"Hey, are you okay?" Wells asks, sitting across the table from Clarke as she absently pushes her peas around her plate with a fork. Clarke looks up from her plate, remembering that he's there all of a sudden.

"I'm fine," Clarke tells him. "Why do you ask?"

Wells gives her a look of concern. "You've barely touched your food."

Clarke pushes a mouthful of peas into her mouth to prove to him that she really is fine. Wells watches her as she chews and swallows the mouthful.

"Clarke," he pleads. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Clarke sighs. "Nothing, I swear," she tells him. "I guess I'm just not that hungry." She puts her fork down.

"It's not just that," Wells shakes his head. "Lately you've just seemed… I don't know. Sad."

Clarke twists her mouth and looks back down at her plate. She's surprised he's even noticed there's anything different with her. "I'm not sad," she tells him. "I guess I'm just in a weird slump or something. I'm supposed to get my period in a couple of days, maybe that's it."

"Oh, okay," Wells nods. He doesn't look totally convinced, but to his credit, he doesn't push it. Clarke gives him a reassuring smile, standing up and reaching across the table to pick up his empty plate.

"Thanks for cooking," she says, stacking his plate on top of her own and taking them to the kitchen. To her relief, he doesn't follow her, and she lets the tears spill from her eyes silently as she fills the sink with hot water.

It's been a week since her break up with Bellamy. God, can she even call it a break up? It's not like they were actually in a relationship. Whatever it was, she hasn't gotten over it as quickly as she'd hoped. She still feels like crying every time she thinks about him. Her heart aches constantly, even when she's not thinking about him. And she misses him like crazy.

To make matters worse, she can't even talk to anyone about how she's feeling. She can't tell Wells, for obvious reasons. She can't let Octavia know how much she's hurting, because she'll probably just say I told you so. And she sure as hell can't talk to Bellamy, the one person who she really wants to talk to, because he's the one who ended it, and she'd look like a complete fool if she went crying to him now. She doesn't want to embarrass herself more than she already has.

He hasn't called her or messaged her since last week. Not that she expected him to. But so much for being friends. She doesn't even know how she could be friends with him after this. Not after she knows what he feels like inside her. Not after everything he did to her, everything he knows about her. She's pretty sure she won't ever be able to look at him without thinking about his mouth on her skin.

Clarke cries silently as she scrubs the dishes, attacking the plates harder than necessary with the dishcloth. She hears Wells walk in behind her, and she quickly wipes her eyes as he walks over to her, hoping he won't notice her tear streaked face. She can't hide it from him though, and then his arms are squeezing tightly around her, his head fitting into the crook of her neck. Clarke sobs loudly, and then she turns in his arms, pressing her face into his chest, letting his shirt soak up her tears. He doesn't try to pressure her into telling him what's wrong, or coax it out of her. Her just strokes her hair and lets her cry.

God, imagine if he knew she was crying about another man. A wave of guilt crashes over her then, the months of secrecy and lying and sneaking around finally catching up to her. She has truly been a terrible girlfriend. And at the same time, it finally hits her. If she really loved him, she wouldn't have done any of that. If she really loved him, she wouldn't be wishing it was Bellamy's arms around her, Bellamy's hand stroking her hair.

What's worse is she begins to question whether she ever really loved him. At least, the way he wants to be loved, the way he deserves to be loved. It had seemed so romantic, when she was eighteen and he finally worked up the courage to tell her that he liked her as more than a friend, just before they both went off to college. And of course she loved him too, he was her best friend, and an amazing person who really cared about her, not to mention he had a killer body.

Everyone had called them crazy, starting a relationship a month before they headed off to different colleges. But they were only an hour away from each other and they made it work. And Clarke never felt anything more intense for anyone than what she felt for Wells. So it must have been true love.

Only now, as he holds her, and she's crying because her heart is broken over another man, she realises that Wells could never make her feel like this. Like there's a hole in her chest that's bleeding out and seeping into her clothes. God, and he never made her feel alive like Bellamy does either. She never missed him like she misses Bellamy, never ached for him, yearned for him. She never felt desperate for him or giddily happy because of him.

A fist latches onto her heart, squeezing hard. She can't breathe. She's fucking in love with Bellamy. The realisation paralyses her. She's suffocating in Wells' arms. She pulls away, shaking, her eyes wide. Wells tilts his head, questioning.

"What is it?"

"I think we should break up."

Wells stares at her as if unable to comprehend what she's saying. "What?"

Clarke takes a deep breath. Somehow, the tears have stopped now. "I—" she swallows. She'd said it without thinking, knowing it was the right thing. But now she doesn't know how to explain to him that it's over, convince him to let her go. "I don't want to do this anymore," Clarke whispers. "I don't feel… how I used to."

Wells continues staring at her. He squeezes his eyes shut, frowning. "You're—you're breaking up with me?"

Clarke nods. "I'm so sorry."

"Clarke," Wells shakes his head. "I don't understand, I don't— where is this coming from?"

"Hasn't it been coming for a while?" Clarke points out. "Haven't you noticed I've been… distant?"

"No!" Wells bursts out. "If anything, you've seemed happier these last few months. The last week excluded."

Clarke opens her mouth but promptly closes it again. Well, if that isn't telling enough. "I'm sorry."

Wells doesn't say anything else for a moment, so Clarke moves to walk past him and out of the kitchen.

"Clarke, no," Wells says. Clarke stops. "You can't do this. You can't throw away what we have with an I'm sorry. Don't the last seven years mean anything to you?"

"Of course they do!" Clarke says. "But Wells, I just don't want to be in this relationship anymore."

"You owe me an explanation," Wells says, his voice almost cold now.

Clarke shakes her head helplessly. How can she can give him an explanation that won't break his heart and his trust? "I can't give you one," she says.

"Try."

"I'm leaving, Wells," Clarke says, more forceful now. She sweeps past him, out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom.

"Clarke," Wells calls after her. The coldness is gone, replaced with a vulnerability. "Clarke, don't do this," he pleads, following her down the hall. "Don't go."

Tears start to prick her eyes again as she walks into the bedroom and grabs a small suitcase from the closet. She throws it onto the bed and starts tossing clothes into it.

"Clarke," Wells says again, standing in the doorway. She doesn't look up at him, can't bear to see the pain in his eyes, but she can feel him watching her. "Whatever it is, we can work it out. Just tell me what's wrong. Did I do something? Talk to me!"

Clarke stops packing things and turns to Wells. "I don't want to hurt you," she whispers.

"You already are."

Clarke shakes her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "I don't love you like I should," she admits. "I don't love you the way you love me."

"Since when?"

Clarke shrugs. "I don't know. A while."

Wells shakes his head. Clarke notices for the first time that he's crying too. "I don't believe you," he says.

"You don't have to believe me. I'm still leaving."

"Okay, go. I'll still be here when you want to come back."

"Wells—"

"Don't. This isn't it for us." Clarke knows she can't convince him otherwise. Only time will be able to do that. Wells shakes his head. "I think I'm going to… go out. I don't know. Get a drink. I don't think I can watch you pack."

"Wells—" Clarke tries again, but he just shakes his head.

"I love you," he tells her. Clarke doesn't respond, and Wells leaves without another word.

With nowhere else to go, Clarke checks into a hotel a few blocks away. Standing in the small hotel room, devoid of any light or personality, Clarke wonders for the first time if she's being totally crazy. Did she really just break up with the guy she's been with for seven years? And for what? A guy who doesn't even want to have sex with her anymore?

Clarke collapses onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. Perhaps she is crazy. Perhaps she's just upset and exhausted, and she'll wake up in the morning and realise she's made a huge mistake. And yet, part of her knows she made the right decision. Whether or not she loved Wells at the beginning is irrelevant. She doesn't love him now. Or at least, she's not in love with him. Not like she is with Bellamy.

Her stomach churns and she groans out loud, rolling onto her belly and burying her face in a pillow. How the fuck did this happen? It was just supposed to be sex! She doesn't want to be in love with him. There are a million reasons not to be in love with him. Sure, she can't think of any of them right now, but she knows they exist. Well, except the main one, which is plain and simple: he doesn't love her back.

And it's totally not his fault, and she can't blame him. They both knew it was only supposed to be sex between them, no feelings. Clarke had a boyfriend for fuck's sake. They had their fun, and Bellamy got bored of her and now they're done. It's not his fault she was stupid enough to go and get attached. Still, that knowledge doesn't make it hurt any less. Clarke wonders how many other girls he slept with while he was with her.

"Fucking hell, Clarke," she mutters to herself. "Don't go there."

Instead of crying again, (Clarke has had enough of that lately), she rolls off the bed and pads over to the mini fridge, pulling out the tiny bottles of liquor. It's going to cost her a fortune, but getting drunk right now is really the only solution, even if it is a temporary one.

The alcohol doesn't exactly make her forget about Bellamy. If anything, it makes her think about him more. Except, she's no longer dwelling on the fact that he doesn't love her, she's instead thinking about him touching her, imagining him kissing her, filling her with his cock. Pretty drunk already, Clarke stumbles to the suitcase she'd dumped by the door and opens it, rifling through her clothes until she finds the dildo Bellamy had given her. It won't feel like him, but it will have to do. She drops her jeans and panties on her way back to the bed, tripping over them as she tries to kick them off. She pulls her shirt over her head and takes her bra off, then throws herself back onto the bed. She tries to massage her tits, play with her nipples, but she's too drunk to do it properly, so she gives up. Or maybe it's just that Bellamy is the only one who can get her to come by playing with her tits.

She focuses her attention on her pussy, letting the dildo glide up and down her pussy lips. She doesn't have any lube, but she's wet enough that she should be fine without it. She rubs her clit with her middle finger, but honestly, she just wants something inside her, and soon she's pushing the dildo into her cunt, revelling in the feel of it stretching her open, at the same time wishing it was Bellamy's cock. She wishes she could call him, hear his voice, let him whisper dirty things to her to help her get off. She'll just have to make do with imagining what he'd say. Fucking hell, baby, you're so wet. You want to get fucked hard, huh? You need it?

"Yes, I need it," Clarke whimpers out loud, holding the dildo inside of herself. "I need you, Bell."

You got it, baby. Anything you want.

Clarke pumps the dildo in and out of her pussy, desperately, frantically. It doesn't take her long to reach her peak, imagining Bellamy talking to her, imagining it's his cock inside her.

I love you, baby, she imagines him saying. She comes, hard, her juices coating the dildo. But then she's crashing back to reality, the haze of her orgasm wearing off all too quickly. She feels even more wretched than before. Why had she let herself imagine him saying that?

She gets up and goes to the bathroom, washing the dildo and then barricading herself in the shower. She lets the too hot water scold her skin, and then she's fucking crying again, because that's apparently all she can do lately. She's pathetic.

She eventually shuts the water off, after how long she doesn't know. An hour maybe, two. She towels herself dry and puts her pyjamas on before crawling into bed, an alcohol induced headache already forming. Yet somehow, despite her pounding head and her uncontrollable thoughts of both Bellamy and Wells, sleep comes easily, and before long she's drifting off.

Clarke doesn't tell anyone that she and Wells are over. And nobody messages her or calls her to check on her, she figures Wells hasn't told anyone either. She supposes there's a part of her that's still coming to terms with the break up. Seven years is a long time, after all. And she's not ready to hear what her friends have to say. She doesn't want to have to explain it to Octavia or Raven. Octavia will think she's an idiot for not ending it sooner. Raven will think she's an idiot for ending it at all. Ditto with her mom. So, yeah, telling people is not her top priority just yet.

She goes to work on Monday like everything is normal. And everything at work is normal. It's good actually. She can throw herself into her work and not have to think about Wells' feelings, or Bellamy's non-existent feelings, and best of all, her own feelings. Clarke isn't usually the type to just ignore a problem, but feelings are different. You can't solve feelings. Denial is the only way.

The week passes slowly. The days are fine, but the nights are awful. It's been a long time since Clarke has felt truly lonely, and she doesn't quite know how to deal with it.

Wells messages her a few times, and calls her a few more, but she ignores him. She knows eventually she'll have to talk to him. He does deserve a real explanation. She's just not ready yet.

She does, however, pick up when Raven calls.

"Girls night, my place, Saturday night," Raven says.

"Wow, really? Your social calendar isn't booked out for the next five months?"

"I had a cancellation."

"You know you're allowed to just spend some time alone, right? Take a bath, read a book."

"Do you want to come or not?"

"Yes!" Clarke says quickly. A girls' night might be exactly what she needs. "What should I bring?"

"Alcohol."

"You got it."

It turns out, the reason for the girls' night is that Raven is pissed at Shaw. Apparently, he asked her to move in with him. Oh, the horror!

"I don't get it," Harper shakes her head. "Why is this a bad thing?"

"Because it's too soon!" Raven huffs. "We literally only said 'I love you' to each other a week ago, and now he wants to move in together."

"You know there's not like, a specific timeline for relationships, right? Some people even move in together before saying I love you," Octavia tells her.

"Those people are idiots," Raven rolls her eyes.

"So just tell him you don't want to move in together yet," Octavia shrugs. "What's the big deal?"

"I did tell him, and he was fine with it, but I'm annoyed at him for asking and I just wanted to vent," Raven pouts.

"Oh," Octavia nods. "Sorry. Vent away."

"I'm done now. What about you? How are things with Niylah?"

Octavia launches into a spiel about how great things are going with Niylah, and Clarke is only half listening, sipping on her wine absently. Octavia finishes gushing about Niylah (Clarke is pretty sure she's never heard Octavia gush before. It's weird) and then Harper proceeds to tell them that she and Monty are trying to get pregnant. In other words, all Clarke's friends' relationships are perfect, and she's the only single one, pining over a man who doesn't love her back.

"You're weirdly silent tonight, Clarke," Harper muses. "Everything okay?"

Clarke hesitates. This probably the part where she should tell them that she broke up with Wells and that she's currently living in a hotel room.

"Well—" she starts. Octavia's phone starts ringing, and three sets of eyes turn to her.

"Oops, sorry," Octavia apologises, grabbing her phone from the arm of the couch. "It's Bellamy, I'll just be a sec." Clarke's stomach swoops at the mention of his name. She hopes her face isn't as red as it feels.

Octavia jumps up from the couch, answering her phone as she leaves the room to take the call. Clarke, Raven and Harper sit in silence as they wait for her to return. Clarke isn't sure why. Maybe the other girls sense that Clarke was about to tell them something big and they don't want to continue without Octavia. Clarke certainly doesn't want to have to say it twice.

Octavia returns and settles herself back on the couch.

"Where were we?" she asks.

"Everything okay with Bellamy?" Clarke asks. She can't help herself.

"Yeah, he's fine," Octavia says. "He has a date tonight and he wanted to know the name of the place I went to with Niylah last week."

"He has a date?" Clarke repeats dumbly.

"Yeah," Octavia rolls her eyes. "This chick named Echo of all things. They've been out four times in the last two weeks."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Harper asks. "Bellamy never dates anyone. I would've thought you'd be happy for him."

"I would be, but I fucking hate Echo. I've only met her once but she's a complete bitch. I don't know what he sees in her."

"Damn, now I really want to meet her," Raven says.

"Okay, enough about Bellamy!" Octavia huffs. "Clarke was about to tell us something."

The three of them turn to look at her. "Um. Was I?" Clarke hedges. She swallows, trying to rid her mouth of the taste of bile. "I don't think so. Everything is great with me and Wells. We've got our annual beach trip coming up in a couple of weeks. I'm really looking forward to it."

"I bet he's going to propose this year," Harper grins.

Octavia rolls her eyes. "You say that every year. I bet he's never going to propose."

Clarke is barely listening. She gets up from the couch in a daze. "Bathroom," she murmurs as an excuse, hurrying down the hall and locking herself in the bathroom, sitting down on the lid of the toilet. She wills herself not to cry, but her willpower doesn't seem to be very strong these days.

She doesn't even know what she's so upset about. So what if Bellamy is dating someone? She already knows he doesn't want her. So why does it feel like he's breaking up with her all over again? Is it because somewhere, deep inside, she thought maybe there was a chance after all? That maybe he really liked her, even loved her, the way she loves him?

But the fact that he's already been on four dates with this Echo prove that he doesn't. He must really like her, even if Octavia doesn't. Perhaps he's finally found the right person.

There's a light tap on the door. "Clarke, are you okay?" Octavia calls.

Clarke sniffs and takes a deep breath, wiping her eyes. "Fine!" she calls back. Then she changes her mind. "Actually, I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to go home."

"Okay," Octavia says, sounding unsure.

Clarke gets up and flushes the toilet, then runs her hands under the tap, before wetting her face. She studies her face, making sure it doesn't look like she's been crying, then makes her way back to the living room.

"Did you drink too much?" Raven asks. Clarke gives her a half-hearted smile.

"I guess so."

"Maybe you're pregnant," Harper jokes. Clarke blanches. She couldn't think of anything worse right now.

"God, I hope not," she grimaces. She grabs her bag and heads for the door. "I'll see you guys later."

Out on the street, Clarke stops, taking a deep breath. She doesn't know where to go now. Back to hotel room where she's just going to mope and cry alone? To a bar, where she can drown her sorrows? Before she can make up her mind, she hears someone say her name, and she turns to see Wells, standing by his car on the street.

"What are you doing here?" she asks. "Are you following me?"

Wells shakes his head. "Raven mentioned you had a girls' night tonight."

"So what? You were just going to wait out here until I came outside?"

Wells shrugs. "Something like that, yeah."

"Kind of creepy."

"Clarke, come on," Wells sighs. He makes his way towards her. "You won't pick up when I call. Won't respond to my messages. I miss you. I just want to talk to you."

"So talk."

"I still don't understand why you left." Clarke says nothing. Wells sighs again. "Where are you even staying?"

"A hotel."

"Must be costing you a fortune."

"Yeah."

"Clarke, come home."

Clarke starts to well up again. She's pretty sure she's going to get her tear ducts welded shut one of these days. "I can't."

"Why not?"

Clarke shrugs. She looks at him. He has tears in his eyes too. Fucking hell. "Wells…" she starts. But she has no idea what to even say next.

"You haven't told anyone we broke up," Wells notes.

"Neither have you."

"Because I don't want us to be broken up. Have you even been looking for somewhere else to live? Another apartment?"

Clarke shakes her head.

"I know you still love me," Wells whispers.

"So?" Clarke huffs. "I'm still not in love with you. You deserve better."

"I don't want better. I want you. We can work on this. We can fix it. Clarke, we've had seven great years, we were bound to hit a rough patch eventually. We have to work through it. This is worth fighting for."

Clarke can't believe how much sense he's making. She finds herself nodding. "Okay," she says. "You're right."

Wells eyes light up, hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Yes. But don't expect it to be easy."

"Nothing good ever is," Wells says. Clarke nods again. Wells takes her hand. "Let's go get your stuff from the hotel, and then we can go home."

"Okay," Clarke says. "Okay. Let's go home."