Clarke normally never put on this much makeup or this much perfume, but going to an upscale house party required such things. She had dusted her eyes with a neutral eye shadow and darkened her blonde lashes with black mascara, making her already blue eyes appear bluer. Preferring not to get lipstick on everything or everyone, Clarke left her lips bare. She felt more natural that way – less of mask to hide behind.
Clarke took one last glance in the full length mirror. The black dress she wore hugged nearly every curve of her body. Other than that, the dress wasn't too revealing. It was a long sleeved lace dress that covered her cleavage and hugged her lower thighs nicely. The silver Louis Vuitton heels she was wearing made her sculpted legs look even better.
Thank God for horseback riding.
All those hours of flat work and jumping without stirrups really paid off. It paid off in the form of toned legs and a nice butt. What better way to show it off then in a Dolce&Cabbana cocktail dress?
Clarke quickly left her bedroom, but not before grabbing her father's watch from her vanity. Grabbing her clutch, she clasped on the watch as she rushed down the marble staircase, barely noticing her mother whom she almost collided with. Shocked, she teetered back on her heels, grasping the wrought iron banister.
"Mom," Clarke gasped. "I almost ran you over."
Abby Griffin, a prominent medical surgeon, stared at her daughter as if she was diagnosing a patient with a disease. She was dressed for work in scrubs and a tight ponytail.
"I think you would've wearing those six inch heels," she replied, crossing her arms over her small chest. "Just where do you think you're going running off like a banshee?"
"I'm late to Harper's party." Clarke said quickly glancing down at her watch.
Well, at least she would be fashionably late.
"Harper? She only lives a couple blocks away." Abby narrowed her eyes. "I don't know how I feel about letting you go to this party."
Clarke was tempted to roll her eyes. That certainly wouldn't go over well with her mom. In many ways, Clarke and Abby were so much alike. They were both strong-willed, passionate and stubborn. Her mother, however, was way too overprotective sometimes.
Clarke had been hoping to sneak out after her mom had left for the grave yard shift.
Looks like that wasn't happening.
"I've been to Harper's parties before." Clarke exclaimed, sliding past Abby and heading towards the front doors. She grabbed the car keys out of her clutch.
"Yes, but you know your father and I don't approve –"
"Mom," Clarke interrupted and turned around. "I can take care of myself."
Abby was silent for a moment. "I know sweetie," she said, her voice sounding resolute. "I just worry. It's what I'm supposed to do."
Clarke opened the door and smiled at her mom. "I know," she blew a kiss. "Love you."
She was about to lock the door behind her when Abby called out, "Remember no drinking! Call me if you need a ride!"
Clarke grinned. Like that was going to happen.
. . .
Clarke wandered over toward the floor-to- ceiling wall of windows, ignoring the sounds of the party going on behind her. Practically everyone from Phoenix Farms was here, including others who weren't – like the sons and daughters of affluent politicians and businessmen. Clarke sipped her Smirnoff screwdriver with disinterest. She was seriously hoping that Octavia would be here. Someone new, someone who didn't care about her parents' occupation or fame, someone who could make her laugh.
Harper's million dollar house was right on College of Preachers North, and even though Clarke had been there many times, she never got tired of looking out over the city.
"Nice view, huh?" someone said from behind her.
She glanced back. The guy standing there was named Finn Collins – her ex-boyfriend. She hadn't seen him in weeks, not since she broke up with him, not since she had been avoiding him like the plague. Even now, Clarke could hardly look at him. The image of him and that girl Raven Reyes from Walden Farms hooking up on her couch was seared into her memory.
"Yeah," she replied, her lips thin. "That's one thing you don't get living further out."
"Turn the music down!" Harper yelled from the other end of the room. "My parents will totally freak if they find out I had a party."
"Should've thought of that before you invited us, Harp!" a skinny guy with a mop of brown hair called out. Jasper. One of Clarke's oldest friends. With a shout of laughter, he and his best friend Monty Green slid down the wooden banister from the second floor.
Finn grinned, raising the glass concoction in his hand and hooting along with the rest of the partiers. Then he turned back to Clarke.
"It's not really a party unless Jasper and Monty are there, is it?" he commented.
"What do you want, Finn?" Clarke sighed and gazed out the window once more after making sure the dynamic duo didn't impale themselves on the banister. Washington D.C. glowed in the moonlight like a thousand fireflies.
"I wanted to apologize again –"
"There's no apologizing for what you did," Clarke snapped through gritted teeth. "What you did – it broke my heart."
"It was complicated, Clarke. I've known Raven for years and she was going through rough times with her parents, with everything." Finn hurried before Clarke could interrupt him again.
Clarke was silent. She was angry, beyond angry. Who did he think he was just coming up and talking to her after everything that happened between them? He was a lying, cheating, son of bitch and he took her heart and stomped all over it. After all, she was the one who caught him in the act.
"Besides, it's not like you were ever there in the end," he added, his voice growing more resentful. "That damn horse taking up all your God damn time."
Clarke didn't think twice.
She dropped her screwdriver onto the floor and shoved Finn roughly up against the wall, amazed at her own strength. All conversation in the room ceased. Clarke had him by the collar of the shirt and as she held him, she could smell the stench of alcohol on him.
"My what?" she grounded out. "My what!"
Finn's eyes widened in horrification and darted around the room, desperately seeking help. No one moved, no one breathed.
No one was going to go against Clarke. No one was going to back Finn – not when it involved Clarke's horse.
Clarke's fisted his collar tightly, urging Finn to speak. She was going to murder him for bringing Mist into this argument.
"Your horse." he finally choked.
She was tempted to land a good punch to his temple when a female voice spoke up behind her. "Clarke?"
Clarke glanced over her shoulder. Octavia Blake was standing in the center of the room looking at her with widened, doe-like eyes. She came. Clarke looked back at Finn who was struggling in her hold. She dropped him and he fell to the floor, gasping.
"I never want to see you again," Clarke hissed. "We are done!"
Staring down at him with contempt, she turned on her heel and brushed past Octavia who reached out and grabbed her arm. Clarke turned on a concerned girl whom was worried about her well-being.
"Are you alright?"
"Not now, Octavia." Clarke snapped and Octavia looked as if she had been physically slapped. She shrugged off her hand and made a B-line for the bathroom (which was miles away). Once she had left the room, the party erupted into a cacophony of conversations.
Clarke was thankful for the darkened hallway. It hid her tears.
And to think Clarke thought that Bellamy was a dick. He was nothing compared to Finn. Clarke loved her horses more than anything on this planet. Any attack on them was an attack on her.
"Clarke, what are you doing here?" a slurred male voice asked. John Murphy slinked out of a closed door followed by another girl clutching her clothes. The girl waved before quickly power walking down the hallway. "Have you come to see me?"
Just what she needed – a wasted John Murphy. Clarke closed her eyes, took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Look, Murphy," she began slowly. "I'm having a rough night –"
"Let me ease it up for you." he stuttered and stumbled toward her. Clarke tried to run, but he had her pinned. He hungrily ran his eyes down the length of her body. "That dress – dayum."
No, no, no, she didn't need this right now.
"Murphy." she warned.
Suddenly, his arm was around her waist, pulling her toward him. Startled, Clarke let out a strangled cry – not loud enough to be heard. "I have to go."
"It can wait." Murphy took step closer and Clarke took a step back. Her back was now fully flushed against the wall. He had her trapped between him and the paneled surface. "We were talking, and there's something I wanted to do."
Clarke glanced nervously down the hallway, too far away now from the party. Murphy was much stronger than Finn and he would be harder to get rid of, especially since he was this drunk. "What?"
He placed a massive hand on her shoulder and his grip was tight. He pressed himself against her and nuzzled Clarke's neck.
She froze. That was all it took. Murphy's mouth was on hers, tasting of vodka and breath mints. He made a sound and pushed forward. Clarke's back was against the wall before she could shove him back. He kept pushing forward, kissing her tightly sealed lips. Clarke couldn't breathe. Placing her hands on his chest, she shoved him away from her, wrenching her mouth free.
"Murphy, you've had way too much to drink." she said, dragging in air. She tried to wiggle free, but he was unmovable.
"No I haven't, I can still think, still move." his hand found its way up Clarke's dress.
"I didn't come here to –"
His sloppy, wet lips cut off her words. His tongue slipped into Clarke's mouth and she wanted to puke. Why did she talk her herself into coming to this party?
She managed to get her head free. "Murphy, stop!"
And then he did stop. Clarke sagged against the wall, dazed and breathless. There was the sound of someone hitting the ground and then a wounded cry.
Someone was bending over a sprawled Murphy, reaching down and picking him up by the scruff of his neck. "Do you have a problem with understanding simple English?"
Clarke recognized the deep, condescending voice. It was the same voice that Bellamy had used that day in the tack room. Deadly quiet, dangerously low. He was breathing heavily as he glared at the cowering boy.
"Man, I'm sorry," Murphy slurred, grasping Bellamy's wrist. "I thought she –"
"You thought what?" Bellamy lifted him onto his feet. "That no meant yes?"
"No! Yes! I thought –"
Bellamy Blake punched him hard in the head and Murphy dropped to the floor – the second boy to do so that night.
Clarke stepped forward cautiously. "What did you do?"
He didn't look at her, his eyes trained on Murphy. "It was either this or I'd kill him."
Clarke poked his arm and swallowed. "You sure he isn't dead?"
"Should he be?" Bellamy asked, gazing at her.
Before Clarke could say anything, Murphy moaned on the ground and clutched at his head. He slowly raised himself up onto his legs and stared groggily at the two of them. He blinked – twice. He stumbled, cupping the massive bruise forming on the side of his face. "Shit."
Bellamy pushed Murphy back. "Get the fuck out of here, and I swear if you so much look at her again, it will be the last thing you do."
Murphy went three shades whiter as he wiped his hand over his bloodied nose. His eyes darted from Clarke to Bellamy. "Clarke, I'm sorry –"
Bellamy growled.
Murphy spun around and took off, stumbling and limping across the hallway. Dead silence fell between Clarke and Bellamy. Even the music from the grand living room seemed to have become muted.
"What…what are you doing here?" Clarke asked, turning towards him.
"I was invited, Princess." he replied his voice somewhat distant.
"No," she corrected. "What are you doing here?"
Bellamy paused a moment and leaned against the wall, facing her. "Octavia said you were upset and that she couldn't find you anywhere. She thought you had left, but I saw that your car was still parked in the driveway."
Bellamy – wait, Bellamy knew what her car looked like? How could he have possibly known what Clarke's car looked like?
"Oh, Well, thank you." she finally managed to say, drawing a deep breath.
Bellamy cursed again and then he was moving closer, dropping something that smelled like – alfalfa? He gently placed his jacket over Clarke's shoulders. "Here," he said gruffly. "Put this on. It's cold outside."
Flushing, Clarke slipped her arms into the jacket. Tears were clogging her throat now. She was angry at Murphy, angry at Finn – at herself. More than that, she was embarrassed. Rescued by Bellamy Blake? Right now he might not be throwing it in her face, but there was always tomorrow.
Then, he did something unexpected, his fingers brushed lightly over Clarke's cheek, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear.
He pulled back quickly, as if burned, and coughed. "Come on," he said huskily.
Clarke lifted her head. There was an unexpected softness in his eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Was this the Bellamy from a few days ago? The angry, arrogant Bellamy Blake?
"I'm taking you home."