Three:

10:43 PM.

Clarke chewed her lip as she fought back tears. Her whole life was in shambles and it was only 10:43 PM on a Tuesday, during the first week of January. The cold was biting but served as a reminder—this is reality. She was about to bury herself in the recent events of her life when a voice broke through her thoughts. "Hey, you're pre-med!" A straggly boy stopped jogging in front of her. His eyes gleamed as if she were his savior but she felt completely mortified that someone found her in her sad, pitiful condition. Her hair was falling after she spent hours creating the perfect look and her makeup was all over her face. "You're the one who tried to get our charter revoked…" The boy trailed off and shrugged, "Whatever, whatever—in the past now I guess. Will you come with me?"

She suddenly remembered his name, "Jasper, right? Bellamy calls you Goggles?" She sniffled and tried to compose herself. "Why the hell would I come with you? I know better. You're clearly high right now and you boys love a good prank—"

"Please, Princess…please." She thought that he was trying to get some type of revenge for using his nickname Goggles. Clarke swept a piece of her hair behind her ear and sighed heavily before she started to speak.

"First off, my name isn't Princess." Clarke tilted her chin up defensively because she honestly hated the nickname, "And fine. Lead the way, Jasper but someone better be dying." Clarke did not like the thought of running in her heels but she felt obligated to follow Jasper's frantic pace. What if Bellamy's hurt? God…

As far as Clarke was concerned, Omega Theta Kappa was a place where dreams went downhill. The countless sluts that floated in and out of the house, the booze filled parties and the $15 swimming pools that were frozen over but still present on the ground served as a steady reminder of her conclusion. Despite her thoughts, she found herself comfortable with the Omega Theta Kappa boys. They weren't trying to be anything they weren't and they could manage honesty (most likely due to the fact they were always drunk.) Clarke would never admit that she knew most of the boys, especially the older ones, because of her short-lived friendship with Bellamy Blake.

Jasper pushed the front door open, flickering on the hallway light. Clarke followed him even if she knew her way around the house. How long had it been? She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually been farther than the front porch of the house. As they neared the living room, she found that three boys stood up against the wall while one sat on the couch. "Out of all the students on this campus, her? Really?" Murphy sneered but Jasper waved a hand at him dismissively.

"What the fuck?" Clarke asked, her voice nearly a whisper as she pointed towards the pile of sheets tied into what appeared to be togas, bottles of Kahlua, vodka-and was that Jack Daniels? Her eyes settled on a pack of unopened condoms claiming to be "for her pleasure." How considerate, she thought as she scanned the rest of the room. There were bloody towels and the entire place reeked of masculine homemaking. Do these guys even have girlfriends? How can they live like this? "I don't know what the hell y'all are—" She started in reference to the clutter in their living room. Were they planning some type of orgy? Like, what the hell did she just walk into?

"Our boy Miller needs stitches, okay?" Jasper piped up and pointed towards the couch. Nathan Miller; Clarke knew him fairly well because he was the closest thing Bellamy had to a best friend. For the second time that night, she thought about how she met Bellamy Blake. It was the same night she met Nathan Miller, of course. The same night she and Bellamy almost kissed and almost had sex in the back of his car like he'd been suggesting the entire time he bought her drinks, before drunk Miller "ruined" the whole thing.

"Oh, you're pretty…haven't you slept with Bellamy before? You look just like the girl who climbed out of his window last night." Naturally, Nathan Miller wasn't the best wingman.

She liked him just fine—maybe she owed him for preventing her from making the biggest mistake of her life. Clarke raised her hand and pointed to Miller before she snorted, "No shit."

"I thought you were supposed to be prim and proper." Jasper's best friend commented from the opposite side of the room, a beer bottle in his hands. She knew Monty Green fairly well because they'd taken a few science classes together over the years. He was the only person part of the "fuck-up-frat" that didn't make sense. Miller was some type of athlete studying Criminal Justice, ironic considering the fact that he was probably injured doing something illegal. Then, Murphy—he was a goddamn sociopath that skipped all of his classes and had to register for a tutor, that's how Clarke knew him. The list of people who continued to do ridiculous things went on and on except for Monty. Monty hadn't missed a single class and he was on the Dean's list, too. Jasper was the only logical reason for his membership into their reckless brotherhood. Come to think of it, Jasper didn't make sense either. He wasn't a total dick like Bellamy or Murphy or even Miller.

She finally took a good hard look at Nathan Miller, though. She noticed the crimson soaking through the white towel. She felt sick and she knew the color in her face had completely drained. In all of her hands-on classes, ever patient signed a consent form and recognized there was a risk. Plus, there were trained doctors there to assist in case she screwed up. She realized she wasn't even close to becoming a doctor…and if she screwed up…god, Miller would hate her and there would be a total blowout between her sorority and Bellamy's fraternity forever. "Why can't he go to the hospital or something?" Clarke stepped back and all the boys in the room stared at her. She didn't mean for her voice to sound so shaky but she couldn't control her fear. They probably recognized the signs of a girl about to throw up because Monty started talking in a soothing voice.

"Listen, if we go to a regular doctor…we're going to get the house in trouble and I honestly don't want that. Do you?" Monty asked calmly, "C'mon, I know you're smart enough to do it." Clarke took a deep breath—the type that was supposed to calm a person but it only prompted the sensation of "pre-vomit" to build up in her throat.

"Why didn't I major in Art?" Clarke mumbled under her breath before meeting all of the pleading eyes in the room. She sighed heavily because she wasn't going to let them down. Taking action, she pointed to the only stranger in the room, "Do you have a needle? Thread? Something I can use?" He was slightly younger than all of them and Clarke assumed he was a pledge. He had brownish blonde hair and soft features—he was actually quite pretty if she had to describe him with one word.

"Yeah…yeah, we have a needle." He chuckled to himself, "Last night, Carla let us pierce her—"

"Just get me the needle and fucking sterilize it with some alcohol and a flame." Clarke snapped with wide eyes. She thought her house had problems when it came to sexting but obviously her girls were doing a lot better than the boys. Eventually, Clarke crossed the room and settled beside Miller to look over the damage. He hissed when she applied a little bit of pressure. "Shut up, you big baby and tell me how this happened."

Miller launched into a story about a mascot, a glass bottle, some girl named Ellen and too much whiskey. It bothered her that the story had nothing to do with the scene she was part of. What the fuck were the togas for? The condoms? There were so many questions floating through her head and none of them involved her failed relationship. She was grateful for small miracles in that moment, even if Miller was bleeding on the couch. She wasn't thinking about Wells. She wasn't thinking about her other problem, either. The pledge reentered the room looking quite pleased with himself as he presented her with a needle and thread, "This is going to hurt…can someone give me that bottle of vodka?" She smiled at Monty when he handed her the cheap bottle of alcohol, "Thanks."

If Miller thought she was going to give him the clear liquid, he was completely wrong. She popped the top and took a fast chug before pouring it over Miller's foot. "Thanks for the warning!" He yelled loudly, causing Murphy to snicker in the corner.

"I told you it was going to hurt!" Clarke countered but she couldn't stop an amused grin from forming on her face. "Where the hell is Bellamy, anyway? Clearly you guys were about to party. Doesn't he, like, lead the circus here?"

"With Octavia at your event, which begs the question—" Clarke cut him off by shoving the needle into his skin.

"Not." Murphy cleared his throat while he corrected Miller's statement, "Since you were busy with Ellen, I guess you didn't get the mass text concerning the—" He stopped talking when he looked at Clarke. Of course…

Clarke felt light-headed as she started to laugh, "He's hooking up with my girls, right? Typical." She dug the needle into Miller's skin again with a little too much force because Bellamy's countless affairs always made her angry, purely out of disgust. It wasn't because she gave a damn, it was because she always had to clean up his messes. Take for instance every time the Blake siblings decide they're going to fight—she's the one comforting Octavia's multitudes of angry tears. Or when he sleeps with one of her girls and she has to comfort her with the promise of ice cream and a better future. And let's not forget how she's stitching one of his boys up because he left the children unattended. A low whistle echoed throughout the living room and she turned her attention away from Miller for a second. "Say it, go on Murphy…I know you are dying to say something over there." The devil was always perceptive if anything…

Murphy simply shrugged, "You just seem a little hostile for someone in a committed relationship, that's all."

"We broke up." Clarke informed the room of acquaintances. It felt weird, really, confiding in a group of guys that she barely knew—barely trusted as if they'd all been best friends forever. "Wells cheated on me and we broke up." She felt the blush creeping up her cheeks as she started to sew faster. There was something disturbing about sewing a person's skin back together but she would have to get used to that, right? It was going to be her job.

"Dick."

"Douche."

"Asshole."

Miller touched her arm, "Please don't cause me to lose my foot." She silently thanked him for not commenting on Wells. She didn't need the sympathy of boys who carelessly fucked anyone they pleased without ever calling—especially Bellamy's boys. "So…you going to get with Bellamy, now?"

Clarke snorted, "As if."

"Hey, we have to support our boy's conquests" Murphy proclaimed, "You two have been hot after each other for what? Two years?"

"Three." Clarke mindlessly corrected him. She cussed herself mentally before bringing her head up. All the boys were staring at her with wicked smirks. She didn't know if she wanted to punch them in the face or laugh. "We're not hot after each other. It's a very, very, very cold path. Bellamy hates me. I hate him. We work together because we are forced to. It's in his nature to be a hopeless flirt, there's nothing more—"

"Yeah." Miller snorted, "There's nothing more my ass, don't you remember I'm his best friend?"

Clarke shrugged, "I really don't care how he feels. It's all in his pants."

"Then maybe you should just have sex."

"When did you become a better wingman?"

"About the time you broke his heart."

She sighed heavily, "I did not break his heart."

…

Clarke breathed in the masculine scent and groaned loudly before she lifted herself off the mattress. She was careful not to kick Miller's foot in the process but didn't really care if she woke him up or not. She checked her watch and frowned, 3:41 AM. She had a hangover from the vodka, the Kahlua and even the Jack Daniels. She barely remembered partying with the boys before calling it a night—in Miller's bed, obviously. Clarke straightened her dress and walked over to the door. She didn't sleep with him, she was just so drunk she thought she had to take care of her patient like a good doctor. She remembered professing her strengths and weaknesses in the medical profession before she and Jasper sang "A Thousand Miles" by Vanessa Carlton at the top of their lungs.

She didn't expect to run into Bellamy Blake as she moved down the stairs. "Uh…what the hell are you doing here?" Bellamy asked her, obviously loaded. He scrubbed his hand across his face and stared up at her from the bottom step like she was truly a princess or something. "Were you waiting on me?"

"Don't flatter yourself. You're not the only guy in this house." Clarke snorted, "Tell Miller I'm sorry I had to leave. Truly."

"You didn't sleep with him. You have a boyfriend. That's not your M.O." He narrowed his eyes. Even drunk, Bellamy wasn't an idiot. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest because she didn't want to think about Wells. "Please tell me you didn't sleep with him, Princess…" He sounded like he was begging—as if even considering the subject made him weak.

Clarke shrugged, "Depends on your definition of sleep, I guess. Listen, Bellamy I don't have to explain myself to you at all but…Wells and I broke up like six hours ago and you're right, I'm not that girl. Miller needed stitches. Your boys needed someone with some training. I helped, I got drunk and now I'm leaving."

"No, you're not." Bellamy said, "I'm not letting you walk home at date-rape o'clock. C'mon…"

She shook her head, "You and me, Bellamy…we're a mistake. I'm not trying to tempt fate this early in the morning…I'm not going to pretend we can trust each other, either. It's always going to be the same—we just can't."

"Never?"

"Go to bed, Bellamy. You're drunk."

Review if I should continue…