Of course Clarke was locked in the closet. It had just been that kind of a day. She jiggled the doorknob one more time. Still locked. All she had wanted was a mop to clean up a mysterious pile of goo in the hallway, and now she was trapped with no light and nowhere to sit. Not even a bucket. She sighed and kicked the door in frustration. It had only been a few seconds, and she could already feel the claustrophobia setting in. It was nonsensical. She was one of only two people she knew who hadn't been imprisoned or buried or stuck in a metal can for the last few years. She had been free to roam, as far as her supplies and her ties to Madi would let her. She had never reached the end of that tether. Never wanted to go further. But sometimes her nightmares made it difficult to remember that. She had more than enough imagination and guilt to torture herself into sleepless nights. And claustrophobic days.
The trouble was, she couldn't wait for a rescue. She wasn't a little girl playing hide-and-seek on the Ark. This ship had soundproof walls. And no one else on it was likely to have a burning desire to find cleaning supplies anytime soon. She had to pull herself together and make her own escape.
She found herself absentmindedly swinging a mop around. As each dark thought hit, she struck out at the door, hoping for a miraculous weak spot, but none was apparent. Ships like this one were built to be sturdy and unbreakable. They had to be. The people weren't always so lucky. Clarke was. She knew it. It was her inescapable blessing and curse. She endured, she marched on, endlessly. Perhaps she could also take the occasional breather in locked closets.
She wasn't hungry. Her bladder was empty. There was a vent in the wall, so she wasn't cut off from oxygen. Madi was being babysat by Emori. She could hang out here for a while, if she wanted. Let the others play the game of life without her for a few rounds. It was tempting, in a way. Like falling into an old habit. Because she wouldn't be hiding in a closet for herself. She would be hiding in a closet for them.
But today Clarke Griffin felt an uncharacteristic burst of selfishness. She didn't care if she made her ex-friends awkward or uncomfortable. If she stirred up itchy feelings. She still wanted their company. It made her feel warm, down to her bones. She had been close to nature for the last few years, and it had taught her a thing or two. Things that were alive tended to gravitate to the warmth. Plants wanted the sunlight. It was their natural instinct and it was good for them. She wanted to be good to herself. For a minute, for an hour, for a day. The feeling would be fleeting. She wanted to make the most of it. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to be sarcastic, she wanted to ask questions. But to do all of that, she needed to get out.
The closet only had one weak spot. An old-fashioned lock, no fancy electronics. She started to work on picking the lock with some scraps of wire and broom bristle. She had some practice from the valley, where she had been determined to explore every nook and cranny. She kept at it for what felt like an eternity, until she heard the click she was waiting for. Then she grabbed the doorknob, took a deep breath, and pulled. As she stepped into the awful florescent lighting of the hallway, she vowed to never reveal this little misadventure to anyone. While her hands were busy, she had thought of dozens of other things to laugh at. She didn't need one more. And she didn't care if she was the only one laughing. The laughter wanted to escape, and she would let it. No locked door would hold her back.