"Thank you, Raven," you think you've said it more times than you can recall in the few short days you've spent with her, by her side, "for letting me come." And your eyes trace the ground from the window, the clouds moving below you, a quiet undulation for your eyes to follow.
"Anytime, Clarke," and you see her look at your carefully, see her lean a bit closer in her seat, "as long as you need, I'm here for you," and you think yourself lost but thankful. If only because you have a presence by your side that is at least familiar. But maybe, just for a short while, you feel a twinge of guilt at having left Lexa and Abby behind.
You needed to get away though. And so you lean back into the chair, the quiet hum of the plane a fading noise that soothes the turmoil of your thoughts.
You fall into an easy rhythm, waking later in the morning, Raven already at work. You often find yourself with little to do and so you spend moments just looking out the window, watching the cars that pass, the people that walk and smile and live in the world outside. You call Abby when you can, just to say hi, just to tell her how you've been and you think Raven must call her too, must tell her how you really are, if only because Abby doesn't ask, doesn't push more than she should. And you notice the way Abby avoids bringing Lexa up in the short conversations you have. You don't miss the way her voice tightens, the way her tears are often heard through the phone.
But you don't remember. But still, you think it only human that you feel guilt, that you feel a sorrow at what you don't remember.
And maybe one day you'll reach out to her, when you're ready.
It's a quiet night at Raven's place, you had spent much of your day at a cafe, your eyes reading as much as you could from the laptop Raven lent you. And you had searched and read anything, if only to catch up to the life that had left you behind, and as you return to your new home, you think you feel tired, you think you feel exhausted of the moments that linger just out of reach and that don't quite form strong enough for you to grasp.
You look up from the screen then, your eyes lingering on Raven as she stretches out what remains of her leg, and you grimace for a moment at the scar that runs the length of her thigh. And maybe, if selfishly, you think yourself lucky that you don't remember the accident.
"It doesn't hurt anymore," you meet her eyes, a carefree smile lingering there for you to see, "not much anyway." And she shrugs before leaning back on the couch.
"I'm sorry."
"For what? It wasn't your fault, Clarke."
But still, maybe you're sorry you can't remember.
"I wouldn't know."
But she ignores your pessimism, ignores your youthful brooding, "Still no memories?" And maybe you think you enjoy her bluntness.
"No," you pause for a moment, try to think, try to remember anything, "I— it's just. I have a feeling. I'm missing something," you grimace at your poor wording, your eyes darting to Raven's stump, "It's not that I know I'm missing something. It's just that I know that I know something's missing," and again you grimace at your words, and you think that the coma must have left you inarticulate, unable to express your thoughts clearly anymore.
"That makes sense," you look into her eyes, and you are sure doubt must live within your own because she shrugs again, "it does."
"It does?" You aren't sure what else to say.
"Look, it took me ages to figure out how to deal with my stump," and you smile softly when Raven lifts it in the air, waving it around as much as she can, "sometimes I get this phantom feeling that it's still there, and sometimes I'll wake up, reach down to scratch an itch," she stops for a moment, lets her mind catch up to her mouth, "but hey, Clarke," she flips her hair over her shoulder, "You get used to it."
"I hope so."
"And you know what?" You shrug at her question, but your eyes narrow when Raven sits up, when she eyes you cheekily, "I get to teach you all the fun stuff you don't remember."
"Can you believe it?" you hear her voice quietly, a soothing tune that reaches your ears.
"No," you turn over carefully in the bed, wrap your arm around her, a smile gliding across your lips, "I can't." And you lean into her touch, let your fingers dance with hers, the cool bite of the metal glinting smoothly in the morning light.
"You looked beautiful," she says, her hair falling across her face, "you look beautiful," she finishes.
"You did, too," you see her smile and it's warm and content.
"I love you," she smiles more fully then.
"I love you too, Lexa."
Your eyes open slowly, tiredly, the cool of the morning air biting into your tired body. And as wakefulness greets your mind you think you feel a thought, a memory cling to your subconscious, dig its way into your mind and so you lie still for a moment and try to let it live there for a while. It's strange you think, to sometimes have these feelings, these flashes of memories you think are not your own, but you chase after them all the same. If only to hold on to what you once were.
And so you rise, the sun casting a loose shadow on the floor that you follow to the bathroom. You pass Raven's door, the quiet sounds of her snoring reaching your ears and you think you smile at it, and you think you've grown used to the sound after all this time. Of the years you had with her before you lost yourself, and of the months you've spent with her since.
You've found that you still hate the cold, still think it too uncomfortable, even after all this time, so you let the water heat, let it warm the bathroom before you strip quickly, stepping under the searing water without pause. And it's a soothing rhythm, a steadying beat and a calming pressure that falls down your shoulders, that warms your core. And as you run your hands through your hair, as you let the lather build and cleanse you think yourself just a bit more comfortable, just a bit more settled.
The cool air still stings a moment too long as you dry yourself, the chill clinging to your flesh just a bit too desperate. And as you look into the mirror you think you recognise the woman who looks back, she's older, she's more wary, more alive, but you think she is you. And you think her less frail than the months prior and maybe you thank Raven for her help, for her guiding presence and her steady support as you rebuilt yourself, if only physically.
"You're quiet this morning," You look up at Raven, her fork halfway to her mouth, a caution living in her eyes, "what's up?"
You think over her words, let your eyes flick from her face down to your plate and you chase the thoughts that run in your mind, try and hold onto the dreamt memory you are sure you had lived.
"I—" you pause for a moment, look away from her, "I think I had a dream," you hear her hum an acknowledgement, a quiet prompt for you to continue, "of Lexa," you look back to Raven, see a soft smirk reach the corners of her mouth, "not that kind," again you pause, "I think it was a memory."
You hear Raven exhale a quiet breath then, "the doctors said memories might come back," she looks at you carefully, "after a while."
"It's been so long though."
"Yeah. I guess so."
You let the silence fall comfortably between you both, Raven quickly becoming engrossed in her own thoughts, her phone buzzing occasionally, an update for the project you assume she works on currently. And as you look out the window, as you let your eyes trace the rising of the sun and the passing of the cars and people who walk by you think that maybe, just for a small moment's time, you long for what you think you remember.
"Thank you, Raven," you look up at her again, see her eyes flash up to yours and you see her shrug freely.
"Anytime," she says and you think she knows that you thank her for more than just today, for the words you exchanged, for more than just a place to stay.
And maybe you think that you might be ready to take a leap.
Somewhere.
You leave the following week, your time spent with Raven a paged turned and a chapter finished in the years you've missed. And so you leave her with a tearful goodbye, with a tight embrace and whispered words of thanks, and you smile and wave a final time before you pass through the gates, a bag wheeled behind you full of moments remembered and times yet to be recalled.
And maybe, for a moment as you feel the lurching of the plane, as you feel gravity tug at your body, you think of Lexa, you think of her smile, of the way her lips curl in laughter and the way her hair falls across her back. And maybe you remember.
You'd spoken to him often, had sent messages too, but you think you've missed his presence, his steady smile and his warm embrace, and so you smile fully when he engulfs you in his arms, when he squeezes you tight to his chest.
And so, when you can catch your breath you say up at him, "I've missed you," and you hear him laugh softly, kindly.
"I've missed me too," and so you push him away, your eyes narrowed in mock annoyance, "I've got it," he says then, already reaching for your bag, and you know that he will ignore your protests.
"Thanks, Bell," you say then, and maybe you're just a bit thankful that after the long hours trapped in the plane you don't have to carry around the heavy bag.
"Anytime, Clarke."
"Sorry," you grimace painfully at the curse you hear coming from Raven's room, "she's not dangerous," you add lamely, and you see Lexa's eyes narrow at yet another loud bang, "I swear."
"She's your engineering friend, right?"
"Yeah, she's nice though," and you see Lexa shrug once.
"Where's my room?" she asks then, a bag clutched under her arm, and so you guide her down the hall, knock on Raven's door as you pass and call out to her that you and Lexa are both present and you smile at the surprised yelp and the loud greeting you hear.
"And again, thanks for agreeing to be roommates, since Bell graduated rent's been pretty crazy," and you smile softly as Lexa just shrugs once more, her own lips curving into a smile.
"I was looking for a place anyway," she says, and you see her eyes peer past you and so you turn to see Raven emerge from her room, wisps of smoke billowing out from it and you groan yet again when you see that she wears small shorts and a loose fitting shirt, and you curse quietly at her for not heeding your pleas for her to make a good impression on Lexa.
And so you turn back to Lexa, already about to offer an apology, but you think your eyes narrow for a moment when you see her eyes follow Raven, when you see them linger for a moment longer and a level lower.
And maybe you pretend not to feel a spark of something that lingers.
"Raven says hi," you say, your eyes following the cars that you pass, and you glance over to Bellamy, his eyes still focused on the road, "she asked if you've gotten your shit together yet," and you smile when he laughs, when he shrugs his shoulders broadly.
"Tell her I say hi too," he glances over to you quickly, his hair still falling into his eyes, and you think it strange, maybe even a little funny that he wears the same haircut, despite the years that he carries with him now.
"Thanks, Bell," you pause, worry your lip for a moment, "for letting me stay."
"Anytime, Clarke."
You find that Bellamy lives comfortably, that he has been well, and that you've missed his company. He offers you the spare bedroom, tells you that you can stay for as long as you need. And you think it will help. You think that as each day passes you feel a bit more like who you once were. And when you wake in the mornings there are times when you think you can hold on to a dream, a memory that you think must have been living within your mind.
And so it's such a day that you now find yourself, and It's a warm morning, the sun just cresting the horizon when you wake. Your eyes focused sleepily on the curtained window and so you let the warmth of the bed hold you comfortably for a while longer. Your thoughts drift to times long gone and as you roll onto your back you think you feel a faint whisper in the corners of your mind that twist and pull and prod at a thought. And maybe if you focus for a moment, maybe if you try and recall a feeling, you think you can picture the way dark brown hair falls, the way the flash of green shines smoothly in the sunlight or even the way her laugh carries in the air.
You roll out of bed and pad your way into the kitchen, and you already know that Bellamy has left, his usual hour long run leaving you with the house to yourself, and so you move lazily, quietly through the rooms to the bathroom.
The steady stream of the water beats down on you now, and you think it's a soothing pressure that massages your shoulders and steadies your mind, and so you let the heat continue to drum across your skin, let it warm your core.
And as you step out from under the heat, when you stand before the mirror you think you recognise who looks back. You think you recognise the curve of your cheek in the reflection, you think you recognise the way the blonde hair falls freely down to your shoulders and you think you recognise the flesh and muscle that carries the dips and curves of your body. And maybe you think yourself just a moment older than you recall, but you think you know the face, know the time that has been lived. Maybe you even remember, just a bit, but enough to feel like Clarke. And maybe as you run the towel over yourself, as you dress quietly, and as you step from the bathroom, as you shift back into the life you now live you think that maybe you remember enough to miss it.
Maybe you feel enough to want it.
"Spoken to Abby recently?" you look up at Bellamy, his eyes still glued to the TV and you think back to the last time you called, maybe two weeks ago, and for a short while you think you feel a stab of guilt.
"Not recently enough," you admit, "it's difficult," you add softly, and you see Bellamy look at you then, an eyebrow raised in question.
"You shouldn't cut her off," he eyes you carefully, and maybe you think you hear the words that linger, and maybe you think he talks not just of Abby. And you think you frown for a moment, let it sit awkwardly on your face.
"I know."
Your yes narrow when you reach your door. You put your ear to it and you listen for a moment, and it's not that it's quiet. It's not that the door was open. But it's that it is quiet. And so you frown for a moment, thoughts of a robbery or a hostage situation running through your mind, but you are sure there'd be screaming, or anything other than nothing. You peer left then right down the hallway, see another student walk past ignoring your questioning look. Your keys scrape at the lock carefully, and as you hear the click you take a breath, turn the doorknob and you push open the door.
"Guys?" you whisper it out, but all that you're met with is a heavy silence and quiet darkness, "Lexa? Raven?" maybe you're stupid to be nervous, they could just be out, but you know Raven has no classes today, that she should be working on her project, and Lexa would have texted you. And so you creep forward, your hand reaching for the light switch and again you whisper out quietly, "Guys…?"
And as you find the switch, as you turn the light on you think you yelp, you think you scream out at a register unknown and undignified.
"Surprise!" Raven and Bellamy jump out, a hat adorning their heads, and you're sure your breathing must be coming in quick, rapid lungfuls.
"Happy birthday, Clarke," Bellamy laughs, clapping you over the shoulder.
And as the shock of the ambush wears off you smile warmly at him, surprised to see him, "I didn't know you were coming down."
"Just for today, Lexa insisted," he says then.
"Oh," you smile at him once more, and maybe you try to ignore the rush you feel at her name, "where is she?" you ask, looking around the room, but all you find is Raven already eating a slice of what you presume to be your cake.
And Bellamy must follow your gaze if only because he shakes his head, a helpless laugh falling from his lips, "your girlfriend went to pick up Anya, they'll be here soon," and you grimace at his teasing.
"She's not my girlfriend," you glare at him, but he laughs, merely shrugs and walks off to share in the cake that you are sure won't last long.
And maybe, as you eye him retreating, you find that you don't mind the idea of girlfriends and Lexas.
You find that the winter seasons are much more severe, much more moody this far north, the chill a much colder bite and the wind a howling mess. But you think you enjoy it, if only because you can wrap yourself in warm jackets and scarves and gloves. And so you push forward, your hand clinging to Bellamy's arm for support.
"This fucking sucks, Bell," you yell at him over the wind, wiping a traitorous strand of hair from your forehead.
"Hey," he says, offence colouring his tone, but you know he jokes, if only because he pokes you in the ribs, "it's not that bad, you get used to it. Eventually."
And you're thankful when you reach the entrance, when you push open the doors and you step into the warmth of the restaurant. And you roll your eyes and smile softly when he waves you through, bowing slightly at the waist.
You find your seats in a far corner, cosy and warm and you smile as he pulls your chair out.
"Thanks," you murmur.
"It's the big two-eight for you, Clarke," he laughs as you scowl at him, "you're getting old. And it's my duty to protect the elderly."
Dinner is nice, simple and friendly, and you find that you laugh more, that you live a bit more relaxed in his company. Bellamy tells you of his day, of the children he teaches how to ski, and you think you enjoy this side of him, the protective fatherly figure that you think obvious now that you remember his brotherly guidance of younger years. And maybe, as conversation flows easily between you both, you think you feel the tugging at the corners of your mind, the feelings that live steadily, more vibrant with each day that passes and you think you miss it. You think you miss the feeling and the laugh and the touch of a lost other half.
And maybe Bellamy notices too, notices the way your eyes must drift and the way your thoughts must turn because he reaches out, his hand clasping yours for a moment's squeeze.
"You ok, Clarke?" you look up at him, let your eyes rest in his gaze.
"Yeah," you respond quickly, but you see him frown, you see the fork that lingers halfway to his mouth, "no," you amend.
And he puts it down, wipes his mouth with the napkin, his eyes thoughtful, "want to talk?"
You worry your lip for a moment, your eyes darting to the faces that sit near and far.
"I think I'm remembering," you look to him, see his eyes soften, see his expression loosen for a moment, "I've felt comfortable. Happy with my life for a while now," you pause, think over the dreams you have, the feelings you recognise and the guilt and the longing and loss that you are sure must be real, "but things are coming back. You know? I don't know what to do."
"What do you want?" he asks.
Her. My old life. The one I walked away from.
"Raven helped me heal, you know? Physically, I mean. She helped with the therapy, with the pain," you motion to the side of your head, "but I've got a life here, with you."
"The guys at the hospital'd understand, Clarke," he smiles warmly, "if you wanted to go back," he pauses, lets his mind wander for a moment, "plus, you can always finish that degree of yours," he smiles at you, "the work you've done here's got to count for something, right?"
And you laugh for a moment, "I don't think that's how it works, Bell," but maybe you should look into it. If anything, the experience must be worth something.
"Yeah, I guess," he says, "and don't worry about me. O's gonna finish school this year, she'll come stay with me, she's already Tee'd up a position. Search and Rescue,"and you smile warmly at the proud look he carries.
"Yeah," you think for a moment.
Maybe you should come home.
The remainder of your night passes easily, and as you wind down, as your plates are cleared you fall into a quiet moment. Both of you content to just sit for a while. And as you watch the snow that falls outside, as you follow the cars that drive past you think of a life that you don't remember, not clearly anyway. And you think you must be looking back through glasses, fogged and cracked, but you think you can feel what you miss, sense the something that lingers, if only you're willing to take a leap.
"Hey, Bell," you look up at him.
"Yeah?"
"When do you know you're ready?"
You watch as he leans back, his arms crossing over this chest, his finger scratching lightly at his chin for a moment.
"With my students," he pauses, tapping his finger against his lips for a moment, "sometimes they need a test, I'll take them on a run, get them to do or handle something that'll push them," he pauses again, "but sometimes I get this feeling, it's not sudden, it's not an epiphany, but like, I'll just wake up one day and have this feeling. And then I'll be skiing in front of them. And I'll look back, I'll see one, their eyes scanning properly, skis doing what they should, a smooth pizza shape and everything," he stops for a moment, a smile lifting his lips quietly, "and I'll see that they're not really focused on what I'm doing. But more so on what they're doing. On where they're going. On just skiing."
He looks you in the eyes, holds your gaze comfortably, "sometimes you stop needing other people to guide you. Sometimes you just need to trust yourself."
It's a tearful goodbye, you hold Bellamy close and whisper that you'll visit again, and he smiles, presses his lips to the top of your head kindly, anytime, Clarke whispered to you, and so you wave once more before the gates steal you from his gaze. And you think, as the plane speeds into the clouds, as the earth falls away, you think you're ready to come home.
You smile and cry harder than you realise when Abby engulfs you in a warm embrace, tears smearing down your cheeks and you apologise for not calling more frequently, for not sending letters as often as you should, but Abby understands, and you're thankful for it.
She shows you to your old room, tells you she'll call you when dinner's ready and for you to rest for now. And so you lie down on your bed, your eyes tracing the old posters you have stuck to your walls and ceiling. And it's a bittersweet thing. It's a calming thing to remember the moments you've had in the room. And you think you smile softly, you think the years have been good, have been hard and building. Have been what you needed. But as your eyes move over the walls, as they fall to the centre of the room you can't help but to feel guilty, to feel a longing and a want. And you remember your words, your denial and you think you feel a remorse that lives within you, a remembered thing that lingers and chews and begs to be set free.
"I'm sorry, Lexa," you whisper it out, let the words live quietly in the space that surrounds you, "I'm sorry I forgot you," and you sniffle softly, wipe your hand across your eyes and you think you feel the broken beat of your heart, a piece missing that should push and pull against your own.
And maybe, if only for a moment, you think you remember what love feels like.
You find that the weeks sometimes travel slow, a painful creep through your days and you find that sometimes they travel fast, a blurring of time and moments. And you begin searching for an apartment, somewhere simple that you can stay comfortably, and you know Abby doesn't wish for you to move out so soon, but you think you didn't leave Bellamy to fall back into a routine, and so you insist that you will be independent, try and find your way by yourself.
Abby helps you on her weekends, either passing you suitable apartments, or helping you pack, and so you find yourself in your room, the sun shining brightly through the window, boxes filled and clothes folded on your bed. And it's a quiet, bittersweet thing to be packing but maybe you think you're ready this time. But you hear the quiet gasp from behind you, and so you turn, your eyes falling on Abby as she holds a bound book carefully in her arms.
"Everything ok?" you ask it quietly, afraid to disturb the moment she must be having, but she looks up, lets her eyes find yours and she smiles softly.
"Come here," she whispers, her hand reaching out to you, and so you tread carefully to her side, and you sit when she guides you down onto the edge of the bed, "here," she says, passing you the book.
"What—" she shushes you quietly, opening it to the first page, and you think you gasp, you think you tremble quietly as your eyes take in the first image you see.
"You were both so beautiful that day," she wipes a finger across her eyes quickly, her shoulders shaking quietly, and you look at the image, you see the dresses that flow, elegant, brilliant and ardent in the sunlight that streams down. And you think you must ignore the blonde of your hair when next to you stands Lexa, her arms wrapped tightly around your waist, her hair braided and intricate and fierce, a smile, graceful and happy and shining living in her eyes.
"Were we happy?" but you think you already feel the answer that must exist.
"So very much," Abby smiles at you softly, "she loved you so, so much, Clarke," and maybe you don't realise you cry softly until Abby wraps her arms around you, and so you lean into her touch, lean into her whispered words and soothing embrace.
"I miss her," you choke out, and you think it surprising and truthful and broken when the words leave your lips, and you think of the times you wake, of the memories you are sure you have been recalling and so you shake your head, try and banish the pain, but as Abby holds you tightly, as she rocks you close to her you think they come stronger, come with a strength and a desire. And so you think you break and you drown and you fall into your mind.
And you are sure you must stay like this for hours, must stay held in Abby's arms for a long while. And so, as your heart begins to beat less frantic, as your shoulders quiet, you take a breath, a trembling, broken one, but one that steadies you for a moment.
"I think I've been remembering her," you look up at Abby, and you are sure you let a tear fall again, and so she wipes it away quietly, "I get flashes, of moments. Of feelings," and you are sure you hear her whimper quietly, hear her sob gently alongside you.
"You could go back, Clarke," you look up at her once again, "just to say hi. Just to see how she's been. For closure."
And it sounds nice, it sounds right to be able to turn this last page, to end this chapter of your life. So maybe you will.
Shouldn't you?
"Have you heard from her?" you ask, your voice quiet and timid, unsure of whether you wish to know the answer.
"No," it's sad, full of longing and loss, "she hasn't called in years," you hear the sniffle and the pain that must still linger, "I don't blame her," Abby continues, "I couldn't blame her," she looks at you kindly, brokenly, "I think she needed to find herself too."
It's a strange feeling to walk down streets you once called home. It's a strange feeling to think you remember the buildings, the trees and the way the city breathes around you. And as you stop at the lights you think your heart beats frantic. You think your eyes gaze upwards and you think you feel a pride and a longing and a loss that lives quietly within your mind. And as you cross the road, as you pause at the doors and as you look up at the building that towers above, you think you feel awed.
And you think yourself happy, and peaceful knowing that she was able to move on. That she was able to build a life, a career. But isn't that what you told her to do? To not wait for you?
Maybe you aren't sure you should have said those words so long ago.
It's a park you think you remember well, it's trees you think you spent many hours underneath and as you sit, as you let your thoughts wander and your mind settle, you think it's a strange thing to walk through a city that you once lived in, yet remember only small moments from. But maybe you think this is what you needed. Just small moments to ease you back into a life that you once shared. And it's nice, it's quiet and it's calming, and you see a woman run past, you see her slow and you see her take deep lungfuls of air, and as you continue to watch her as she nears a drink fountain and as she bends you think you remember the way her hair falls, you think you remember the colour of it as the sun shines lightly and the way it sways and dances in a cool morning breeze.
You think you've missed Lexa.
The next time you find yourself at the park, it's cold, it's damp and you think yourself a fool to sit at a bench, to have a sketchpad on your lap. But you think you enjoyed drawing once, so perhaps doing it now, in a place that is familiar would help, could help.
Should help.
You arrive before the rising of the sun, you arrive in time to see it crest the horizon and shine fiercely onto the trees that dot the area. And as you lean over the sketch pad, as your hand moves in quick, remembered arcs you think you enjoy the feeling. You think you enjoy the motion and the calming sound as the pencil scrapes across the surface. And as you look up, as you stretch your neck you think you see a woman run past, her hair billowing out behind her, and her feet moving fast, steady and graceful. And as you meet her eyes, as the sun shines you think you see the green, you think you see the dip of her neck and the flash of something that lingers for only a moment before it vanishes and she races past.
You know you've missed Lexa.
You stay not far from the park, a small apartment, enough for yourself, and you find it comfortable. You find that you fall into an easy rhythm of waking in the morning, of walking the streets, chasing a familiar ghost that sometimes lingers long enough for you to grasp. And you think you feel a steadying of your mind as your feet take you where they wish.
And it's a cold day, and a cold night when you walk to the bar, now more restaurant, and you look up from your phone screen, and you smile at the old memories you are sure surface slowly. And you think yourself proud of Gustus, you think yourself happy that he was able to turn it into something bigger. And you think of entering, you think of finding him and saying hi, of telling him you're sorry for leaving, for disappearing. But as you move to the door, as your eyes trace the people already seated you think you freeze. You think you stare, transfixed, saddened and broken. Bittersweet and accepting. You see her, you see the way her hair falls down her back, you see the dress that clings to her body and you see the carefree smile, the softness that lives in her eyes. And maybe you excuse the shadows you think you spy that rest beneath her eyes, if only because you think she must work late, must work hard at her job. And your eyes trail to the woman before her, your eyes take in the soft red and the kind pink that blends into the dress and that compliments her, that frames her and you think her beautiful. You think her kind, you think her loving as she reaches forward, as she holds Lexa's hand.
And it's a sad thought. It's a happy thought. It's a bittersweet moment when you think she is happy.
But maybe you can be selfish, if only for yourself, so you stay, linger in the shadows and watch for a quiet minute as they continue to talk softly, and perhaps you wonder what they must discuss. But you see the woman stand, you see her smile softly and you see her walk to the rear of the restaurant. And as you see Lexa's eyes move across the wall, as you see her eyes travel over the faces in curiosity you think you have lingered long enough. You think you have lived in the shadows, a voyeur to a memory not for you to live, and so you pull your jacket tighter around your body, you pull it firmly around yourself and you turn and walk away.
And maybe you think you will go home, live a life you've made for yourself, let Lexa be. But you think you hear it whispered in the back of your mind, you think you hear it cruelly.
Clarke?
You ignore the cruel plea, you keep walking forward, and you shake your head, try and banish the demons that must still linger.
Clarke?
You sigh once, let the breath leave you in a pained, taunting exhale and you keep moving forward, your feet feeling numb and tired to the world around you.
Clarke?
Why won't it stop?
Why won't it leave you be?
"Clarke!" you freeze. And you know that voice. You hear the pain and the desperation and the want. And so you flee.
You hear it once more, you hear her voice carry over the wind and so you turn down a street, you let your feet carry you faster and faster and you curse your stupidity, you curse your memories and you curse your mind.
And as you hear your name again, as you hear the ashen, desperate wail of a broken woman you think you feel the tears that fall down your cheek, and you think you feel the pained, frantic beat of your heart.
You know you love Lexa.
You avoid the outside world, you avoid the possibility of stumbling upon Lexa again and you avoid the truth and the heartbreak that lives within you. And you think you have no right, you think you must be selfish and cowardly. And as you remember the woman she was with, you think yourself saddened at the memory that you have lost.
And perhaps, in finding closure, in finding solace and for a chance to move on you only dragged her down with you. You only intruded and interfered in a life not your own.
But life's not fair is it?
It's a quiet moment that you find yourself in, your eyes peering out the window, tracing the clouds that move by, and you think you remember things more clearly now. You know you do. And you think you should talk to Lexa, talk to her and tell her that you're happy for her. You think she deserves that much.
And it's with that thought that you find a calm that settles over you, a twisted bittersweet sadness that lingers within your mind.
But you hear it gently. You hear the soft buzz and the careful ring of your phone, and so you reach over the couch, snare it from where it lies and you look at the unfamiliar number that lingers on the screen.
And maybe in moments after you might regret ignoring the warning that you think builds within you, might regret the churning of your mind.
But you let your finger press the green button, you bring the phone to your ear, and you call out quietly.
"Hello?"
And it's a strange thing to hear the pained sob, it's a sweet truth and a bitter desire to hear the longing and the loss that rings out. It's a broken thing to hear your name repeated, full of ruin and heartache.
But you know what you hear.
You know who you hear.
And you know who you love.
"Lexa?"
