Angst, angst, angst.
Despite her best efforts, Lexa took Clarke's words to heart. They flowed in through every facet of her being, confusing and maddening her. If she were dead, if they both were; if their bodies were never to be found and their spirits never to be released, then what was she meant to do here in this never ending nightmare but go insane? It was the only logical conclusion she could draw. How else was she expected to cope with an eternity of this incomprehensible place?
Thinking it were somehow possible to confirm whether she lived or not, she ran into the forest the next day towards the pauna's den, Wes not far behind. When the pauna inevitably came after her, she sacrificed Wes in order to dodge past it and gain access to its cage. In her crazed state of mind, she expected to find her body (and Clarkes' ) still there. They weren't of course. She didn't dwell on this discovery for very long before the beast attacked and reset the day.
Her nervous energy kept her confined to her house for the entirety of the morning, pacing to and fro in her sleeping garments. She refused admittance to everyone, even Clarke, especially Clarke. But Clarke being Clarke, she shoved past Wes and busted into the room at gunpoint.
"What the hell is going on, Lexa?! What are you doing?!" she yelled, gesturing to her lack of proper attire. "We have a war to plan!"
"Go away, Clarke! I do not wish to see you!"
Wes was ready to throw a dagger in Clarke's back and Lexa almost wanted to let him. Instead she gave him a look that said not to interfere and he stood watch in trepidation as the animated sky girl advanced on his commander, gun still in hand.
"I don't understand...what's happened to you?! Why are you so-"
"I said," she disarmed Clarke easily, pointing the deadly weapon at her instead, "go away!"
Defiantly Clarke stood her ground. "You won't shoot me. You need me."
Those three words triggered a memory from what seemed another lifetime ago. Perhaps it was. So it was that she barely knew what she was doing when she dropped the gun, grabbed Clarke and crushed their lips together.
Clarke was so stunned by this change in attitude that she didn't respond for the first second. In the next, she was shoving Lexa off of her with surprising strength, looking at her the way she felt, which is to say, insanely.
"You've got a sick sense of humour!" Clarke shouted. She poked Lexa in the chest, hard, and kept on pushing her towards the table. "I just killed Finn three days ago! Because you forced me too! You're the last person I would ever want to kiss! Don't ever try something like that again or I'll-"
"You'll what, Clarke," she shot back venomously, as her heart shattered, "kill me?"
Clarke glared at her with extreme loathing before storming out of the house, forgetting even to take her gun with her. Lexa didn't notice, her mind far too turbulent for such trivialities. She rounded on Wes, snapping at him to leave, which he promptly did. The moment the door closed she gave into her weakness, threw herself on her bed and sobbed for hours, muffling the sound into her pillow so no one would ever know. She had done the same when she learned of Costia's butchering and death, vowing to never again allow herself to care for another. Apparently her word meant nothing.
After she cried her heart out she felt slightly less wretched, but far from cheerful.
That's when she saw the gun on the floor.
There was a simple way to end this day. She was tempted to take it, very tempted, but ultimately decided against killing herself. Sure the day would reset, but she would still be just as tormented as she was now. For the first time she wished she couldn't remember the repeating days. To be unaware like everyone else would be utter bliss.
So thinking, she left the house in search of libation, and was confused why everyone was staring at her open mouthed. A breeze blew by and she realized she was still in her sleeping attire. Lexa did not desire to go back so she simply ordered the nearest woman to give her her cloak and boots. This she did without question.
Warmer now, but wanting to be mentally numb, Lexa marched over to the ale supply and filled up a tankard from the barrel. In a few hearty gulps she polished it off, poured herself another and plopped down on the dirt. Some of her people watched from afar, clearly concerned, but clearly afraid to bother her, for which she was grateful. Once or twice she thought she saw Clarke out of the corner of her eye. The memory of the hatred in such beautiful eyes, hatred directed towards her, made her heart lurch painfully and drove her to consume much more than she was accustomed to, which wasn't very much.
As her stomach grew warmer and the world grew hazier, her despairing mind finally started to quiet and she almost felt content. Very sleepy now, she lay on the ground, curled up into a ball and knew no more.
When she came to many hours later, she was in her bed and assumed she had slept so long that the day had begun anew. Then when her insides squirmed and her skull hammered, she understood that it was the same day, only nighttime. She rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but her bladder insisted otherwise and she staggered out into the chill evening, clutching the borrowed cloak tighter around her shoulders, and went to relieve herself.
Task clumsily accomplished, she headed back to the house to lose herself once more in the lovely embrace of dreamless sleep. Before she got there however, she was interceded by the one person she couldn't stand to be around, couldn't risk looking in the eye for fear of seeing the utter loathing, destroying her spirit all over.
Eyes downcast, Lexa tried to move past her and bar the door and never come out again.
"Lexa, wait," said Clarke, grabbing hold of her arm.
The contact nearly made her whimper. Out of fight, she stayed put.
Clarke let her go. Lexa stared at the girls dusty boots. "Look, you caught me off guard before. You ki...doing what you did...that's the last thing I was expecting would ever happen between us. I probably overreacted a bit."
Lexa nodded timidly, attempting to swallow through the lump in her throat. "I shouldn't have done that," she responded in a childlike voice. "Forgive me."
"I might have given the impression that I hate you. The truth is, I don't know what to feel. At least not yet. It's just too soon after...after everything."
Curious, Lexa lifted her eyes up to meet Clarkes'. There was no trace of that callous look there and the relief almost brought tears forth. She squashed this, and stood up straighter, more like the commander, and less like a little lost girl.
"I understand, Clarke."
A bit of a strained silence.
"Okay, well, I guess this is goodnight." Clarke touched her arm and faintly smiled. "Feel better, Lexa."
Clarke turned to leave but Lexa grabbed her forearm, suddenly remembering something important. "Be wary of Quint. He will try to harm you tonight. Wait here." Lexa ducked into the house and handed the gun back, enclosing Clarke's soft skin in her own. "Be careful, she reiterated.
The confused girl nodded and then left Lexa to contemplate the fact that Clarke did not necessarily hate her and that the girl might actually feel something for her one day.
Or this was simply Clarke's way of mending their rift for the sake of the alliance and her people. Lexa wouldn't put Clarke above such a tactic, no matter how much she wanted to. In her still fragile state of mind, she would not blindly believe her feelings might be reciprocated, rather she would 'roll with the punches' as Clarke would say, and see what tomorrow brought.
The one glimmer in this otherwise horrid day; she was certain she was not dead.
The hunger had returned.
Chin up, soldier!