Okay guys. Some of you may know about what I've recently been going through, and why I've decided to pause on Friends (With Benefits) to focus on my upcoming long oneshot. More details to come, but here's the first scene. The full story should be posted during the summer, and will be much longer (and sadder) but just wanted to keep you all in the loop.
Sorry for disappointing anyone eager to continue with Friends (With Benefits). But writing this story is great therapy for me as I can relate to it very similarly during this time. Hope you enjoy the preview. Follow me Bellarke95 for more details.
The first thing she noticed was the smell.
The smell and the decaying sign that hung from the roof of the train station. Both were rotten, combined with weeded grass and cracking wood, and she pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head to pinch the bridge of her nose.
It was May, and the humidity was strong, making the scent strong, too.
She turned up the volume on her iPod and glanced at the sign above her.
"Welcome to Arkadia. Home of America's Great Waterfalls."
Clarke scoffed. There's nothing great about waterfalls.
Nothing great about this town.
Her mother told her she was acting childish before she left, and judgemental; but Clarke probably knew more about this town than the people who resided in it. Knew of the population of 672 people, that the nearest hospital is in the town over, and the closest Starbucks is in the three towns after that.
And that there's only two waterfalls, both of which are not great, yet still baited for tourists.
Though the tourists never come and the residents never leave.
Arkadia was the home of nothing.
She sighed. Her head hurt from the train ride and her back ached from the long hours spent against the hard cushions. She glanced at her iPod. 5:52 pm. Her father was supposed to pick her up half an hour ago.
That's the reason she's here. Her father. He walked out of her life five years earlier when Clarke was fourteen, and they haven't spoken since then; but now he's got cancer, and he's dying and shit, and apparently he doesn't want to die alone.
So he decided to bring Clarke down with him.
And also decided to be late, taking another twenty minutes before he pulled up against the curb.
She didn't recognize him at first. He's thinner, more pale - looked sick with sullen eyes and transparent skin. He pushed the driver's seat open and stepped out of the car, removing his large sunglasses to reveal his crinkled smile.
"Clarke," he said, and he sounded awed. "It's good to see you."
She stood from the side of the curb. "You're late."
"I know. I'm sorry, I fell asleep."
She nodded. He grinned.
"You had a long ride, yeah?" he asked. He walked towards her and lifted both of her suitcases from the concrete. "You're probably hungry. As a kid you were always hungry. So I was thinking, there's this great steak place - "
"I'm a vegetarian," she told him.
"They have really good salads, too."
He brought her to a local diner called Grilled City, and they sat across the window that had the view of the water. It wasn't an ocean, but it was nice, and he ordered a steak, and ordered her a salad, too.
The waitress placed the salad on their table. It was choppy, with black olives and shredded Kraft cheese.
Jake winked at her. "It's the best salad in the damn town."
She nodded, and took a bite of the green leafs. It tasted like expired almond milk.
Her father smiled at her expression. "It gets better the second time," he told her. He ran a hand nervously through his thin hair; she wondered why he even still had any. "How you've been, Clarke?"
She shrugged. "Neck hurts from the ride over, but I'm fine."
"And your mom?" he asked.
"Good. Still with Marcus."
Her father knew Marcus. He was the CEO of the company he worked for when he lived in Boston, and was also the new husband to her mother. He was nice, and patient, and she knew he made her mom happy.
Jake used to make her mom happy, too. Used to make all of them happy.
"That's good," he muttered. "I like him."
Clarke looked at him. "You don't have to lie."
He shook his head. "I'm not," he said. "He's good to her, and more importantly he's good to you."
"How do you know he's good to me?"
"Well, he's never given me a reason to think otherwise."
"Even if he did," Clarke said, and she stabbed at a piece of lettuce. "You wouldn't know about it."
Her father pressed his lips together, distressed, and the waitress returned to their table.
"Any more water, Jake?" she asked him.
He glanced at her and nodded, sobering his expression. "Yeah. Thanks, Nancy." She smiled, tucking her red hair behind her ear as she poured more water into his cup. She turned to Clarke. "How about you, sweetie? You need anything else?"
"Diet Coke, please," Clarke told her.
The waitress laughed. "Oh honey, that ain't an option," she said, and Clarke blinked up at her. "If you want anything other than a watered down Pepsi you best haul your ass to the next town over. Heard they've got a 24 hour McDonalds."
They finished dinner half an hour later. Clarke didn't finish her salad, and declined the chance to take the remainders home with her; but her father finished his steak, and then ordered another one for home, and they were silent when he walked her to his car, even more silent when he drove them to his house.
He took an exit onto a dirt road, and pulled into a driveway, putting the car in park. Clarke stared at the house through the window.
It was huge. Settled on the edge of the beach with a wide porch that reminded her of Boston. It had more windows than the colours on the wall, and there was porch swing; a small book case beside it. It was nice.
Jake looked at her. "Ready to see the inside?"
He carried her suitcases to the door as she entered the house, and her eyes glazed over the shades that covered the wallpaper, the pieces of art that hung in the living room. There was so much room, so many things, and she thought of how her father spent the last five years here, eating and sleeping alone in a house this big.
She glanced at him, and he led her up the stairs, turning a corner to show her the bedroom.
"I wasn't able to paint it in time - I know you like blue, but," she looked around the room, touching her palm along the dull orange shading of the wall, "I hope this still works."
She nodded. "It'll work."
"You even have a nice window. You know, if you want to paint the beach or something."
"I don't paint anymore."
He stared at her. "You love painting."
"I did," she said, and he rubbed his hand against his jaw. "But it's just no longer a passion of mine."
"Huh. You're kidding."
She shook her head. "I'm not."
Jake pressed his lips together, looking at her. She crossed her arms over her chest.
"Okay, well," he walked towards the door and placed a hand against the wood. "You're probably jet-lagged, tired. Uhm - washroom's down the hall. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Make yourself at home."
"Okay."
He nodded. "Okay." He hesitated, the corner of his lips turned at the edges. "I'll see you in the morning."
And then he smiled, forced onto his mouth as he left the room, echoing that moment from so many years ago. The purple of his veins are a different shade than she remembered, and she collapsed onto the bed, shielding her eyes from the remaining sunlight cascaded over the beach.
Arkadia. Home of nothing.
Now home to her.
Share what you think below, xoxo.
