A/N: Okay, so when reading this just remember that I'm on your side! This is a Bellarke story, and it will have a happy ending. There are just a few bumps in the road before we get there. This chapter is a little shorter, but I think short chapters might be more manageable and equate to more frequent updates, so hopefully that's alright. Thank you all for the feedback, please keep leaving reviews, they make the hours I've put into this story worth it!
Six Months Later
"No, it's not-Bellamy I can't do this anymore."
He stares at her. There it is.
"You mean you don't want to."
"Of course I don't want to!" Her voice is ragged, hands flying everywhere as she speaks, manic and angry and wired. "It's not supposed to be this hard."
"I offered," he starts angrily, "I offered to move back, to not renew my contract, and you wanted me to take it."
They've had this argument before, but this time it's different. This time it started with a tabloid headline and picture of Bellamy with his arm around some redhead. And it's not that Clarke doesn't trust him. It's not.
It's just that all the pitying glances she gets from the people she inevitably has to defend him from are totally warranted. They don't believe that Bellamy wouldn't cheat on her, don't believe that any relationship could really last a year of long distance, not with the schedule he keeps. Not with the company he keeps while he's on set. Because what they have, it doesn't make sense anymore.
"I know! I know. And we tried. But it's not working. I'm miserable, you're miserable. Don't you miss being happy?"
She does. She almost forgets what it's like not to be missing him constantly. And she misses him much more than she's with him. That balance was lost a long time ago.
"You make me happy, Clarke." And then he's right there, hand on her jaw, holding her in place. She doesn't want to see the pain in his eyes, not when she's causing it.
"No I don't," she says softly. "Not like this."
.-.-.-.-.
"So, how's it going?"
Bellamy glances over at Eddie, narrowing his eyes when he sees the man's feet up on his coffee table. He really hates that.
"Fine." He shrugs. Eddie just snorts, taking a long pull from his beer.
"Bullshit, man. It's been like three months, and you're still moping. You've got to get over this."
The blonde eyes Clarke's painting, still hanging above the mantel. Bellamy's considered taking it down a few times, but it's the nicest piece he has. Besides, he likes it.
"I'm not moping."
"Moping, wallowing, whatever you want to call it. It's not healthy, dude. I'm sorry you lost your girl, but there are other fish, you know?"
No, he doesn't know. He's also suddenly wondering how the hell he ended up friends with someone who still says things like dude and other fish.
"I just keep thinking that I shouldn't have renewed my contract. I fucking knew it would be too hard, and I did it anyways." He finishes his own beer, and tries to remember how many he's had. He can't.
"I thought she told you to sign on? From what you've told me, she wouldn't have been happy if you'd quit. Probably would have dumped you anyways. You can't make decisions for her, man. That's just not how relationships work."
Right. That's why they're friends. The brutally honest, and sometimes crude moments of revelation. It's refreshing, if a little annoying.
"What would you know about relationships? Seriously, what's the longest you've stayed with one woman?"
Eddie just shrugs.
"I dunno, like a month? I like my freedom, what can I say."
"You're an idiot." Bellamy rolls his eyes.
"I'm an idiot? You're the one with a broke heart, and here I am, happy and whole."
Eddie squawks as a peanut his him in the ear, then turns to glare at the assailant.
"You're an ass."
"Hmm." The musician just makes a noise of agreement. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask, where did you get this?" He nods at the painting.
"Uh, Clarke gave it to me. Birthday present." Even talking about it hurts. Eddie gets up, walking over to inspect it.
"Wow, that's a pretty sick present." He squints at the signature in the bottom left corner. "You know, this kind of reminds me of something my brother got in a gallery in Vancouver."
Shrugging again, Bellamy wanders over to stand beside him.
"Could be the same artist. I never actually asked who it was by."
Eddie glances at him curiously.
"Clarke, she's rich?"
"Uhh," Bellamy scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Her parents were, I think. Her dad left her some money when he died. Why?"
"Well, I mean I could be wrong, but this," he points at the signature on the painting, "looks the same as the one on the piece my brother paid twenty-five g's for. Although I like this one better. It suits you."
"It's gotta be a different artist, then." There's no way Clarke would have dropped that kind of money on him. She'd have to know he wouldn't allow it.
Eddie doesn't look convinced, but he obviously recognizes the look on Bellamy's face, and lets it drop.
"I should probably get going, I'm meeting some people at . You're welcome to come, by the way."
He just shakes his head, watching as his friend departs.
He has a call to make.
.-.-.-.-.
Clarke is not having a good night. It's already ten, and the piece she's been working on, the one she told Anya she'd have done by tomorrow, hasn't been touched in hours.
So when her phone rings, it's a welcome distraction.
That is, until she sees who's calling.
"Bellamy?"
"Hey."
"Is everything okay?" They haven't spoken since the break-up, having both agreed it would be too easy to fall back into whatever they'd been doing before. It would be better just to cut all contact.
"Um," He sounds weird. Drunk, she realizes. It must be after one in the morning for him. "I'm not sure."
"What's wrong?" Hear heart leaps into her throat, images of something terrible having happened, him calling her as he bleeds out in the street.
But then, why would he call her? That's not her business, not anymore.
"I need to ask you something."
Clarke stands, setting down the paintbrush she's been holding for an hour, still clean.
"Alright."
"The painting you got me for my birthday, how much did it cost?"
Surprised at the question, she pauses.
"Uh, I told you I got a deal on it. Why are you asking?"
"Because I want to know. How much did it cost?"
She bites her lip. There's not really any reason to lie to him, not anymore. This has gone on long enough.
"I don't really remember. Whatever I paid for the canvas and the paint, I guess."
There's a long silence.
"What are you talking about?"
"It's mine, Bell. I painted it."
"You…"
"It's how I've been paying for everything. Since I quit the surgical internship."
"So the one O has, the one you've got-"
"Both mine."
"And you were doing this the whole time we were together?"
She pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. It never felt this much like a lie, before.
"Yeah."
The quiet between them says more than any words could. She fucked up. She can feel that. And there's no taking it back.
"And the painting my friend has, the one he paid twenty-five thousand dollars for, you're saying-"
"Could be mine." She doesn't mention the fact that it would have been one of her earlier pieces at that price. He laughs suddenly, bitter, and venomous.
"I've lost my goddamn mind."
She winces.
"I should have told you."
"Why didn't you?" He still sounds angry, maybe a little less so. She can hear distant sirens in the background of his call, wonder if he's at home.
"I don't know. Bellamy-"
But he's already gone.
.-.-.-.-.-.
"-to paint though, Raven said?"
Clarke blinks, realizing the man sitting across from her just asked a question. She mentally rewinds a few seconds.
"Uh, yeah. I like to paint." She forces a smile, trying to sound enthusiastic. "What about you? You work with Raven at the garage?"
"Temporarily," he nods, and Clarke struggles to remember his name. Cody, or maybe Kyle? "just while I finish grad school."
"Oh." Right, he's already told her what he's taking. Not that she can remember that either. "You must be looking forward to that. Grad school can be a bitch."
He raises an eyebrow.
"I didn't realize artists went to grad school."
She almost chokes on her drink at the condescension in his voice. Where had that come from?
"Uh, some do. But I was actually referring to med school." If she gets a little satisfaction at seeing his eyes go wide at that, she won't admit to it later.
"You went to medical school?"
"Mhmm," she says over the rim of her wine glass.
"What, uh, what happened with that?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean how come you didn't pursue it?"
She shrugs.
"Turns out it wasn't my passion. Kind of an expensive mistake, but what can you do?"
"I guess you can afford it."
"Um," This conversation has taken a turn for the uncomfortable. "I guess." Clarke slides her free hand into her purse, firing off a text. A minute or two later, her phone rings. "Sorry," she fakes an apologetic smile. "I should get that."
"Need an out?" Octavia's voice comes across the line. Excusing herself from the table, Clarke wanders toward the bar.
"God, yes. This guy is so not my type."
"I didn't realize you had a type," her friend replies, sounding surprised. Now that she thinks about it, neither did Clarke. Intense, dark eyes and freckles come to mind, but those are dangerous thoughts, so she pushes them away.
"Alright. You busy tonight? I could use a bottle of wine and an hour to complain about this date."
Octavia laughs.
"Sure. Lincoln's still in Phoenix, so I guess we'll have a girl's night."
The pair had moved in together almost six months ago. Clarke always tries not to let it remind her of what she could have had with Bellamy, but sometimes she can't help it. If she'd let him stay-
He would have resented her for it, eventually. She has to keep telling herself that. Otherwise all this pain, all those months of trying, desperately, to hold everything together, they were wasted. And worse, the fact that she let him go for good would have been the biggest mistake of her life.
"Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can get out of here."
She hangs up, walking back to their table with an apologetic smile.
"Let me guess," Kyle, or Cody, says, a bemused smile on his lips. "You've got to go."
"I'm sorry." She's not. "Let me cover this, since it's my fault we didn't get to finish."
"Sure." He sits back in his chair, eyeing her. Maybe if it were anyone else, Clarke would have expected him to argue with her. But somehow, this seems about right. She throws a few bills on the table, enough to cover their drinks and a tip. They never got a chance to order dinner.
"Have a good night."
He just nods, a half smile, half sneer, and Clarke can't get away fast enough, practically jogging toward the door.
Later, she sits on Octavia's couch, happily drunk, head dangling upside down as she struggles to make sense of the ET report playing on the television.
"God this is just-" She struggles to get the words out, the gravity on her upside down head seemingly unbearable. It doesn't occur to her to simply sit up. "Trash, O. Who even watches this?"
From the other end, and right side up, Octavia snorts.
"It's like two a.m. What else is on? You wanna watch porn?"
"Porn would be better than this," Clarke decides, slithering down onto the floor. The picture is still upside down from this angle, but now that she's laying flat her head doesn't hurt so much.
After the title sequence, Clarke starts to fall asleep. Then she hears something that wakes her up.
"What?" She blinks at Octavia, who simply blinks back, sleepy and confused.
"What?"
"Did you just say Bellamy's name?"
The brunette shakes her head.
"I could have sworn-" and then she catches sight of the tv screen, reflected on the glass wall clock. Bellamy's face. Clarke log rolls until she's on her stomach, facing the tv. Candice Cameron stands in front of a green screen, a picture of Bellamy with his arm around some blonde superimposed behind her.
"-Kaitlyn Herald, star of the new hit period drama Earthbound, was seen cozying up to a sexy brunette at the VELD Music Festival last night. Sources have identified the man as a writer for the show, Bellamy Blake. Neither had any comment when questioned on the matter, but they certainly looked hot and heavy at the concert."
Clarke stares.
"Wh-" she begins, but then realizes she doesn't even know where to start. She rolls onto her side, gaping at Octavia. "Am I totally wasted, or was your brother actually just on Entertainment Tonight?" She viciously hopes it's the former.
"Clarke," Octavia says carefully, "-like you said, it's trash. Bell would have told me if he was dating someone."
The picture on the screen changes, and suddenly it's Bellamy and the blonde, but in this one their faces are practically welded together. Clarke's head begins to spin, and she sits up, nauseous.
"Right," she says "I think I'm going to go to bed."
"Clarke-"
She pushes herself up, staggering toward Octavia's bedroom. When her friend comes in, ten minutes later, she doesn't say anything. They both just lay there, in the dark, thinking about the same thing.
Just as sleep creeps in, softening the shock and displeasure that have taken root in Clarke's mind, it occurs to her that Bellamy isn't the only one trying to move on. He's just apparently doing a better job.
