Author's Note:
*NEW CONTENT ADDED/FIXED 3/16/16 4:18pm EST*
I don't know if anyone realized yet, but I just did, that I screwed up the days of the week. This chapter takes place on Tuesday, because Snow Day took place on Monday. I fixed my mistake so I think everything should be okay now. Sorry for the fail!
Here's the mostly-on-time update I promised!
Thanks so much for the really positive response to Chapter 4! Hearing from you guys honestly makes my day and is a great motivator. Keep the feedback coming!
Before you begin reading, please be aware that this chapter has a TRIGGER WARNING because it does deal with a little depression, and quite a bit of anxiety, including *spoiler but important to know* a panic attack. Please take care of yourself and avoid exposing yourself to these things if they will bother you.
A few of you have been inquiring about Clarke and Lexa's complicated pasts...this chapter is definitely an important piece to their discoveries about each other, even though it is just the tip of the ice burg, so I hope you enjoy it :) More to come!
I have a little business to cover at the end of the chapter, so don't forget to check out the notes at the bottom!
Thanks again, and happy reading!
"Clarke."
She rolled over, grumbling, and pulled the blankets over her reeling head.
"Clarke, it's time to go. You've laid in bed so long that you don't even have time to shower anymore. If you don't hurry up, you'll miss the bus."
"Mom, I'm staying home," she whined.
"No you're not."
"I don't feel well," she said, muffled by the blankets. She could feel the burning beginning in her eyes.
"I know you're not sick, Clarke, let's go!"
"Mom, it's bad today! I can't go!" Abby Griffin, hearing the break in her daughter's voice as she shouted, hurried to the back of the house, where the girl sat up in her bed. She was sobbing, her face buried in her knees and the blankets covering them. Abby knelt next to her daughter and wrapped her tightly in her arms.
"I can't do it, I can't go," she mumbled through her tears.
"Clarke, I know you're upset. I know you are. Sweetie, look at me. Please," her mother whispered gently in her ear. She lifted her head.
"I'm sorry that today has had a rough start for you, I really am. But I just can't let you stay home."
"But Mom, I-"
"I can't leave you home alone, Clarke. Especially if today is going to be a bad day. I need to know that you're safe."
"But I'll be better if I'm alone," she begged, "it'll be easier, I'll-"
"I can't trust that, Clarke! I can't trust you to take care of yourself on a day like this!" Abby's throat started to tighten, and she too was holding back tears.
"Yes you can! It's been almost a year since-"
"Clarke," she cupped her daughter's face in her hands, calling back her focus. The glossy blue eyes scanned her face quickly before settling on the brown ones before them. "I'm not going to leave you alone. I need you to go to school so that I know you will be safe. Please, honey. I will drive you. We'll clean you up and I'll drive you, and I'll call it a day early so I can come pick you up. We'll spend the afternoon together, okay? I'll be here." Her thumb wiped a tear from Clarke's cheek.
"I just don't want to see people today," she whimpered. "I don't want them to look at me."
"No one's going to look at you any differently than they usually look at you, honey."
"I don't want them to look at me at all. I don't want them to see me. I want to disappear." Another drop fell like lava down Abby's hands. She pulled Clarke close to her chest and smoothed the hair on the back of her head.
"What if I don't want you to disappear?" She whispered more to herself than to Clarke, but held her still tighter as she did.
I know you don't. She pulled back from her mother, drawing a deep, shaky breath. She knew she would have to do it for her mother's sake, if for no other reason. As much as Abby tried to mask it, Clarke could see the fear written into the lines of her face.
"I guess...I guess I can try it today."
Abby gave a half smile, brushing stray tears from her own eyes, and stood, holding a hand out for Clarke. She took it.
"Thank you, honey. I'm really proud of you." Her bony fingers clasped around her daughter's cheeks once more, and a gentle kiss planted on her forehead.
Clarke shuffled towards the bathroom, her feet cinder blocks beneath her. The weight of the hopelessness that encased her aching body when she woke had dwindled to a singular ball of dread in her stomach, ebbing away at her insides. Today was no particular day, she knew. Today was nothing special, but that feeling of defeat had crept back into her bones and chosen today to be heavy and hindering and sore. Her mother followed her into the room, leaning against the door frame to watch as she gathered her knotted hair into a loose braid down her right shoulder. She could feel the eyes on her as she brushed her teeth, feel the sting as they watched with pity and subconscious judgement.
"Stop looking at me," she snarled. Her mother turned her head.
When she was dressed in her usual skinny jeans and sweatshirt, she flipped up the hood and stuffed her feet into winter boots. She refused the heavier jacket from Abby's hands, but begrudgingly dry swallowed the little round pill she offered. Bupropion. Required, twice daily, if she was to continue attending school regularly. Most days it kept the demons at bay, but today, Clarke knew, it was likely to be useless.
"Clarke Griffin?"
"She's not here today, Miss Catherine." Lexa called back tentatively.
"I see. Have you heard from her? Is she sick?"
"No, I haven't heard from her since yesterday." Tension rose in her chest. Perhaps Clarke was sick, just out with a cold, or at an appointment of some sort. But she had been fine yesterday, better than fine, and hadn't said anything to Lexa since leaving. Would she tell me if she wasn't going to be in class? If something was wrong?
"Very well, then. Timothy Howitt?" The bubbly roll call continued.
As every morning, Lexa reached into her bag, feeling the zipper graze her skin as she pulled out her composition book, a black felt tip pen, and a glass water bottle. These three objects decorated her desk in every class, sometimes accompanied by other supplies, but never replaced, until the notebook was full or the pen gave out. Which occurred frequently. Her supplies were classroom necessities, but also a routine. A comfort, even. She ran her hand over the notebook's tattered cover, hoping to find a bit of that solace, and wondering what had happened to the quiet presence that was missing from beside her.
Class began with no sign of Clarke. Lexa felt the pierce of Miss Catherine's voice against her ears, but the shrill young woman may as well have been speaking a different language. She picked at the flaking corner of her notebook, watched Miss Catherine's gleaming blue heels pace across the front of the classroom, and thought immediately of Clarke's eyes.
What is she looking at right now? The ceiling in her bedroom? The sterile white counters in her dentist's office? The road through the passenger's side window? Yes, that's probably it. She's probably just running late. Maybe even literally running. She walks to school, sometimes, right? She's probably looking at the ground beneath her feet. Those sneakers against the asphalt. But…what if it's an accident? What if it's her face against the asphalt? She unwillingly conjured the image of Clarke's ashen cheek, scraped and bloodied and full of grit.
The nausea began. Miss Catherine's voice continued, each word another weight in Lexa's stomach.
She's fine. She wasn't in an accident. She walks around town all the time, she knows to look both ways, and where the crosswalks are. She's fine. She would never walk into the road unless the cars had a red light. Unless…unless there was a red light, and the car just didn't stop…
"M-miss Catherine?" Lexa interjected, her trembling hand rising. The woman halted mid-sentence and turned towards the brunette. She saw the heat gathered in the girl's cheeks, the dismay written in her eyes, and the question that snagged between her lips.
"Yes, Lexa, go ahead. Do you want someone to go with you?"
Lexa shook her head and stood quickly. For a moment she clutched her desk as the world around her spun, but soon she felt her gelatin legs carrying her out into the hallway.
Her safe haven was the two-stalled bathroom in the foreign language hall: a small, quiet, solitary corner of the school. If she could make it there, she could ride out an episode in peace. On the way, she kept her eyes in focus by counting the squeaks of her running shoes against the dusty tile. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Six- She nearly collided with another human while turning the first corner. A student, she could tell, from the beaten up Converse sneakers. Converse sneakers.
"Lexa?"
"C-clarke," she gasped between labored breaths. "You're-"
"What's going on? You're shaking." Her voice melted through the cloud in front of Lexa's eyes. It was warm in her ears.
"I um-I need to-the bathroom-"
"Okay, I'll take you. Here." Clarke's words came as softly and gently as the hand that snaked into Lexa's. Lexa, to the surprise of both girls, gripped it like a python.
In the bathroom, Lexa began her remedy regime. Clarke sat in silence, guarding the locked door, as she paced across the room with her hands clasping the back of her head. The blonde could see muscles tensing in the other girl's calves, in her shoulders, in her back, at her temples. She ached to help the brunette, to offer some scrap of comfort, but knew that Lexa knew best for herself. She knew how to face it on her own. The shallow, shivering breaths continually rang through the room, even as Lexa froze in place.
"Lexa?"
She crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. Clarke swore she could feel the bruises in her own knees and elbows as her partner's thudded against the polished tile. In one of her own heartbeats, though perhaps a few of Lexa's, she was at the brunette's side, pulling the shuddering body towards her own.
I can't see anything. I can't see. I'm blacking out. This must be a blackout. I haven't blacked out in months. Is someone touching me?
Slowly, Lexa's vision faded back in patches, as well as her awareness of her surroundings. In front of her were the pipes beneath one of the bathroom's two sinks. Crossed at her chest were her arms, as if her fall had been a ride down a water slide. Beneath her body was Clarke's, warm and alive and breathing. One of the blonde's arms held around her waist, rubbing in soothing circles, and the other wrapped around her left shoulder, ending with a hand tangled in her hair. Lexa gradually realized that she was not just being held, but cradled by Clarke, and that every breath was becoming more and more manageable. The pressure of Clarke's arms contained and steadied her. She found her aching muscles relaxing and her body sinking into the blonde.
"Thank you," she breathed. Her lips grazed the pale bare skin of the shoulder where Clarke's sweatshirt hung loosely. Clarke shivered at the touch.
"Of course," she replied, giving Lexa a reassuring squeeze before releasing her.
"So...what happened? Should I bring you to the nurse?"
"No, no I'm fine." Reluctantly, she stood and brushed off her knees.
"But you passed out, Lexa. Shouldn't you at least talk to the nurse?"
"I didn't pass out, just blacked out. I could still hear and feel everything. It just happens sometimes when I hyperventilate for too long; my vision clouds, and I get a little dizzy." She wet a paper towel and pressed it against her cheeks, cooling them quickly. It was then, looking in the mirror, that she noticed the thin black streaks down her face. She had been crying, and she hadn't even noticed. Damn. I really liked my eyeliner today.
"So then...this has happened before?"
Another detail Lexa had missed until that moment was the genuine concern- even worry- spread across Clarke's eyes. She had never seen Lexa's episodes before.
"Clarke...I'm so sorry you had to see this. I-"
"No, you don't have to apologize. You couldn't even control it. I'm glad I was here. I'm glad I was here to help you, I mean if I wasn't- if someone wasn't- anything could have happened. You might have split your head open on one of these sinks, you might not have even made it to the bathroom."
"I'm sorry I made you worry," she whispered.
"Did something happen in class?"
"Well...sort of. It may have happened anyway, I don't know. Sometimes it just happens, without warning, for no reason at all. This is not at all the way I wanted things to happen. I mean, I had wanted to tell you before you had to witness any of this."
"Lexa, what is it?"
"I have an anxiety disorder. That was a panic attack. I used to see a therapist, but I haven't been since I moved out here. I have emergency meds but I haven't been bringing them with me anywhere because I haven't needed to take them for quite a while; I've been managing with just coping strategies. I guess I should start carrying them again."
"You said it might have happened, 'anyway?' Did something trigger this one? Do you want to talk about it?"
Lexa thought back to the moment in the classroom when she felt the dread and terror enveloping her. Back to Clarke's bloody face, helpless on the pavement.
"No...I'd rather not. We should get to class."
"Oh, yeah."
"Shit. Everyone's going to turn and stare when we walk in. You're extremely late, and I left in a rush. They're going to be nosy."
"Would that make you anxious again?" Clarke mumbled over her nails.
"A little, but I think I can handle it now," she replied. "You?"
For a moment Clarke had forgotten that Lexa was aware of her aversion to prying eyes, and of the tell tale sign that her mind was racing. She dropped her hand to her side. This morning can't matter right now. I have to go, for Lexa.
"I'll go in first," she said, a new-found determination stirring in the phrase.
"Clarke, you don't have to do that. Don't worry about it, I'll-"
"No, it's okay. I want to." She smiled.
"Are you sure?"
"You said I don't have to hide in front of you, right?"
"Yeah, of course you don't. But you're still wearing that hood."
Clarke blushed, but kept her eyes locked on Lexa's.
"This isn't for you. It's for them. So since I'm the one with the shield, I'll go first." Lexa smirked at that, so she continued. "Besides, it's not the first or the last time I'll be coming in late. They'll get used to it."
"If you don't mind me asking...why were you late? Is everything okay?" Her voice was nearly a whisper, and her brow furrowed.
Is she worried about me? I can't feed the anxiety. She needs a break.
"Of course, I'm fine. I just overslept and got a speech about it from my mom. Fortunately for you, and unfortunately for me, I'm here now. So let's head out before we miss the entire period."
And with this concocted confidence, Clarke led the way into the classroom. As anticipated, a few heads did turn, but Miss Catherine's hand didn't hesitate across the board. Even those who did steal a glance couldn't look long before being drawn back to their note taking. The girls took their seats on the far side of the room, and the remaining fifteen minutes passed as always: Lexa scrambled to catch up with her notes, and Clarke gazed blankly out the nearby window. When the bell rang, Miss Catherine chirped over scraping chairs and chattering students.
"Don't forget your sketch pads tomorrow, everyone, we will be beginning our projects! Oh, Lexa and Clarke, if you two will stay a moment, I'll go over what you missed." They nodded, and she wandered over. "Glad to see you recovered well, dear," she spoke, her voice deliberately hushed. "Was this one triggered? Would you like to talk about anything?"
"No, no, Miss Catherine, everything's fine." Lexa spoke quickly, tucking back a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. Clarke caught herself watching the slender fingers in their gentle movements.
"Are you sure? Not stressing over the work load?"
"Not at all. I'm excited about this project. About working with Clarke," she smiled. The blonde turned away quickly and made herself busy packing her bag to hide the redness of her cheeks.
"Oh good. I trust you can get her the notes then, since you seem to be caught up?"
She nodded and started towards the door.
"Bye, Clarke. I'll text you, okay?"
The blonde waved back, admittedly a little flustered.
"Here's a sample of the technique we went over today. Just try to get in a little practice tonight if you can." Miss Catherine offered a sheet of paper.
She accepted the page, snapping back into reality.
"Did you want me to do a painting analysis like last time? Since I basically missed class?"
"That won't be necessary. You're certainly not behind in this class, anyway. Consider this one a freebie."
"Okay," she said with a half grin, "thanks."
"Thank you, Clarke." A warm, knowing quirk crept to the woman's lips. "It seems you caught her in time to help out. Often if she has to leave class for an attack, she doesn't come back."
Her words raised vague memories in Clarke from before she and her partner had been introduced. Memories of the studious brunette standing suddenly and hurrying from the classroom, usually after a nod of approval from the teacher. Memories of the now familiar flush to her cheeks, the wild darting of her shining eyes. Memories not just from art class, but from Algebra II last year, as well. She had been curious. Never was she curious enough, however, to investigate a situation that involved strangers. No, strangers were, by Clarke's policy, to be ignored.
"Yeah, I guess I found her just in time." Or maybe it's her that found me.
Author's Note Continued:
Hello again!
You may recall that I asked in last chapter's author's note if anyone would be interested in following a Tumblr blog about Clexa, Lexark, this story/future stories, and my personification of its characters. This would be a place where readers could ask questions related to myself or anything above, pictures/gifs/music/text would be posted frequently pertaining to the things above, and where I might even post sneak peaks on occasion. I haven't gotten any responses regarding this inquiry yet, but I know it has only been a few days, so I will wait for now and just remind you again. If you would be interested in following this kind of Tumblr, please please let me know! You can contact me about this through a review, a private message, or through my email: chlo3spade at gmail. That is my fanfiction/AO3 specific email, and it goes through to my phone, so it is always completely open for any questions, comments, emotional outbursts, or chats! Seriously, I love hearing from readers!
And finally, an update on the Clexakru Twitter battles, in case you haven't heard already:
We successfully world-wide trended a different catch phrase on Twitter every night for ten straight days after Lexa's death. We used things like "LGBT FANS DESERVE BETTER," "MINORITIES ARE NOT DISPOSABLE," and "CW STOP JASON ROTHENBERG" to help get our point across. If you want to get involved in trends, they usually last from about 6pm-midnight EST. Our little revolution has been covered by journalists all over the world, including BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation, a huge one in the United States and United Kingdom, for those who may not know), and the Sydney Morning Herald in Australia! Also, we have now raised over $40,000 for the Trevor Project, to support suicide prevention and awareness for LGBTQIA+ teens. How amazing is that? Keep it up friends!
Just a reminder for those of you who do choose to participate: Lexa is our martyr. Some might call her a "mascot," or a "Mockingjay" (some have suggested Mocking-gay, which I find extremely clever). However, her death is NOT our main concern in this battle. Her death was just the last straw that led to it. Our battle is for all minorities, whether it be by race, sexual orientation, gender identity, some combination of these, or something else completely. We are not fighting for invincibility in television programs. We are not fighting for some required quota of minority characters to appear in every program released. We are fighting for equal, valuable representation in all types of media; we are fighting against the roles, abuse, and/or deaths of minority characters being used as a stepping stool for the non-minority main characters' development with such persistence as it has until today.
That being said, we have a reasonable cause. Some might call it unnecessary or unimportant. That is their opinion. Regardless, we must continue to be reasonable, mature, specific, and persistent. We must respond to criticism with the intention of teaching others of our goals, and not with malice or dismissal. Ignore them, if need be. Be tastefully sassy if it contributes to communicating your point. But don't shove things down people's throats, especially if they're just some angry ass hat on Twitter. Some people just aren't willing to listen, and the more we push, the worse position we put ourselves in for credibility. Also, I have been told by some of my own biggest non-fans on Twitter that giving a wide variety of examples of mistreated minorities in media will be helpful to our audience. We need to remind people that Lexa is a symbol for a whole community of victims.
If you're still completely lost on all this, and would like to know more, we now have a website equipped with many articles for educating ourselves and others on the issue. Visit "wedeservedbetter. com" and link it in your posts!
Thanks again for listening to my long rants and reading my work! You mean the world to me!