Clarke nodded not because she particularly wanted to leave with Bellamy, but because she was too exhausted to argue otherwise. And this time, his statement wasn't an arrogant command or assumption. Just simple words. After the disaster that happened and the fact that she felt violated for the second time that night, she didn't protest.
Bellamy Blake turned on his heel without another word and walked toward the front door. Then it struck her. "Wait."
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. Clarke teetered on her heels as she looked down the hallway leading to the great room. Laughter and music floated down the hall. Everyone had already forgotten about her. Did no one care that she seemed to have disappeared?
"Clarke."
"Shouldn't we say goodbye?" she asked, her voice a light whisper as she stared.
If the thought had crossed Bellamy's mind, it didn't occur to him to say anything. "Do you want to go say goodbye to them?" Bellamy replied to her question with a question, a slight snarl on his lips.
"What about your sister?"
"Octavia can take care of herself for the few minutes that I'm gone."
"But –"
Bellamy was in her face in the blink of an eye. "O isn't my problem right now."
Then he took her arm. His grasp wasn't tight, but it was firm. They didn't talk as he led her through the brisk night air toward his truck parked near the main road. It was the only non-Mercedes, non-BMW on the entire street. The rusted red truck stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of black and white luxury automobiles. They passed Clarke's own car, a white Tesla model S. She would have to call Harper later and tell her it was still here.
When they reached his truck, he let go of her arm and opened the passenger door. Clarke climbed in, making sure her dress didn't rise up. She blushed deeply when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Bellamy staring at her legs. He noticed her watching him. Bellamy coughed, quickly averted his eyes and slammed the door shut. Pulling out his phone, he made his way around the front side of the car.
Bellamy climbed into the driver's seat, passing Clarke a sheltered look. "I let Octavia know I was taking you home. She worries."
Nodding, she started yanking on the seatbelt, but it wouldn't move. Like the rest of the truck, it was probably rusted. All her frustration rose up, and she pulled on it hard. "Dammit!"
"Hey, hey," Bellamy said, leaning over and prying her fingers off. "Be nice to Daisy. What has she ever done to you?"
In such a small space, there wasn't much room to move around and before Clarke could protest, Bellamy was already tugging on the seatbelt. His jaw grazed her cheek and his arm skimmed hers. They were quick touches, all accidental Clarke told herself, but she found it hard to breathe nonetheless.
"You named your truck Daisy?" she asked in a soft, willowy voice. She hadn't meant to sound like this, but Bellamy's nearness was doing strange things to her insides.
Bellamy got the seatbelt unstuck and brought it across her stomach, the back of his knuckles grazed over the front of her dress. Clarke jerked in her seat.
He lifted his head, startled. And she was just as surprised. "Sure, why not? Daisy's been my partner in crime for years," he said quietly, although his voice sounded no different. Damn him. "I bought her with my own blood, sweat and tears."
Their mouths were nearly touching. His breath was warm and sweet. Intoxicating. His gaze dropped to Clarke's lips, and her heart did all kinds of crazy. She wondered what it would feel like to run her hands through his inky hair. Would it be soft? Would it run through her fingers like oil? Clarke wondered –
Shit, what was she thinking? This was Bellamy Blake not Prince Charming for God's sake. Granted, he did save her from a hideous fate, but Clarke told herself she could've rescued herself – eventually.
However, neither one of them could pull back, not for what seemed like an eternity.
And then Bellamy clicked in the seatbelt and returned to his own seat, breathing raggedly. He clutched the steering wheel for several strained minutes while Clarke tried to remember how important it was to take normal breaths and not gulps of air.
"Well," Clarke began, clutching the seat beneath her as if it were her life force. "Unless Daisy is your wing woman and having seatbelts get stuck on a regular basis is all part of some diabolical plot, I would highly recommend getting new ones."
The corners of Bellamy's mouth quirked upwards as he stared ahead of him. "Damn, there goes my entire plan."
Clarke gave a short laugh. Before Bellamy started the car, he cranked down his window and leaned his arm on the sill. "She's as tough as nails, strong too. Never trailered a horse with anything else." he added, slapping the exterior of the truck.
He put his keys into the ignition and started the truck. It roared to life with only a small protest and slight wobble. Clarke only hoped she would make it home in one piece. Pulling out from the curb, Bellamy headed out of Harper's gated community.
"I always wanted a truck." Clarke commented, although she didn't know why and she didn't look at Bellamy as she said it.
"Why don't you just buy one?" She could hear the contempt in his voice. Of course, he probably thought that whatever Clarke wanted she got. He didn't know half the story.
"My parents, they, they like to keep up appearances. I guess, in a way, they have to," she saw Bellamy cringe and rushed on. "I know how that sounds, I don't agree with any of it. My parents dictate my entire life."
Bellamy was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles began to turn white. After driving through the gate and getting past the guard, Bellamy stopped the car. "Which way?"
It took a moment for Clarke to figure out what he was talking about. He had completely ignored her previous statement. He looked over at her, an annoyed expression on his face. Realizing that he was asking for directions to her house, she told him. They drove for several minutes in a strained silence.
"It must be nice," he remarked. "Having parents that care about you."
Clarke glanced over at him. "What about Kane? I'm sure he loves you and Octavia and your mom –"
"My mom bounced the second she could," he snapped and Clarke shrunk backwards at his tone. He looked at her and quickly bit his lip. "Sorry."
Clarke shook her head and stared out the window, not expecting Bellamy to continue.
"Kane came into our lives long after my mom had left and Octavia and I were mostly grown. He – he does what he can, but he doesn't love us, not in the way that dads' are supposed to."
Clarke didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say. How could you console someone who you barely even knew? The city lights blurred together in an erotic light show as they flew down the road and Clarke didn't know if it was due to the alcohol or her own exhaustion. She sighed and leaned her elbow against the sill, closing her eyes. The cool night air coming in through Bellamy's window was a nice reprieve.
"Do you normally have such a fun time at parties?" Bellamy asked suddenly.
Clarke snorted, her eyes still closed. "Believe it or not, I'm not a huge fan."
Silence.
"I never did peg you as a partier."
That got Clarke's attention. She opened her eyes and angled herself towards him. "What did you have me pegged as?" she demanded, slightly curiously, slightly offended.
"I can't tell you all my secrets, Princess." he replied, waggling his brows. Clarke rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms.
"By the way, next time you get invited to one of Harper's parties, don't wear a flannel." she exclaimed.
"What's wrong with my flannel?" he replied indignant, glancing down at his red and black checkered shirt.
"Nothing," Clarke hurried and blushed when he shot her a knowing look. "It's just that flannels are too… cowboyish for an upscale party."
"I thought that girls were into that sort of thing – roping cows… riding broncos…"
Clarke knew when to keep her mouth shut. She didn't trust herself enough to reply, but she had to admit, Bellamy looked good in a flannel, more than good actually. The way the red offset his dark curls, the way it strained across his shoulders. She bit her lip. God, she was doing it again.
Bellamy spun the wheel and they turned onto her street. Clarke directed him to the gate and gave him the code, hoping that her mom wouldn't come over the speaker. She should still be working at the hospital. The wrought iron gate swung open without incident. He drove up the long driveway without saying a word and pulled into the roundabout. Clarke was about to climb out herself, but Bellamy came around and opened the door for her.
She stood up, but he didn't move away from the car door. He stayed where he was, one arm on the door the other one on the truck's roof. Clarke was pinned between him and the truck. Even in her heels she was still a head shorter than him.
"Thanks, for tonight." she said.
"This doesn't change anything you know." Bellamy replied casually.
Did this boy not know anything of personal space? Clarke pressed back against the truck. "What?"
"You still can't be friends with my sister," he said. "I don't want her around this." Bellamy gestured to her house and was obviously referring to the party.
She narrowed her eyes at Bellamy. "You know what –"
"Clarke? Clarke, honey, is that you?"
Her mom.
Oh, for the love of God. Clarke turned over her shoulder and saw her mom standing in the front doorway still dressed in scrubs. Bellamy leaned backwards, smiling wickedly. That was never a good sign.
Her eyes went from Clarke to Bellamy, completely misinterpreting everything. She looked apprehensive at best. "Are you one of Clarke's barn friends?"
Clarke snorted. Barn friends, her mom never met any of her "barn friends" unless they happened to be related to a wealthy family or influential politician. Bellamy grinned. He had perfect white, straight teeth. "Yeah, my name is Bellamy Blake."
"Abby Griffin," she glanced at me. "Would you like to come inside? I'm brewing some tea before bed and I would just love to find out how you know my daughter."
Clarke ducked under Bellamy's arm and stood next to him looking very uncomfortable. "That's really nice of you." He replied and elbowed her, and not very gently. "Although, I don't really drink tea, but maybe we should go inside and finish talking about our –"
"No," Clarke said, glaring at him. "That won't be necessary."
"Talking about what?" Her mom said through a forced smile.
"Nothing, we weren't talking about anything." Clarke grounded out and then to Bellamy through gritted teeth, "He was just leaving. Weren't you, Bellamy?"
"I was just telling Clarke here that we should go riding together tomorrow." Bellamy dropped his arm over her shoulders.
"That is so sweet of you." Abby said, crossing her arms.
Clarke wrapped her arm around his narrow waist, digging her fingers into his side. "Yeah, that's sweet of you, Bellamy."
He sucked in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. "You know what they say about Walden riders…"
"Walden riders?" her mom rushed and flashed her eyes to Clarke's. She thought that she was going to combust on the spot under her mom's glare.
Shit.
Clarke dropped her arm and wiggled out from underneath Bellamy's. "Mom, he's…"
"I'll talk to you inside." Abby started back inside, but not before glancing at Bellamy one last time. "It was nice to meet you."
Yeah, right.
Bellamy smiled. "You too Mrs. Griffin."
The moment her mom shut the door behind her, Clarke whirled around and pushed him, but he was like a brick wall. "You jerk."
Grinning, he went around to the driver's side. "I'll see you at the barn, Princess."
"I hate you." she hissed.
"The feeling's mutual." Bellamy said as he ducked behind the steering wheel. Clarke walked around the truck without looking back and climbed the steps to the front door. In no way shape or form was she ready to face her mother.
Bellamy Blake was insufferable.