[A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update! I had a lot of computer problems but everything is good! This chapter is a lot of character development and reveals for Clarke. It also starts in my opinion, the beginning of Bellarke for this story. Let me know what you think about this chapter! You can also find me on Tumblr: bellarkeymia : I post fun stuff sometimes.]

Music Inspired: Flicker / Lorde

The house was quiet.

She picked pieces of dried up frosting off of deserted cupcakes and relished in the sweet taste of chocolate and mint.

Her mother had avoided her all night long; giving her glances here and there that spoke volumes across rooms. She knew what those looks meant, she knew what would come from them.

She sighed and continued to bring frosting into her mouth.

Her lips tingled and it wasn't from the sweet chocolate swirling around on her tongue. She thought about how she had attached her lips to his own only hours ago. It made her delirious. It made her feel high. It made her feel.

She walked out of the kitchen and toward the staircase that headed upstairs. Her finger was still stuck in her mouth and her skin felt warm. She felt the plush carpet beneath her toes once she reached the second floor but instead of heading toward her room, her gaze locked on the cracked door at the end of the hall; her father's office.

She crossed her arms as she headed in the direction of the soft light. Once she reached the dark wood door, she traced it softly with her fingers before pushing it open.

She froze at the sight of two people embraced tightly together. She saw her mother's hair and someone else brushing it off her neck as they trailed their lips down it.

She must have made a noise because the figures broke apart like animals being spotted in the middle of the forest. Her mother's eyes were wide, the man with her looked sheepish. She tried to place his name but nothing came across her brain. All she could think about was how the man's lips kissed her mother's neck like they had a million times before.

She glanced at the desk pushed by up toward the large window overlooking the backyard. She thought about how she would often play outside and her father would wave at her from that desk. She thought about the fact that her terrible high school picture was still framed next to the computer that hasn't been turned on in months.

She thought about the fact that her father came up with all of his wonderful ideas in this room and how now it was being treated like he didn't even exist.

She felt sick.

"Clarke."

Her eyes flashed toward her mother's. A look of disbelief and shame was washed over her face. She wondered if hers looked the same.

She stared at her mother once more before she shook her head. The sick feeling making it's way up her throat.

Images of her father kissing her mother and images of her father telling her it would all be alright entered her mind. She could hear his voice clear as day in her ears. The voice that soothed her. The voice that whispered tales into her ears as he painted vivid pictures into her brain.

The voice that she missed most. The voice she dreamed about in late hours of the night.

She brought a hand toward her mouth as she ran away from the room and toward the bathroom. She quickly locked herself in and didn't bother turning the lights on as she emptied her barely full stomach.

When her heaving stopped, she heard soft murmuring and footsteps outside the door. She pushed herself up and against the lining of the tub. She let out a shaky breath and glanced around the completely darkened bathroom. She counted. She wasn't even sure how much time had passed when she reached two hundred and sixty-four.

There was a rattle at the doorknob and then a sigh. "Clarke, come out."

She took another deep breath before she pushed herself up off the floor. Her hands wove themselves into fists as she unlocked the door. Her pulse was racing. Her mother's features moved in surprise at the sight of her.

She stared at her mother. She wasn't sure what she felt more of, disbelief or pure unadulterated hatred. She thought the scenario over in her head. Maybe she was more like her mother than she realized; keeping the truth from another seemed to be something they were in a whirlwind about but constantly doing.

She had so many questions but she didn't feel like asking them. She didn't feel like looking at her mother at all.

Her mother's lip was pressed into a firm line; her brow was scrunched up like it always was when her mother tried to conquer a problem; conquer her. "I wanted to tell you."

She remained still for a few moments before she shook her head, a sarcastic laugh bubbling up in her throat. "Sure."

Her face-hardened. So did her mother's.

"It's not like you told be about your little project you were bringing around." Her mother crossed her arms. "You had no right bringing a boy like that here."

The mention of him caused a fire to stir up in her stomach and erupt like millions of stars in the sky. She thought about his bruised face and the looks they had gotten as she clutched his hand in the backyard. He had winced and lowered his head to look at the ground; all she could look at was him. He captivated her like nothing else. More than the pastels hidden in her desk drawer or words in the books she would lose herself in. Bellamy Blake consumed her unlike anyone else.

She thought about him and the words her mother had spoken seconds prior. Her chest ached and her hands shook more as they remained clenched at her side. "Why? Because he makes me happy?" Her voice rose. "Because he makes me feel something other than complete hatred for myself?"

The surprise of her tone showed up on her mother's face before it twisted up when it understood her words. "What?" Her voice was soft like it was when she heard the news that her husband had died.

She wondered if her mother thought about that moment as much as she did.

She remained still as she stood before her mother. She thought about the past year. She thought about being alone in her dorm room when everyone else was making memories that they would have forever, making friends during the best time of their lives. She thought about the last time she saw her father. She thought about his funeral. She thought about being trapped. She thought about heat. She thought about fire.

She started to move past her mother but was held in place by a firm grip on her arm. "What are you trying to say, Clarke?"

She yanked her arm away. "Doesn't matter."

Her mother's face fell again, her eyes gleaming softly. "Yes it does."

She didn't weaver, though. She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "No it doesn't." She took a breath. "It hasn't mattered in a long time." Her eyes narrowed. "No one is around. No need to pretend here, mom"

Her mother didn't say anything after that.

It didn't make her feel any better.

…

She clutched a book under her armpit as she climbed the rose tendrils flowing up the side of the house.

Her hair was whipping around her as she climbed higher. She blew it out of her face as she reached the window. She knocked twice and waited. There was silence before there was a sudden movement.

Her fingers were bleeding from the thorns.

Wells opened his window with a strange look on his face. His eyes were wide and his shirt was hastily thrown across his broad frame. It took Harper running into his nightstand for her to realize what she had interrupted.

Her face grew red as she clutched the rose tendrils harder. Blood was surely flowing down her palms by now. She felt embarrassed for ruining a moment and she felt slightly envious of it as well. "I should go."

"No!" Harper spoke up as she continued to jump into her jeans. "I was just-" She hopped a bit more into them, pushing the zipper up as fast as she could. "I was just leaving." Harper shared a look with Wells.

She wondered what that look was for. Harper's face still held a brief smile in understanding and Wells hands were still wrapped around his windowsill.

Wells moved away from the window and nodded for her to come in as he walked out of his room with Harper, who chirped a goodbye out quicker than anyone she had heard from before.

Wells room was different than hers. His walls were a light gray but you could barely tell from the movie posters and article clippings hanging from them. She placed the book under her arm onto his desk as she took in the piles of books already there with a post-it reading her name in his chicken-scratch handwriting on top. She ran her finger across them as she stared at a photo of herself next to his computer.

It was take the summer after their junior year in high school. Her smile was wide and her arms were thrown dramatically across Wells as they stood near the beach.

She took in her two-piece bathing suit that barely covered her perfect marble skin. Her hand instantly rubbed at her side where burn marks ran up and down her like a map. She looked at her face in the photo once more. Was this girl really that happy? Did this girl know that pain she would feel months later?

Her hand dropped as Wells door opened. She gave him a tight smile. "I'm sorry." Wells shrugged as he took a seat on his unmade bed. She stared at his sheets and felt the embarrassment work its way up her throat again. "Wells-."

"What book did you bring me?"

Wells was always good at taking her mind off of things. Whenever he could sense her discomfort or her lack of enthusiasm, he would crack a joke or he would hook his pinkie with hers to bring her back. She thought about Wells dressed in his finest black suit as they stood before her father's casket being lowered into the ground; his pinkie wrapped tightly around her own.

She pushed away her thoughts as she reached for the book she had placed onto his desk before handing it over to him. He flipped the book over and she watched his eyes take in the words, his eyebrows raised in interest.

He nodded his head and smiled up at her before he placed it onto his nightstand. She thought about how a barely dressed Harper had run into the dark wooded nightstand. Her cheeks grew red once more. "You really like her, huh?"

Wells thought the words over in his mind as he nodded slowly. "It's more than that, I think." He cleared his throat and stared up at her, his eyes wide and his dark skin radiating off the dimly lit walls. "I think I'm in love with her."

She thought about the first time she met Harper. She thought about the looks Wells gave her when she talked.

She thought about Bellamy.

"You think or you know?"

His voice didn't waver. "Know."

She nodded her head as she crossed over her arms. It was strange to think that a little over a year ago, it was just them. Just the two of them hiding in another's room away from the world. How they would read different books alongside another in complete silence, only to offer up quotes they liked as they reached them, reading them aloud with small smiles on their faces.

It was strange to think about the past compared to their future. It was strange to think that for the first time in what seemed like forever, they were on similar but completely different paths of their lives. They had experienced everything and anything together. Love made it different. Love made it hectic, frenzied even.

She let out a breath and sat down alongside him. Her eyes trained on the large Casablanca poster a few feet in front of her. "I got into a fight with my mom."

There was silence. Wells was waiting for her to continue.

"She's with someone." She glanced down at her lap. She shook her head. "I found them in dad's office. Like all the photos of him didn't exist. Like all his journals-." She stopped talking as she ran the moment in her mind once more. It was driving her insane. "How do you do it?"

"How do I do what?" Wells voice was thick and strong. She imagined their voice waves following around them. Wells always had the right words and the right way to say them.

"Not miss your mom."

He ran his hand over the edge of his nightstand before he spoke. "It's different. I never really knew my mom." And he hadn't. His mother had died from cancer when he was two and a half. "I do miss her sometimes, though." He shrugged. "Especially when dad gets on my ass about changing majors. He's not a big fan of his son not going for political science."

There was more silence. She could hear the sky erupting above as they sat together. She wanted to say something to him, anything really but the words died along her throat. There are never enough words when it came to losing someone you love. An 'I'm sorry' was too generic but anything else seemed high unacceptable.

So, she reached her hand over and offered him her pinkie. The warmth of his wrapped around hers was enough to calm her and make her feel grounded.

They sat for a few minutes before Wells let go, moving toward his desk. He looked through the books piled up for her before sorting to the one in the middle. He ran his fingers over it before he handed it over to her without a word.

She ran her fingers over it before she moved toward the top of his bed. She rested her back against his headboard and opened the book. Wells took a spot next to her as he held the book she had brought over between his hands.

The silence was enough. The silence was everything.

…

She learned his name was Marcus Kane.

He was a lawyer and he was currently sitting across from her a dinner.

She glanced at her mother before staring back at her uneaten food. The last time she spoke to her mother was four days ago and even though she rarely spoke to her mother, the silence was loud enough to drive her insane.

She also hadn't heard a word from the one person she constantly thought about. (She was trying to not think about it.)

She picked up her fork and shoved a piece of chicken into her mouth before she glanced up and focused on the features of the man across from her.

His hair was a dark shade of brown and his eyes were the color of coffee with too much milk. His smile was charming though and it never seemed to leave his face as he spoke or listened to others talk. She would have found herself interested in him if she hadn't of caught him with her mother four days ago. The image still burned into her head.

"So, Clarke."

Her eyes grew wide as she realized the man she was staring at was addressing her. She made a strange enough noise that Finn, who was sitting two people away from her, looked at her questioningly.

Marcus's perfect eyebrow was lifted in question and a smile still danced on his features. It was actually starting to annoy her. "Your mom tells me you're pre-med."

She chewed the cold food over in her mouth before she nodded. She brought a napkin toward her lips and dabbed at the corner of it. She felt her mother's stare. "That's right." She coughed and gave him a tight smile.

"And at Yale. You must be quite the young woman."

She didn't know what to say in return so she smiled at him once again. She was happy when the conversation was taken off of her and onto something Henry Collins mumbled on about.

She glanced at the dining room doors and found herself aching for a sign of him. When she wasn't staring down at her plate, she was staring at swinging door that seemed to reveal everyone but the one person she wanted to see most.

She thought about Wells and Harper. She thought about love.

Her skin flamed at the thought of his lips on-top of hers. She felt like a junkie that couldn't get enough of the one thing they desired. He was exactly that though; something that made her so many things at once. It should have overwhelmed her but it didn't. It left her wanting more.

She chewed on her lip before she reached and threw her napkin on-top of her still full plate. She stood up abruptly.

Her mother finally spoke to her. "What are you doing?"

What was she doing? She excused herself quickly and walked out of the dining room, her heart hammering in her chest as she found herself breaking out into a run.

She laughed and smiled as she reached the front doors of The Ark. She didn't stop. Her ballet-covered toes sprang to life as they reached the pavement, not loosing spend or stride as she continued on her way.

The sky grew dark as she reached the bus spot. Her breath came out in harsh pants and her cardigan clung to her arms from the heat.

She tapped her feet impatiently on the pavement as she watched the bus pull up before her. She reached into her small bag for a few coins before she marched right on, almost screaming at the cool air against her skin.

She took a seat in the middle of the bus and counted in her head until she reached a block or so from his apartment. She had no idea what she was doing but her feet lead her anyway.

She thought about his lips on hers. She thought about his smile, the one she only received a handful of times. She thought about her lips kissing his jaw.

She moved faster as she got to his apartment building. She let out a breath as she made her way inside and starting climbing up the stairs. The music didn't reach her until she entered the hall that led toward his apartment, the door was wide open and it seemed to be exploding with people.

She glanced down at her appearance and felt more out of place than she had sitting at the table with her mother and her new boyfriend (she was happy she left her phone at home).

She reached up and pulled her hair down from it's clipping behind her head before she made her way into the masses. The music was loud and it caused goose-bumps to rise up on her skin. She crossed her arms as she waved in and out of people. She recognized a few faces but she only nodded in their direction as she passed them.

It was after someone spilt beer on her shoe did she see him across the way, with someone else having their lips attached to his jaw. She thought about her mother tied up with Marcus Kane in her father's office. She thought about how her lips had done that only days ago.

She stared at him with a strange taste in her mouth. His arm was loosely wrapped around a slender girl's waist; he took a long chug from the drink in his hand before he looked at her.

She tried to place the moment where she had messed up. Where she had misread the lines.

She couldn't think of anything. She thought about his lips upon hers, she thought about their bodies tangled together in his bed as the morning came around. She thought about the words he had said: You scare the hell out of me, Clarke.

She compared how gentle he was with her to how tightly he was now clutching the red cup in his hand, pushing the girl attached to him away.

You scare the hell out of me, Clarke.

He let out a breath and stared at her with a look that didn't fit right on his face. His eyes were so dark.

She didn't see him blink as he stared at her. She wondered what it was he saw or what it was he wished he didn't see. Did he see her sweat covered arms from basically running over? Did he see the look of complete confusion on her face?

She crossed her cardigan-covered arms and tried to think of something to say but nothing came to her. Her lips parted slightly and she felt her eyes well up. She tried to read his face and for a few seconds it looked like he was about to apologize.

He looked at her then toward the ground. When he glanced back up at her moments later (even though it felt like hours), his demeanor seemed darker, his face was colder and his eyes didn't move away from hers. "What are you doing here, princess?"

She felt herself break under his gaze. Words still weren't coming to her mind. Who was that girl? Was that all she was, some girl?

She was in a room with maybe fifty people and she never felt more alone. She started to grow anxious. She needed to leave. She couldn't breathe.

She glanced at him, at the person she didn't realize could make her feel just as small and little like everyone in her life could. She felt so stupid. She felt like nothing and everything at the same time.

He looked at her with that strange look again, staring at her to talk but she couldn't. The words in her head didn't make sense. They were all there but splattered around in circles not forming a single phrase.

She shook her head and started to turn around when she felt him clutch her arm. She looked at his face and saw the concern etched upon it with the anger of stopping her alongside it. "What are you-."

She cut him off. "I wanted to see you." Her voice was strong, which surprised her but at the same time only fueled her more. She pulled her arm away. "But I guess I was wrong before." He looked at her in question. "Wrong about you." She shook her head. The words still not making sense inside of her.

His gaze dropped toward the ground for a split second before he looked back at her, his eyes wide like a wild animal about to attack its prey. "Then what are you still doing here?"

It was one of those moments where a loud room goes quiet. She heard her heart beating. She heard her lungs quickening. She stared at him once more before she turned around and started to push her way through the throngs of people. She wanted him to say something but nothing came.

He didn't call for her. He didn't chase her down the stairs as she walked away.

Her hands shook at her sides as she thought about how she let herself get so attached to someone in such a short amount of time. What was it good for? It made her weak. It made people leave her.

She let herself cry until she reached the bus stop. She glanced back the way she came in hopes of his face but the streets remained empty. She wiped under her eyes as the bus pulled up. She climbed onto the bus and took a spot in the back and stared out the window and counted in her head until the pain stopped.

When she reached four-hundred and sixty-seven she realized it didn't stop the pain at all.