when a man came out on stage and he and Harper started dancing together. The music gave cues as to what was going on, too. It sounded lighthearted when the story was lighthearted. It grew more ominous when the drama ramped up. Twenty minutes in, after a big group number where the moves seemed to be mimicking a fight sequence, it was just Harper and the male lead on the stage again, and the music got really soft and sad-sounding.

"Stay awake, Murphy," he heard Raven snap at her boyfriend.

In contrast, Bellamy wasn't actually having that hard of a time staying awake. Despite being tired, the show was pretty well-done, and the athlete in him respected the physicality of it all. But when he looked over at Clarke to see how she was doing, she immediately captured all of his attention. Because her eyes were glued to the stage, and . . . they were filling with tears.

She looked like she might start crying any minute as she watched her friend twirl and leap all across the stage with a male counterpart, and Bellamy first assumed it was just her hormones acting up again. But when he looked back and forth between her and the performance happening in front of them, he couldn't help but wonder if it was something . . . deeper. Because it seemed to him like they were watching some kind of scene unfold where the focal couple got torn apart somehow. It seemed like they were leaving each other. Or maybe he was just leaving her. There were several moments where Harper ran after him and did things like jumping onto his back or pulling on his arm to get him to come closer. It was just a story, and they both knew that, but still . . . it seemed like it was affecting her.

"You okay?" he asked her quietly.

Blinking back tears, she looked away from the stage, avoided all eye contact with him, and said, "I think I need a break," before getting up and squeezing past both Murphy and Raven as she made a hasty exit. Murphy didn't notice, because his neck was craned back and his mouth was hanging open as he slept and snored, but Raven gave him a curious look. Even without knowing the full situation of what was going on, she probably knew her best friend well enough to know that something was bothering her.

The longer they went without talking about it, the more it bothered Bellamy, too.

...

Clarke didn't actually have to go to the bathroom—for once—but she hung out there for a few minutes. Just five. Maybe ten? She really wasn't sure, but it gave her a chance to try to collect herself. This dance she was watching . . . it was really beautiful. But it just struck her as so sad. It was a love story, sure, but it was also a drama. A lost love story. And considering the dreams she'd been having as of late, it just really hit home.

After she'd touched up her eye makeup and calmed down her emotions, she decided it was time to rejoin her friends. It'd be the intermission soon, so all she had to do was get through a little more of the show, and then she could have a break. Maybe she could even pull Raven aside and talk to her.

When she walked out of the bathroom, there was Bellamy, just standing a few feet outside the door, hands in his pockets, once again donning his suit jacket. He looked so dapper and sophisticated and . . . unlike himself, to be honest. But in other ways, the ways that mattered, he looked just like himself. Just like he always did. Kind. Supportive. Understanding. And he looked like he'd been waiting out there for a while.

"You're missing the show," she remarked, wondering how long he'd been standing out there. Five minutes? Probably ten.

"Doesn't matter," he replied.

It really didn't, did it? The show was nice and everything, and Harper was doing a great job in the lead dancer role. But it wasn't as important as this.

There was an elaborately-adorned bench near the railing looking down over the first floor, so he took a seat and motioned for her to sit next to him. She had to pick up her dress so she didn't step on it any more than she already had, but eventually she waddled towards him and sat down.

"I'm sorry I'm like this," she apologized, wishing she could just shut some of these emotions off.

"Like what?" he asked.

"This. Just so overly-emotional." It wasn't fun having her feelings take her on a roller coaster ride every single day. And she knew it affected him, too.

Of course, he didn't make her feel bad about it. Instead, he joked, "Comes with the territory," and patted her bulging belly.

"I know, but it's probably really annoying." Sometimes she wondered if he ever missed just having a normal girlfriend, one who didn't cry at the drop of a hat or freak out if there was no ice cream left in the freezer. She'd been a normal girlfriend to him once. Once upon a time. A long time ago.

Or . . . at least it seemed like a long time.

"Well, I haven't gone running for the hills yet," he said, immediately cringing after the sentence left his mouth. "Sorry, wrong choice of words."

It really was. The other night, she'd literally had a dream where he'd run off towards some hills, leaving her behind.

"Clarke, have I done something or said something to make you worry I'd leave you?" he asked, his voice quieter than it usually was.

"No," she assured him quickly. "No, you've been . . . amazing. Like my human stress ball." She smiled shakily, but dammit if the tears she'd just quelled in the bathroom started to fall. She wiped them away so he wouldn't have to see too many of them. "It's hard to explain, Bellamy," she said. "But I just . . ." She took in a deep breath, let it out, and forced herself to remember some of the nightmares that had literally jolted her awake. "The first time I dreamt about it, we were going on a trip. To Wilmington. All over again. But you left without me. And then you didn't come back."

He frowned, but to his credit, he let her keep going.

"And then the next one was actually in the delivery room, and you walked out right as I was having the baby."

"I would never-"

"I know," she said. "I know you would never do that. Just like you would never cheat on me with my prenatal yoga instructor." She laughed at the ridiculousness of that, even though Luna was very exotic and pretty, and had Bellamy met her in Italy, he probably would have hooked up with her. "That was another dream," she said. "They're not . . . they're not realistic. I get that. But they feel so real. And then when I wake up, it's terrifying."

He took that in, nodding slowly, his eyes downcast, then mumbled, "I think it's my fault."

"What?" That didn't make any sense. "Why?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Deep down, you worry about me leaving you because . . . I already left once."

Oh god, Bellamy . . . Her heart sank. Because she didn't want him feeling guilty about that. "No, that was different. You had college and . . ." Everyone had been telling him to go, including her. It'd been what was best for him at the time. "Believe me, I don't hold that against you."

"I wish I hadn't gone," he said. "It didn't amount to anything. All I did was hang around long enough to . . . let my teammates do what they did." He shook his head in disgust. "I should've stayed here with you. Then we wouldn't have missed out on five years."

A few more tears spilled. She couldn't contain them, try as she might. Those five years . . . it wasn't something they could ever get back, even if they tried to make up for it now.

"I'm not gonna leave you again, Clarke," he told her, reaching over to take her hand in his, squeezing it gently. "I promise."

She looked down at their hands and moved her fingers so that they could entwine with his. That simple touch from him was so heartfelt and so assuring that she felt her anxiety finally start to dissolve for the first time in twenty-four hours. He knew about her dreams, and he wasn't angry with her for it. He could've been, but he wasn't. Even so, she felt bad. "I'm so sorry," she apologized.

He made a face. "Why?"

"Because I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or . . ." She trailed off, feeling like she just couldn't word things the way she wanted to. "I don't doubt you. You know that, right?"

"I know," he said. "Don't worry. I'm sure you're not the only pregnant woman who's had bad dreams about her husband." He quickly added on, "Or boyfriend." But the other word resonated more.

"Maybe they'll get better now that we've talked about it," she said, hopeful that she'd at least have some restful, peaceful nights as she prepared herself to head into her third trimester in just a couple of weeks. Everything she'd read said that crazy dreams like this were completely normal, but this was all new to her, so nothing felt normal at all.

"What about funny dreams?" he asked, lightening the mood. "Had any of those?"

The funnier dreams were usually just weird, but she'd had plenty of those, too. "I dreamt that Murphy and Jasper were backup dancers for Britney Spears," she revealed, still trying to get those images out of her head.

He gave her an incredulous look, then laughed. She laughed, too, and god, it felt good. And necessary. Sometimes, she just needed to not take things so seriously. Back in high school, she'd been pretty good at that.

...

Clarke leaned against Bellamy's truck, one hand on the window, the other on her hip, and watched her boyfriend walk out of the school. When he saw her waiting for him, he walked faster.

"Hey," she said when he was closer. "You got Raven's text."

"Sure did." He stayed up on the sidewalk, grinning at her. "I knew it was from you."

"How?"

"Well, the kissing emoji kinda clued me in."

"Plenty of girls in this school wanna kiss you," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but you want it more."

So true. She did. She wanted kissing and . . . more than kissing. Last night, she'd tried masturbating in the shower, but it hadn't really worked. "Did anyone see you come out?" she asked him.

He looked back over his shoulder and said nonchalantly, "I don't think so."

"Good. Because I was just sitting in English thinking . . ." She looked up at the clear, sunny sky, then back at him. "It would be such a waste to spend this unseasonably hot January day cooped up in a classroom."

His eyes immediately lit up with mischief. "You wanna skip school?"

She shrugged. "Sure." She was ahead on all her assignments anyway.

Stepping down off the sidewalk, he took on a bit of a teasing tone when he questioned, "Have you ever skipped school before?"

"No," she admitted. "But there's a first time for everything. And I always enjoy my firsts with you."

Bellamy smiled upon hearing that and had to look away. That was kind of his go-to move when she said flirty, innuendo-filled things like that. He looked away because it turned him on so much. It was like his way of keeping control of himself instead of just grabbing her and tearing her clothes off. "What if your parents find out?" he said.

"I don't care," she grunted. "What're they gonna do, take my cell phone? Ground me? Forbid me from seeing you? They've already done all that." Nope, she'd thought about it, and the only option at this point was straight-up rebellion. Breaking the rules. It was kind of a rush.

"Your mom's gonna hate me even more," he said with a sigh.

"I'm not actually sure if that's possible," she told him. If he was worried, though, then she wasn't going to force him to leave today. " No, look, in all seriousness, I know you've been trying to get your grades up," she said, "so if you don't wanna miss class . . ."

"Are you kidding?" he said, giving her an incredulous look. "Get in the truck. Let's go." He opened up the driver's side and hopped in, and she scampered around to the other side, not surprised that he didn't need any more convincing. Bellamy had been breaking rules long before she had.

With no real destination in mind, they just drove around for a while, until Bellamy decided he wanted to pick up some beer. They couldn't very well do that in town, though, so they went to Polis, found the most run-down gas station there, and then chanced it buying two bottles. The woman behind the counter seemed completely uninterested in doing her job, and either she just didn't bother to card them, or she thought they looked old enough. Either way, she sold it to them, and they drove off yelling and laughing with delight.

Polis had even less to do than Arkadia did, so they drove back home and headed out to the beach. It was an open stretch of coastline for now, but it was probably under development. Someday, that beach would be somebody's backyard.

They sat on the sand, drinking and talking and occasionally making out. It was all just so relaxed and casual and comfortable. Clarke actually felt bad for all her friends who were still in school just going through a normal daily routine.

"Did you ever come out here last summer?" he asked, taking a drink from their one remaining bottle.

"No. I went to the pool."

He made a face. "The pool's a joke. We live on the coast. If you wanna swim, you gotta swim in the ocean. Are you a good swimmer?"

She shrugged. "Average." She took the bottle out of his hand and took only a small drink. If they did get caught, she didn't want to be drunk. "What about you?" she asked him.

"I'm really athletic," was his answer.

"So if I go out there and start drowning," she said, looking at the ocean, "you'd save me?"

"I'll always save you," he promised, leaning over to give her cheek a kiss.

Always? she wondered. Even when he wasn't around anymore? Even when he left?

A gust of wind blew her hair in front of her face, so she pushed it aside and looked down the beach, spotting what looked like the framework of a house under construction. "My parents really wanna buy a beach house," she said to him. In fact, it'd been the topic of a very awkward, mundane family dinner last night, one she hadn't bothered to speak a word at.

"Why?" Bellamy said. "Their regular house isn't big enough?"

"Property investment. I don't know." Maybe they just wanted another house because they could afford one. It'd be a status symbol or something, a marker of wealth. "It'd be really cool to live out here, though. All peaceful and serene. We could build sandcastles."

"And have sex on the beach." He wriggled his eyebrows.

"And go swimming."

"Or skinny-dipping." He reached behind his back and pulled his t-shirt up over his head, then quickly kicked off his shoes.

"Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?" He got up and started undoing his pants, pushing them down to his ankles. "Look around," he said as he stepped out of them. "There's nobody else out here. Just you and me."

She looked in every direction, realizing . . . he was right. He was totally right. Despite how nice the weather was, it was a weekday. People were at work. Or school.

Not them.

"Come on," he said after he'd taken off his underwear. He darted to the ocean, all bronzed and gorgeous, and momentarily, she was distracted by the sight of his dick bouncing around. Then his butt. Because Bellamy had a nice, toned butt.

He ran right into that water, colliding with the waves, and immediately dove underneath the surface to get his hair wet.

"Is the water warm?" she called out to him.

"Yeah," he said, waist-deep. "Come on, get in, Clarke!"

"Oh my god." She took another small drink, just for that last bit of courage, then stood up and started undressing. "You get me to do the craziest things," she mumbled to herself as she shimmied out of all her clothes.

It felt a little strange to be completely naked while she was completely out in the open like that, in public where, at any moment, anyone could drive by. So she scurried towards the water, covering herself with her hands until she remembered she didn't really need to. Bellamy had already seen everything. Hell, at this point, he probably knew her body better than even she did.

"You look so good, you know that?" he said as one of his hands disappeared beneath the surface, probably to stroke his cock.

"So do you." She stepped into the water, only making it up to her knees before the chill of it sliced through her bones. "Bellamy!" she shrieked. "You liar! This isn't warm!"

He laughed and reached out for her hand. "Come on, get in deeper," he said, giving her a gentle tug. "I'll warm you up."

She followed him into the water, utterly freezing, and bemoaned, "It's cold."

"Not for long."

She waded in deep enough so that the water was above her chest, then asked, "How wet should I get?"

Chuckling, he answered, "Very."

Despite how cold that water was, she knew Bellamy really would heat her up, so she held her breath and sunk down beneath the surface to wet her hair, too. While she was down there, she reached out to touch his cock, just the head of it, and then she teased him by giving his balls a squeeze before she came back up to the surface.

"Fuck, Clarke," Bellamy swore, wrapping his arms around her. He lifted her up, which had never been difficult for him and certainly wasn't difficult in the water, and she coiled her legs around his waist and draped her arms over his shoulders.

"Okay, for real, though, I have had a couple drinks," she said, "so I could drown right now."

"No, I won't let you," he said, sliding his hand up her back. Seconds later, she felt his fingers playing with the ends of her wet hair. He smiled at her, a smile she swore he didn't share with anyone else, and said, "I'm having a really good day."

"Me, too," she said, wishing every day could be like this one. "I don't . . ." Her eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, she felt sort of breathless. "I don't want it to end."

He gazed at her for several long, intense seconds, and then his mouth found hers, kissing her passionately, deeply, the kind of kiss that was bound to escalate into something more. And she welcomed it. Tightening her arms and legs around him, pressing her chest against his, she reveled in the feeling swirling through her. Whatever it was made her feel so happy and . . . so alive.

Waves rolled towards them and around them, but they didn't feel cold anymore.

...

Clarke stayed outside with Bellamy through the rest of the first half of the ballet, and during the intermission, plenty of other people joined them, including Raven and Murphy. After assuring her best friend that everything was fine and getting a snack to eat, she headed back into the theater with all of them and took her seat, ready to watch the rest of the performance. Even though it'd made her cry, she got the sense that it was going to have a happy ending.

Harper continued to be amazing, moving across that stage so fluidly and gracefully that Clarke felt envious. She would have loved to be able to move like that, but the closest she'd ever got to being a dancer was cheerleading.

Only ten or so minutes into the second half of the show, she felt her eyelids growing heavy, and there was nothing she could do to stop them from closing. She was just exhausted and really needed sleep. So she leaned over to the side and rested her head on Bellamy's shoulder, which in that moment felt as comfortable to her as any bed or pillow ever had. And slowly, she drifted off to sleep.