I really vomited all of my insecurities over the years into this. #sorrynotsorry and then the_most_beautiful_broom came in a wrecked me with her lovely additions. this is filled with lots of angst and mentions of abuse and miscarriage. let me know what you think!
part two : the next day
Clarke doesn't want to open her eyes.
The sun is streaming through the window, warming the room; she stretches out her legs over the soft cotton of the sheets, stopping when she feels the body next to her. She cautiously stretches out her hand, running her fingers along his back and up to the curls on his head. The sleepy figure next to her grunts and rolls towards her, his hot breath panting in her face.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she smiles at him.
He licks her face.
Buddy begins wagging his tail happily at her and she raises her arms over her head to fully stretch out her body. Her dog does the same, pushing his paws into her side and then promptly falling back asleep.
Clarke can't blame him; it was a long night.
She had made her way home from Bellamy's at nearly four in the morning, wishing she could have stayed with him but knowing she shouldn't. She'd found Raven asleep on the couch and Buddy asleep on Raven, but apparently he'd switched pillows in the night, and was more than happy to doze in her room.
A loud knock from the front of the house jolts Buddy awake, and Clark stumbles out of bed to answer it. A quick look through the peephole and Clarke slides the deadbolt back; it's Wells.
"Good morning, Clarke," Wells grins, his voice entirely too cheerful for the early hour, "Hey, Buddy. You ready for our run?"
He shoulders his way into the house, leaning down to scratch the dog's head. Clarke's head follows him automatically, but his words take a minute to register.
"Our run?" she echoes, and Wells brushes past her into the living room, an amused look on his face. "To be honest, I completely forgot. Can I get a rain check?"
Wells is still moving though; he swipes a pillow from the couch and tosses it at Raven.
"I'm awake," comes a grumble from the couch, and Wells grins.
"That's a 'no' to you Clarke," Wells says, his voice still bright, "and Raven, you should come with."
Wells is gone already, ducking into the kitchen to get some water bottles, and Raven and Clarke exchange a look of defeat.
Reluctantly, Clarke slips back into her room, throwing on jogging pants and a baggy t-shirt before scrubbing the remnants of last night's makeup off her face. In the other room, she can hear Raven grumbling, and rooting around for her tennis shoes.
Wells pulls out some water bottles from the refrigerator and waits for Clarke and Raven to get ready. Raven slips on her tennis shoes and goes to find Buddy's leash.
When she walks back into the kitchen, Clarke has to smile at the sight of Wells, leaning up against the counter. He's such a good guy, with a good face and shoulders too. Tall and well-built, with his dark curly hair cut short and his face clean-shaven, he always looks so confident and sure of himself.
He looks a lot like his brother.
The thought flies into Clarke's mind unbidden, but she realizes it's true.
Not necessarily in looks, but in the way the two of them carry themselves. It was a confidence, an easiness, a kindness that's almost indescribable.
She's thankful for such a good friend in Wells. In another life, she imagines the two of them would have been the perfect match—both from powerful families in Arkadia, both smart and quick, both driven— but they've always loved each other as friends, and neither of them have ever wanted anything else.
She knows she doesn't need an excuse, but the rush of gratitude has her reaching for him, and Wells doesn't think, his arms automatically opening to pull her into a hug. After a moment, his grip on her tightens, before he pulls back to look down at her, concerned.
"Everything okay?"
It is, but then it isn't. Because Wells is okay and they're okay, but she also wants to tell him about her night, but doesn't know how he'll react. She's always felt she can share everything with Wells: her hopes, dreams, desires, everything. But she's not sure what he'll say now that she actually had gone out with his brother. So she tries to give him a reassuring smile, squeezing his waist.
"Everything's okay," she parrots into his chest.
Raven choses that moment to come into the kitchen, chasing Buddy with his leash. It's always a funny dance—Buddy wants so badly to go for a walk/run that he doesn't understand that he has to sit still for them to get the leash on his collar—and when she's successful, Raven lets out a triumphant whoop, that Buddy echoes with an excited bark.
"So," Raven's eyes are flashing, and Clarke has a hard time believing that this same girl was completely out on the couch not even ten minutes ago, "how far are we running?"
"A couple miles, maybe three," Wells says casually, and Clarke groans, reaching for one of the water bottles.
Raven tilts her head. "Okay so are we not going to talk about the elephant in the room?"
Clarke sets the water down carefully; she'd been perfectly fine ignoring it, but it looks like that isn't an option anymore.
"Clarke didn't come home until the sun was waking up," Raven says conspiratorially, and Wells whistles, turning back to her.
"Clarke Griffin, did you go on a date?"
And there are a dozen things she can say to that, but the one that slips out when she looks back up at Wells is a quiet, "You didn't tell me you had a sister, too."
That lands exactly like she thought it would, and Wells takes a second to soak in what it means.
"You went out with Bell?" he asks after a beat, pausing, mulling over the thought of his best friend and half-brother, his expression unreadable. "How did that happen?"
"Fate happened," Raven fills in, when Clarke doesn't reply, her voice chipper, "I'm pretty sure they're soulmates." She leans over to grab a water bottle from Wells and begins to share with him her version of last night.
As Raven chatters, Clarke feels Wells' eyes on her. When she looks up again, she can now read his expression: it's the same look he had every time he picked her up from the hospital after Finn 'lost control'. Every time Finn promised he'd never do it again, and swore he loved her.
Wells was worried.
But he shouldn't be.
Clarke doesn't know how she knows, but she knows: Bellamy is different. So insanely different, and she's never been more sure of anything in her life. Pulling her mind back to the present, she shakes her head at the floor, letting Wells know she's fine.
"...I mean, when they get married you'll seriously be brother and sister so I don't know what else to tell you," Raven is wrapping up, but then she stops suddenly, turning to Clarke. "Wait, what's this about a sister?"
Wells grabs Raven by the shoulders and turns her around toward the door, his voice soothing. "Alright, thanks for that, Ray. And yeah, I do have a sister, but nobody panic. I've only met O once, but you two are always gonna be my favorite girls."
"That's sweet," Raven says snidely, even as she's propelled towards the door, dragging Buddy with her. "What's O for? Ophelia? Olivia?"
Clarke opens her mouth to respond, but then she catches the glint in Wells' eyes.
"Guess again," he says, and Clarke hides a laugh.
As she heads out behind them, she's grateful for the distraction. She loves her friends, but maybe this thing with Bellamy is something she wants to keep to herself for a bit. For now, at least.
Outside, they walk for a bit, stretching lightly, conversation dancing. Then Wells cocks his head to the side and they start in at a steady pace, and Clarke let her friends carry the conversation.
Last year, she'd mentioned how uncomfortable she was with her weight, and Wells had automatically volunteered to help. They'd started off slowly, just walking the trails by the park and then they'd moved on to jogging, and then finally reached running. It was murderous for Clarke, having been out of shape for so long. She's finally getting the hang of it within the last year, and she loves that her friends keep her company, but all the same, she still feels awful by the time they wrap up the three miles today.
Her thighs and calves burning and her lungs aching, Clarke plops down on the grass, her eyes closing in relief. In a show of solidarity, Buddy collapses next to her, but his happily wagging tail betrays him.
Of course, Raven is bouncing on the balls of her feet, her skin barely glistening, and Wells lowers himself gracefully to sit next to her, his breath barely winded.
Clarke squints up at them, looking like they should be on the cover of any sports magazine, and scowls. "I hate you both," she grumbles, and Wells laughs.
"We love you, too."
She knows that they know she doesn't mean it, and obviously she's the lucky one to have friends like them but...it's still hard. They both put in work to be as toned and sculpted and as perfect as they are, but a part of Clarke wishes that she does too. She tries, she runs, she sweats and she will never look like they do.
Clarke doesn't mean for her expression to turn morose, but she feels Wells' hand on her shoulder, so she knows she's pretty transparent.
"Oh, come on, Clarke; you're just too hard on yourself."
"I know," she mumbles, and she does: she's healthy and she's fine and that should be all that matters...but that doesn't make it easier when her friends look like they could be the face of a Nike campaign.
"Hey," Raven adds, her voice equal parts gentle and teasing, "seeing as you didn't come home last night, I don't think you have anything to worry about with that body of yours."
Clarke groans, her hands covering her face at her friend's antics, but also not wanting to share last night's moments with Bellamy's brother. It's too much.
"So," Raven continues, unbothered, "how was it with...Oprah's brother?"
"No!" Wells and Clarke both exclaim emphatically, and the moment is drowned out as Raven continues to guess.
Later that afternoon, after Raven and Wells have left, Clarke pulls the scale out from under the sink in the bathroom.
The number climbs and she holds her breath.
Please…please...please...
The number holds.
Clarke clenches her fists, trying to remind herself it's just a number. She wishes this weren't a ritual, checking her weight on the scale after a run. But it is. And she just can't understand it. After weeks of running, crunches, and weightlifting, she hasn't lost a pound, not after the initial weight loss. Not since the twenty pounds since she left Finn, and started working out with Wells.
Everyone said the last five pounds would be the hardest, but she never thought they'd be this hard. She's done all the diets, all the green tea, protein, fasting, everything. Those last five just refused to move.
Sighing, Clarke steps off the scale, heading back into her room and telling herself that her feet are falling just as loudly as normal, and she doesn't sound like she's stomping. She goes to fling herself on her bed, but decides the better option is the floor—she's sweaty anyways, and this way she can do sit-ups instead of pretending her stomach isn't soft under her fingers when she feels it. After a few reps, she's drenched in sweat, and her stomach is aching, and she tells herself that now it's okay to shower.
The lukewarm water cools her skin and softens some of the tension in her body, but does nothing to calm her mind.
Raven and Wells mean well, they always do, but the one voice in her head will always be louder than their kind voices. A voice she's conditioned herself to hear, a voice she can never ignore, a voice that isn't her own and a voice that's taken everything she ever held close to herself, her family, love, her confidence.
It's Finn Collins' voice, and even a year after she's left him, he still won't leave her.
She realizes that the water has gone cold and she reaches over to shut it off, suddenly too tired to leave the bathroom. She slides down the cool tile, sitting in the bathtub, her head resting on cold granite.
Without thinking, her hand lifts to her stomach, fingers pruned over the soft skin. The empty skin.
She hadn't thought she wanted a child, not after her own unhappy childhood. She'd never wanted to bring a baby into the world, didn't want something so pure and beautiful to be hurt like she was. Then she'd found out she was pregnant…
Clarke's eyes squeeze shut as she remembers the rush of joy. The wonder with which she'd held the test, the feeling of unexpected emotion as she spread her hands wonderingly over her stomach. For a moment, she'd been elated.
Then she'd looked down at her arm, seen the bruises there, and her heart had choked with fear.
She had born everything until that moment, every splintered word that Finn had whispered over her, every careful bruise he'd left on her skin, she'd endured. But in that moment, she knew she no longer could. Because a blow to her might hurt her child, and what if that baby heard, somehow, the horrible things he hissed at her?
She'd started planning then.
How to tell him, how to leave.
In the end, she didn't get the chance. A bad game of poker, a heavy bottle of vodka, and Finn had come home ready to fight. He didn't know about the baby in her stomach, just knew that his fists against her body made him laugh, and he didn't stop until she lay still. Clarke had driven herself to the hospital once he'd passed out in a drunken stupor. The nurses fixed her collarbone and she made them swear not to tell anyone about the baby. Not when there was no longer a baby to tell of.
Wells had held her when he came to the hospital, careful of her bruises and her body, but having no idea of the extent of the pain that Finn Collins had caused her.
The granite is cold and the water on her skin is cold and Clarke realizes her cheeks are wet with warm water, and by the time she realizes she's crying, she's sobbing. Her body shakes with cries, with sobs that wrench their way out of her and she makes herself climb out of the tub. Her body aches from the stiff position and Clarke drags herself to her bed.
She's exhausted.
Physically, from crying and from the run. Emotionally, from holding herself up for so long. But then there's this, this thing about her weight and how she looks and how she feels and how she can't tell anybody because she doesn't know if they'll understand…
And then there's Bellamy.
Bellamy who looks at her and sees her. Sees who she is and not who she was, looks at her like no one does once they know about Finn.
Clarke's eyes fall closed and she lets the memories of last night wash over her.
When they had made it to Bellamy's apartment, they'd paused on his doorstep. His eyes searched hers for any hesitation; finding none, he cradled her face and leaned down for a kiss. She'd leaned into him, wanting to be closer, embracing the passion of their kiss as it intensified.
Thinking of it now, a smile ghosts across her lips.
When he'd touched her, she hadn't thought of skin.
She hadn't thought of her scars, or imperfections, or where she was stretched or where she felt too much. She'd only been thinking of him. Of how he felt, how hungry his mouth felt, yet how soft. How her skin had burst into flame under his touch, how his eyes had worshipped her, then his hands, then his tongue.
If she opens her eyes to look down at herself, Clarke knows she'll see the worst of her blemishes along her stomach. Long and short, faint and dark, deep and wide, stretched across her stomach.
But with her eyes closed, she doesn't see them. Just Bellamy's fingertips ghosting over her hips, gripping to her tightly when he came. His hot and heavy hands on her, all of her, like he couldn't get enough of her.
With her eyes open, she might see the lines on her thighs and calves, the newest and most recent ones to join the rest on her body, bright and vivid, all along the inside of her thighs. Mocking her.
But with her eyes closed, she can all but feel Bellamy's body pressing up behind her, holding onto her. His strong arms wrapped around her arms, guiding her hand down between her legs, his deep voice asking her to turn around...
He'd called her beautiful.
Seen the scars, seen the stretches, seen the parts of her that she couldn't hide with her clothes in piles on the floor.
And called her beautiful.
Clarke turns her head, finally opening her eyes, searching for the mirror next to her bed. In it, she sees fire in her icy blue eyes. Mirrors are never easy for her, not since Finn, but Clarke holds her own eyes in it this time, daring herself to see clearly, just once. To see the woman Bellamy saw.
Maybe one of these days she'll see her again, but she knows it's a long process and a slow one, towards self-love.
Clarke refuses to lower her eyes to her body, knowing that's how she loses this battle, and reaches for a t-shirt. Soft cotton covers soft skin, and she's safe, at least for now.
Hidden in cotton and comfort, Clarke lies back down on her bed. The comforter is damp from her wet hair, and she feels the mattress dip when Buddy jumps up on the bed beside her. He curls up into her back, and Clarke is grateful for the warmth.
She doesn't plan on sleeping, but the next thing she knows, her phone is ringing loudly, interrupting dreams of violets and sangria. She's face down in her pillows and she tries to search for her phone with one arm.
"Hello?" she says sleepily, her voice bleary.
"Hey! It's Bellamy."
Sleep flies away.
Clarke's eyes snap open in surprise, and she pushes herself up. She'd kind of assumed that last night was a one-night stand type of thing; she wasn't the sort of girl that got happily ever after's.
Clarke cradles the phone between her ear and shoulder, trying to find a diplomatic way to say just that. "I didn't think you would call."
A deep laugh echoes over the phone, and Clarke finds she's smiling without even meaning to.
"What kind of guy do you think I am?" Bellamy's voice is light, teasing.
"Well," Clarke teases right back, "you did technically hit up Raven on Tinder."
"Yeah, that's why I'm calling."
Her breath catches at his words, wondering what he could possibly mean by that.
"I wanted to see if I could take you out on a proper date. Pick you up and all."
He says it on a rush, but Clarke can hear the smile in his voice and she sighs in relief.
"I'd like that," she says simply, wondering if he knows just how much she means it.
"Text me your address and I'll pick you up at eight?"
Clarke agrees and they hang up. She immediately texts him her details and then falls back onto her bed; Buddy cuddles up to her side and licks her face.
"Yeah, I know," she says quietly to the dog, "He kinda makes me happy."
Clarke had had Buddy before Finn; he'd been with her through everything. Through the bruises, through the shouting, Buddy would always come to her after Finn had left. He'd sit next to her, letting her cry into his wooly fur coat, take her time in putting herself back together.
They were both happier these days.
She lets herself linger for a moment longer, before pulling herself out of bed. She runs her hair under the faucet in the bathroom so she can properly dry and style it. She has plenty to do throughout the rest of her day, but she finds her thoughts are never far from warm brown eyes, and she keeps glancing at the clock without meaning too.
At five minutes to eight, she hears a car pull into the driveway, but doesn't move from the couch. Beside her, Buddy perks up, before hopping off the couch and running to the porch.
From her seat, Clarke has a perfect view of the stairs and porch; usually about now is when she'd call Buddy off, tell him to step down and trust whoever is coming. Chesapeake retrievers are pretty affectionate by nature, but they're also fairly protective. Clarke's needed that trait in the past, and tonight, she wonders what Buddy will think of her date.
She hears the crunch of shoes on gravel, and then the swing of a car door shutting. Buddy hears it too, his head tilting as he sniffs from behind the screen door.
They both watch as Bellamy approaches the bottom of the stairs, surprised when he sees the shadow of a massive dog behind the door.
Bellamy doesn't falter, continues up the steps, very much aware of the dog, but also trusting him. Buddy lets out a gentle growl, nothing aggressive, just a hey I don't know you; should you be here? growl, and Bellamy laughs slightly.
"Yeah, buddy," his low voice carries, "I'd be protective of her too."
Clarke isn't sure whether it's the voice or the tone or the man or the causal use of her dog's name, but Buddy stops growling. His tail rises and starts wagging, and Clarke's heart warms.
Her dog sees a friend.
She rises from the couch, heading to undo the door and give the two a proper introduction. Her smile is warm when she opens the door. Buddy's approval means the world to her, because it confirms everything she'd thought last night: maybe Bellamy Blake is exactly the kind of man she should let into her life.