Chapter 56

Avery was kicking up a storm. Almost as if to protest. But Clarke couldn't pay much attention to her. She sat on the couch and cried, listening to Bellamy's footsteps upstairs. It sounded like he'd gone in the bedroom. She could just picture him sitting there on the bed, stunned, thinking about what to say to her when he came downstairs, what questions he would ask. Because it wasn't like he could stay up there forever. He'd come down, and he'd want to know what was going on, and . . .

What was she supposed to tell him?

She kept looking at the door, pondering the idea of just leaving. She had her keys. She could get in the car and drive over to her mom's. Her mom wouldn't ask questions. She'd know what was going on. But she wouldn't know how to help, would she? No, she'd just tell Clarke to stay up in her room, and she'd stand at the front door talking to Bellamy, calmly telling him that he'd have to come back later, that she had things under control.

Nothing was under control anymore, though. Clarke felt it slipping away. No, not even slipping. It was like it'd been ripped away, her whole world, her whole life. All because he'd asked her to marry him. And something inside had just snapped. Now the floodgates were open, and she couldn't stop crying.

Was he crying, too? Upstairs right now, was that what he was doing? Or was he just trying to figure things out? He wouldn't, though. He wouldn't be able to figure out what was wrong.

Unless she told him.

Clarke kind of lost all sense of time as she sat downstairs on that couch, grappling with her new reality. It may have been five minutes, may have been twenty. However long it was, when Bellamy slowly walked down the stairs, it didn't feel like long enough. She had no idea how she was going to do this. It was gonna hurt.

Bellamy seemed rather speechless, too. And almost . . . cautious. He didn't come sit down beside her, barely even looked at her, actually. Instead, he went over to the fireplace and looked at the photos on the mantle. There were only a couple of them, an old one of her with her parents, one of him with his mother and Octavia, and one of the two of them in the center, back when she'd only been about six months along. His eyes lingered on that photo, and Clarke watched him, feeling like her heart was breaking. Not even for herself as much as it was for him.

Finally, he turned to her and got a few words out. "I don't understand," he said. "What . . ." But just as quickly as he'd begun talking, he stopped. And he just stared at her with such a bewildered look in his eyes that she had to look away. "What just happened?" he asked, his voice getting a little louder.

You don't wanna know, she thought, but in the back of her mind was another voice, one that said, But you deserve to.

He sounded desperate, almost as if he were begging, when he said, "Please, talk to me."

She pressed her fingers to her mouth, trying to keep from crying. The tears still fell from her eyes, but she didn't want to break down. Because then he'd feel bad for her, and he'd try to console her and comfort her. And that would just make her feel worse.

"Clarke, I don't know what's going on," he said, his voice shaking. He sounded . . . more than concerned. Afraid. She was scaring him.

"I'm sorry," she squeaked out. Those words felt so worthless.

"You don't have to apologize," he said, and he sounded so heartbreakingly understanding that Clarke still couldn't bring herself to look at him. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have sprung it on you. I just thought . . ." Even with her eyes elsewhere, she heard him swallow hard. His voice was quiet again when he said, "I thought you'd say yes."

Yes, her heart screamed. She wanted to. She wanted to say yes over and over again. But it wouldn't be right.

It'd taken him a couple minutes to get there, but at last, he asked the obvious question, the one he had to be dying to get an answer to: "Why didn't you?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, lowering her head.

"It's okay," he assured her quickly, coming closer. "We don't have to get engaged. We don't even have to get married if you don't want to. We can just . . . be together."

Her whole body shook as a sob tore through her. God, she loved being together with him. He made her happier than anyone else in the whole wide world. Which just made this even harder.

"Clarke, come on, you gotta . . . you gotta talk to me," he said, kneeling down in front of her. He tried to push her hair back from her face, even tried to wipe her tears away for her. "I'm not mad. I'm just confused. Why don't you wanna get married? I just wanna know."

I don't wanna tell you, she thought, pressing her hand to her stomach. Avery was still kicking wildly, like that was her way of being part of this horrible, horrible conversation.

"Please," he begged her. He stared at her with wide, questioning eyes, but when she still didn't say anything, he stood up, threw his hands up in the air, and spat, "What the hell, Clarke?"

She couldn't blame him for his patience starting to wear thin. She wasn't exactly making this easy on him. She hadn't made any of this easy on him. She forced herself to find words again, simply to assure him, "It's not that I don't wanna marry you. I just don't deserve to."

He frowned. "What do you mean? Why would you say that? I love you."

"No." She shook her head stubbornly and pushed herself up off the couch.

"Yes, I do. You know I do," he said, reaching out to grab her arm as she tried to walk towards the stairs. "Hey, look at me. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

You shouldn't love me, she thought. That was what was wrong.

"Why would you think you don't deserve . . ." He trailed off, loosening his hold on her arm to the point of letting go altogether. He seemed to have put together some theory in his mind, something that made logical sense to him, because he nodded slowly and said, "I think I get it. This is about the baby."

"Bellamy . . ."

"Haven't we been through this?" he said. "Haven't I proven to you by now that I'm in it for the long haul?"

Oh god, had he ever. She winced.

"I don't care if she's not . . . mine," he said softly. "I can be her father. I wanna be. I think I've already been one."

Another big kick, as if Avery was agreeing with that.

"Look, I'm not goin' anywhere," he promised her. "You don't have to worry. And you know this isn't just about the baby, right? That's not why I proposed to you."

Yeah, she knew. She knew, and that killed her just a little bit more.

"I wanna marry you for you, Clarke," he said, almost sounding as if he were about to propose all over again. "I'm in love with you. I'd be in love with you and wanna marry you whether you were pregnant or not."

She shook her head adamantly and said, "No, you don't get it."

He took a step back and snorted, clearly frustrated with the way this was going. "What don't I get?" he said. "Explain it to me."

She still didn't want to, selfish as it may have been. But from the moment she'd rejected his proposal, she'd backed herself into this corner. She had no choice. Gulping, she drew in a shaky breath and said, "This isn't about me . . . having a baby."

"Then what is it about?" he demanded. "Please, just tell me."

Telling him meant losing him, though. She was sure of it. "This isn't the first time," she practically whispered, averting her eyes.

"The first time what?" he prodded.

Feeling like the least she could do was look him in the eye when she dropped the bombshell on him, she lifted her head and gazed at him through a veil of tears. And then she said it: "That I've been pregnant."

...

They rode up the elevator in silence, hand in hand, stepped out onto the fourth floor, and proceeded to take a wrong turn on the way to their room. She laughed a little as he dragged her back down the hall in the opposite direction, but when they got to the closed door to room 421, they both fell silent again. And it got serious. Bellamy waved the key card in front of the lock, and it clicked open. The room was dark, so he reached around for a light switch, found it, and flipped it on.

Clarke had never actually been to Arkadia's hotel before, but she'd heard that it was pretty standard and sometimes a little disgusting. And indeed, this was nothing special. The bed wasn't even a king-size, just a queen. But that was plenty of room for both of them. They managed to squeeze into his twin bed all the time.

"Will this do?" he asked, shutting the door behind them.

"It's better than having my parents walk in on us," she said.

"Or my sister."

Yeah, the hotel room had pretty much been a necessity. They needed to be alone. Her mom had questioned it, of course, but Clarke hadn't left it up for debate. She'd just told her that she was going to be with Bellamy tonight. All night.

They faced each other, and Clarke couldn't even crack a smile. This was too bittersweet for that. Bellamy looked sad, too. But not sad enough to stay.

"I can't believe this is our last night together," he said, smoothing his hand up and down her arm.

She couldn't believe it, either. It was all ending so fast. Almost as fast as it had all started. "So let's not waste it," she suggested, popping open the top button on her shirt. Then the next, and then the next, until she could open her shirt and let it slide off her shoulders. It fell at her feet, and Bellamy's expression changed into a passionate one. And then his hands were on her.

Their clothes came off easily, almost as if they were melting. She lifted his shirt above his head for him, and he unclasped her bra for her. Their hands and fingers were a jumbled mess as they both reached out to undo each other's jeans, but they still managed to remove them quickly. She shoved her panties down to her feet, and he shucked off his boxers. They were naked in virtually no time at all. And that just felt right.

He touched her like she was a work of art, and he looked like one himself. His strong arms, broad chest and shoulders, the muscles of his abdomen . . . she needed to make sure she remembered exactly what he looked like. And what he felt like. So she let her hands roam all over him, plastered her chest to his and kissed him deeply, feeling the familiar swirl of his tongue around hers.

When he lifted her up off her feet, she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He walked right over their clothes and carried her to the bed, laying her down and crawling on top of her. For a second, even though they were in a different room and she was at a completely different point in her life, she remembered their first time together, when he'd been on top of her just like this. But that had been exciting, like an adventure, something new to try. This was . . . something else entirely.

No longer the virginal sixteen year old who needed to be fucked for the first time, she pushed back on his chest and reversed their positions so that she was lying on top of him, ready to take control. She rolled her hips against him, keeping her chest pressed to his as they continued to kiss. Her hair fell forward, and he tucked it behind her ear for her.

His body felt so good beneath hers. His skin was so warm, and he smelled so good. She wanted him. She wanted him so much. And judging by the way his cock poked at her pussy, he wanted her, too.

With one hand, she reached back behind herself, steadying his erection, and positioned herself right on top of it. She felt the familiar rush of being joined with him as she sank down onto his length, and she tore her mouth away from his so she could let out a pleasured moan. It felt like . . . bliss, honestly. Like nothing could ever be better.

Somehow, Bellamy stopped things just as she was going to start riding him. He put his hands on her hips and said, "Wait a minute. I'm not wearing a . . ."

"It's okay," she cut him off, her breath mingling with his own as she bent forward again. "Don't worry about it." She kissed him again, and he didn't protest as she started moving her hips, rocking on top of him, taking as much of his cock as she could. She didn't want there to be any space between their bodies, because in that moment, she wasn't even sure if she could exist without him. His hands were all over her, and hers were all over him, and she could feel his heart beating fast. Just like her own.

She wanted to feel every inch of him.

"Mmm," she moaned into his mouth, losing herself in the sensations. They weren't Bellamy and Clarke, two separate people anymore. They were just . . . them. Whatever they were. She felt no need to question it. He felt so good inside her, almost like he was meant to be there. Almost like he never had to leave.

...

Clarke held Bellamy's gaze until she couldn't anymore, until the shame became too much. Because that was what it was. Shame. It was beyond guilt, beyond remorse. And seeing him get down on one knee had caused it to explode. Did he feel it, too? Did he feel it radiating off of her in waves?

"What're you . . ." With nothing more to go on, it was clear that he was still struggling to connect the dots, to make sense of what little she was actually saying. But telling him she'd been pregnant before left very few options for someone who had only had two male partners in her lifetime, and eventually, it dawned on him. "You mean we . . ." He trailed off in astonishment and took a few stumbling steps backwards. Like he'd been hit by a train or something. "Oh."

In that moment, Avery stopped kicking. Just out of nowhere, she stopped, almost as if she were surprised, too. Clarke knew, logically, that there was no way she could understand what was going on. But maybe, somehow, without even being born yet, she still sensed something. They were, after all, talking about a brother or sister she'd never know.

"When?" Bellamy managed to ask.

She wasn't exactly sure when, because their condom usage back in high school had been inconsistent. Still, she had an idea. "The night before you left," she said. "I think." As amazing as that night had felt at the time, she looked back on it now and hated herself for being so stupid. It didn't matter that she'd been on the pill. She should have been smart enough to know it wasn't one-hundred percent effective. In fact, she had known that. She just . . . hadn't cared.

Understandably, he sounded slightly accusatory when he questioned her, "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

She sniffed back tears, thinking, Because I was afraid. And selfish. And awful. What kind of person did that make her to keep this from him all this time? How had she lived with all of this on her conscience?

As he continued to process everything, Bellamy's tone shifted, and his next question was a more sympathetic one. "What happened?" When she didn't say anything, he filled in the blanks himself. "You had a miscarriage?"

She grimaced, a fresh well of tears spilling over.

"Come here." He moved in close, trying to reach out for her.

"No," she said, backing away.

"Clarke . . ."

"No, I can't . . ." She didn't deserve his sympathy, his support, any of it.

"It's not your fault, alright?" he said. Tears shone in his own eyes now, too. "That kind of thing just happens. Just like it happened to your dad and Alyssa. It's okay. It doesn't mean you don't deserve good things happening to you now."

Oh, he had no idea what she deserved.

"And you can talk to me about it," he told her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to deal with it alone."

"No, you don't get it," she said. "Bellamy, you don't understand . . ." He was trying to, but he just didn't understand.

"I know I can't ever know what it was like," he said. "But you can still talk to me."

"No, Bellamy, you don't get it!" she repeated, her voice rising with hysteria. "I didn't have a miscarriage!"

"So then . . ." He trailed off abruptly, his mouth stopping while it was open. No words came out. She could practically see him thinking, trying to come up with some kind of explanation that fit with the narrative she was telling but didn't turn her into a monster. "What, y-you put it up for adoption or something?" he asked, an irrational hopefulness in his voice.

She stared at him sadly, shamefully, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

It was so obvious that he was trying everything he could to have faith in her, to believe that she would never . . . do what she'd done. But he had to know it didn't make any sense. She watched his expression change as everything clicked into place, everything he couldn't rationalize. Like the fact that no one had ever seen her with a pregnant belly until a couple of months ago. If she'd had that baby, there wouldn't have been any way to keep it a secret in a place like Arkadia. "Clarke, what did you . . . what did you do?" he asked fearfully, taking a few steps backward again.

She didn't say anything. She couldn't. And she didn't have to. Silence said it all.

His immediate reaction was . . . surprisingly subdued. "No." He went back to the fireplace, once again looking hard at the picture of the two of them on the mantle. It was from Valentine's Day. They were at Raven and Murphy's, and he had his arms around her, hands resting atop her belly. He stared at that photo for a long time, then allowed himself to say the words. "You had an abortion?" It was still a question, though, like he couldn't truly believe it.

That word . . . it sent shivers up her spine. For years now, she'd tried not to even think about it. "I'm so sorry," she apologized right away. But it wasn't gonna be enough. How could words ever make up for what she'd done?

Bellamy's shoulders slumped, and he held onto the mantle for support. "What?" he said more to himself than to her. He shook his head, whirled around, and defiantly said, "No. No, I don't believe you."

"Bellamy . . ."

"You didn't have an abortion," he said. "I've never even gotten you pregnant. You would've told me. You wouldn't have done that without telling me."

Oh god. She felt like there was a hand around her heart, just squeezing it with all its might. He loved her so much that he didn't want to believe this, that he was willing to try to convince himself that it was all some kind of . . . what, some kind of sick joke? "I wish I hadn't," she said. "God, Bellamy, I wish that so much. But I did." She inhaled shakily, feeling like she could barely breathe, and forced herself to say the words. "I had an abortion." The invisible hand around her heart squeezed so hard, she felt like she died for a moment. That would have been what she deserved.

"No," he said, still shaking his head.

"I found out I was pregnant a couple weeks after you left," she revealed. "And I didn't tell you. I didn't tell anyone, except my parents."

"They know?" he asked incredulously.

"I had to tell them."

"But you couldn't tell me?" he roared. "I got you pregnant, and you couldn't tell me?"

"You were already in Florida."

"So? Call me up."

"And say what?" She'd thought about it. There had been several nights when she'd had the phone in her hand and had been staring at his name in her contacts list.

"'Hey, Bellamy, I'm pregnant.' Just a thought," he said. "You didn't even tell me!"

She'd come close. But that didn't matter, did it? Ultimately, she'd kept it a secret. "I didn't wanna . . . be a burden," she said, trying to explain her very screwed up mindset at the time. "I-I know that doesn't make it right, but-"

"No, it doesn't!" he yelled, his eyes ablaze now as he looked her over in horror. "God, you were pregnant with someone who was half me and . . . I didn't know, Clarke! Don't you think I deserved to know that?"

"Yeah, you did," she cried. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was freaking out, and I didn't know what to do."

"So you decided to just get rid of it?"

"No!" She hated the way that sounded, like it was just something she'd thrown in the trash. "No, I didn't . . ." There wasn't a way to justify her actions, but she didn't want to make it seem like it'd been an easy action to take. "It wasn't a decision I made in two seconds, okay? My mom and dad and I . . . we talked about it a lot, and-"

"And you decided it was best to just get rid of it," he cut in angrily.

"No! No, it wasn't like that! Please stop saying that!" She pressed her face into her hands and sobbed, wishing she could just wake up from this, like a bad dream. Like a vivid bad dream that wasn't real. This was real, though. This was really happening, and it should have probably happened a long, long time ago. "It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life," she tried to tell him.

"Oh, save it!" he snapped.

"No, Bellamy, please, I need you to try to understand," she pleaded with him. "I was sixteen. I was in way over my head. And you were only eighteen, and you weren't around."

"I was a phone call away," he reminded her.

"But I didn't wanna derail your whole life, not right when you had something really important going for you."

"Oh, so you killed my kid behind my back as a favor to me?" he bit out. "Gee, thanks."

Just the way he phrased that . . . killed. Killed his kid. Their kid. "I told you, I didn't know what to do," she said again. "And my mom and dad were arguing about it, and they were so disappointed in me." She could still hear those fights of their echoing in her head today. "And they just kept arguing, and things got more and more confusing. I was so scared about what was gonna happen. I didn't feel ready to be a mom."

"Yeah, well, I could've been a dad," he said, his voice quivering. His jaw was tense, tight, but he was crying, too, devastated tears flowing down his freckled cheeks. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd seen Bellamy cry like this. Maybe she never had. "I would've done it, you know," he said. "I would've given up football and come back home and-"

"I know. That's why I felt like I couldn't tell you."

"Listen, I don't care what you felt like," he growled. "You should've told me, Clarke. You should've fucking told me!"

"I know!" she cried. "I'm sorry!"

"Quit saying you're sorry!"

"I am, though! I am sorry," she kept on. "I don't know what else to say. I'm so, so sorry."

"God-dammit," he swore, turning his back to her again. His shoulders rose up and down erratically as he cried, and he shook his head in complete bewilderment. "We had a baby. You and me," he said. And then, as if he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around it, he said the same thing as a question. "We had a baby?"

She looked down at her bulging belly, imagining what someone who was half him and half her would have looked like. What they would've been like. Boy or girl, short or tall, blonde or brunette . . . they'd have a little toddler by now if she hadn't . . . gotten rid of it. She hated the way that sounded, but he was right to phrase it that way. It was what she'd done.

"I should've told you," she said regretfully. "I should've told you right when I found out."

He spun back around again, his face a contortion of anger and sadness. "You know when else you could've told me? Any day for the past eight months!" he yelled at her. "I've been right here, going through all of this with you. I've been next to you in that bed every single night. And you still didn't tell me!"

She choked out a sob, feeling the full weight of the shame when he brought that up. Because he was right about that, too. It wasn't just that she'd kept something from him. It was that she'd kept it from him for a long time. It'd taken him proposing to get her to spill the truth.

"Jesus Christ, Clarke!" he roared. "It's bad enough that you kept me out of the loop back then, but to keep it a secret like this now . . . how the hell could you do that? How the hell could you do that to me?"

"I'm sorry," she said again, weakly.

"You've been lying to me this whole time, this whole time we've been back together!"

"I never meant to lie!" she wept. "I just . . . I didn't know how to tell you. We got back together, and I fell in love with you all over again."

He grunted and shook his head, as though he didn't even believe that now.

"And it's horrible and selfish and awful, but I didn't wanna lose you."

"But how could you wake up next to me every day and fall asleep next to me every night knowing you were lying to me?" he ground out. "You were lying, Clarke."

"I don't know, okay? I don't know. I just . . . I tried to stop thinking about it," she confessed. From time to time, the thoughts and the memories did creep up to the surface, but she'd become a master at pushing them back down, keeping it all buried. "Over the years, Bellamy, I've just tried to think about it less and less, because . . . if I think about it . . . if I think about what I did . . ." She cried loudly, feeling like that same lost, overwhelmed sixteen year old girl again who had ended her summer vacation at a Planned Parenthood clinic. "I regret it, okay? I regret it so much."

"That doesn't bring the baby back," he pointed out.

"I know."

"Dammit," he swore angrily. "Why, Clarke? Why'd you do this? Why'd you keep it a secret from me? I feel like I don't even know you now."

"No, you do," she assured him. "You know me better than anyone."

"Apparently I don't."

"You do," she insisted.

"I didn't even know you were pregnant!" he shouted through his tears. "I put a kid in you, and I didn't even know!"

"But that's my fault," she said. "Not yours."

"Yeah, I know it's your fault."

"But Bellamy, everything else between us . . . everything else is still the same." She felt him slipping away, so she tried to reach out for him.

"How can you say that?" he said, taking one step back. "It's not the same. This changes everything. Ten minutes ago, when I looked at you, I felt like I was looking at the most perfect person in the world. But I look at you now, and I feel sick."

She winced as that landed, but even though it hurt, she knew it was what she deserved. "I never said I was perfect," she reminded him. "You're the one who always said that to me. I tried to tell you I wasn't, but-"

"Oh, so now this is my fault?"

"No, I'm not saying that!" she screeched. "I'm just trying to get you to understand that . . . this weighed on me, okay? This secret. It ate away at me."

"Oh, yeah, it really seemed like it was eating away at you whenever I told you I loved you," he growled sarcastically, "or whenever I'd hold you in my arms, or whenever we made love. Yeah, you know, I'm sure you just felt awful about it then."

"God." She tried unsuccessfully to wipe the tears from her eyes, but new ones just immediately sprang forward to take their place. "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know how," she said. "And that's part of the reason why I was so reluctant to get back together with you in the first place. I didn't . . ." She faded off, disappointed in herself for giving in and starting this up again with him without being honest. After everything he'd done for her, she'd repaid him by lying, by keeping something this huge from him.

"You didn't want me to find out," he filled in. "Don't lie, Clarke. You never wanted to tell me."

"I did."

"No, you didn't!" he bellowed furiously, pointing a finger at her. "Otherwise you just would've done it. Admit it: You wanted it to stay a secret. And if I hadn't proposed to you tonight, we wouldn't even be having this conversation, would we?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

"No, we wouldn't. We would've come home, got undressed, got in bed and fucked. And you would've kept lying, wouldn't you?"

If she was being honest with him, she had to be honest with herself, too. And as uncomfortable as it was to admit . . . if he hadn't proposed, nothing inside her would have snapped. It would've been a normal night. With a not so normal secret. "Seeing you get down on one knee like that . . ." she said. "I wanted to say yes, Bellamy. But I couldn't. Because I have been lying to you. And I am so sorry. I know you don't believe me."

"No, I believe you," he said, his jaw clenched tightly now. "I just don't know if it's enough."

No, it has to be, she thought. Please.

"How can you say you love me if you would do this to me?" he asked her.

"Bellamy, I do, though. I do love you," she told him. Those weren't just words she was saying. She'd fallen in love with him as a sophomore in high school. There had never been anyone else for her but him.

"You know what?" His feelings seemed to have morphed into pure anger, because he glared at her, no sign of the love that she was used to seeing in his eyes. "I'm glad you said no," he grumbled. "I don't wanna be with someone I can't trust."

Don't do this, Bellamy, she thought, although she did understand where she was coming from. Trust was the foundation of a relationship, and she'd betrayed his. Still, hearing him say that stung. "You don't wanna be with me?" Not even an hour ago, he'd wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. It couldn't just change that quickly, could it? She knew this was bad, and she knew it wouldn't be easy to get past, but . . . was it really gonna destroy everything? Everything they had?

"Congratulations, Clarke," he said, his tone completely unsympathetic now. "Looks like all those nightmares you had are coming true."

"No, Bellamy, wait!" she cried as he stormed past her and walked out the front door. She ran to it, and pleaded with him to stay as he marched straight to his car. "Please! Bellamy!" She didn't follow him outside, though, because it was just so obvious that he was already gone. He got in that car, slammed the door shut, and drove off without even so much as another look at her. And just like that, he left. Just like he had in all those awful dreams.

She shut the door, leaned against it, and sank down on the floor, sobbing, shaking, feeling like the ground had just opened up underneath her. And now she was free-falling. No one there to catch her, or even to catch Avery. Because Bellamy was gone. Again.