Despite there being a sense of monotony to your mornings, you profoundly enjoy its repetitiveness and predictability. You know that you have chosen a poor method of survival, yet you find consolation in it. As everything falls apart, it is comforting to have something consistent to lean on. A grateful person does not concern themselves with muddy waters, but are appreciative for the allowance of sinking their anchor and resting it in the dirt below. And so, your morning began like the previous ones: The crackle of the rays breaking through the blinds makes a murmur leave your mouth, before you even have the opportunity to catch it with your hand. You have never been a morning person.
Yet, something has changed. Your morning is slightly different from the one before. The air around you feels lighter, almost. The ghost of a brown curl flickers in the back of your head, the spark being enough to set you aflame. Instinctively, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and sitting up, attempt to swallow hard enough as to drown the feeling. The weight of it parts your lips sufficiently for a defeated sigh to escape. No matter how big your effort is in feeding your denial, it has reached a culmination. In order not to suffocate on it, you allow the whisper of a thought. The secret that, even though she is not yours to get to know or pour affection into, her existence makes you happy. You stand up, leaving the notion to rest in your covers, as you begin your morning routine.
As you are about to exit through the front door, you hear a sudden, "Hey, asshole!" You turn around only to witness Raven walking towards you, annoyance and confusion following her closely, "Were you seriously going to leave without saying anything to me?". Last night Octavia had come over gifting alcohol, suggesting that slurring words and talks of the girl with the brown mane would make you feel better. It did not. And you certainly wanted to escape having the same conversation now. The irony lying in the fact that you were earlier embracing your repetitiveness, as you were now actively trying to avoid it. "I'm sorry Ray", you say sincerely, "I'll see you later" and track your words with an embrace.
Your walk to campus gave you enough time to repose into a stillness, weeding out your worries. You enjoyed it because, by the time you had reached your destination, the only indication of any amount of concern would be the dirt under your fingernails. You push through the wooden doors of the building, as you recognize the hand grabbing your arm, bracing yourself to greet Finn. It is not that you were particularly unhappy at seeing him, but rather the fact that you could not shake the feeling that he wanted more than you were able to give him. Besides, whatever you had was brittle, if not already broken.
"I'm expecting to see you tonight", his words filling the void between you, "I'll even make sure we are stocked up on coffee". In one fluid motion, he brushes the hair from his face to better meet yours. Your gaze falls to the ground with a quickness, almost as if the floorboards beneath you had come to life. There you were again, attempting to censor your existence. One night won't change anything, you try telling yourself convincingly. I give you permission. And with that notion in mind, a breathy echo of a word was released, "Yes".
You arrive in front of Mr. Chouette's lecture hall. A wall of bodies patiently waiting to enter. Recollecting the previous times, you know that once those doors open, the bodies push and shove with extended elbows and open palms, squeezing through the threshold, leaving it bruised. Unexpectedly, you can feel the energy drain from your body, as your steps become heavier and slower. You do not know what catalyzed the influx of thoughts. Thoughts about Finn, thoughts about the girl with the brown mane and thoughts about your mother. The latter one being louder than the rest. Your mother has a meaning. And thinking about the fact that her pain is more of a side effect to life being a collection of random events, rather than the product of something bigger, hurts.
I can always run. Now. The thought having its own sense of willpower, foraging through your temples, climbing below your collarbones, finding its way to your muscles, leaving them tense and sore. You turn to Finn to speak, but he is already observing you with a mixture of confusion and care. "You go in", you say as to shatter the silence and swallow its shards. You can tell that he wants to speak, but decides against it. And as soon as he disappears from your sight, you make haste towards the exit.
You only stop once you are unsure of which way to go, glancing in both directions, not feeling any more convinced than before. You stand on the concrete, hesitant, when you hear words being spoken in your direction, "I saw you leave. I hope you do not mind that I followed you, but you seemed very upset." You turn your head towards the voice, but instantly feel as if you have whiplash, once your eyes meet hers. The her. Her look is not one out of pity, but rather of the endeavor to comfort and understand. And it makes you feel that you just might burst at your seams if she were to reach out and touch you. She gives you time to process, before she utters again, "I can take you somewhere quiet." There is sadness coursing through your body, there is worry gushing in, but there is also electricity. A surge that pushes your mouth open and lets the word escape, "Please".
You end up walking next to each other. The silence is comfortable. However, the surrealistic feel of the moment makes you glance at the girl in repeated and frequent intervals, as if you are expecting someone to grab you by the shoulders and shake you. Say something to her. You find yourself searching for letters to click against your palate, but end up withholding each one of them. You do not have more time to reflect on it, as you end up hitting a bend, leading into a park. It being, by no means secluded nor empty, yet at the same time, precisely what you needed. And when she says, "This way", you wonder if she is the sole reason that this place feels absolute to you.
You follow her as she leads you to a massive, towering oak. You sit down, extending your legs and resting your back against its trunk. And the tree, as if knowing, lowers its threads, untying their ends and letting a protective atmosphere settle between each oxygen molecule. The air fills quickly, not leaving room for much more. You push your hands into the dirt under you, grabbing handfuls, as if the strands of grass are the only ones keeping you from leaping into the cosmos. You listen to the ruffle of the leaves and the creaking of branches, as they sway under the weight of the breeze. You almost convince yourself that you are able to hear the smell of the dandelions, their scent being intoxicating.
You release a breath that escapes in relief, having been biting down on your lungs fairly hard. You tilt your head to your side, letting it rest on your shoulder. Squinting through one eye, while the other remains closed and shielded from the sun, you take in the figure sitting next to you. Eyes closed and her head resting against the trunk of the tree. Her legs are sprawled in front of her with her hands resting in her lap, weighing down the dress from the rumble of the gust that adamantly tries to nip at it. Her hair is wild, turning its attention into whichever direction the wind takes it. You feel so much. You feel everything. And despite it being frightening, you think, You are so beautiful.
A steady, "Thank you", follows your thoughts. Her head turns towards you and through untamed tresses, her eyes open. She holds your gaze long enough to acknowledge your words, before she slowly closes them again and adds, "Anytime". You sigh into the warm spring day, as your mouth fills with all the things you want to say. Deprived of being spoken, they take flight, leaving you stunned and wide-eyed, "This means something to me". You have to make a slight pause, finding your bearings and weighing your words before continuing, "Your effort, that is. Your time invested in me and your empathy. It's not going by unnoticed. It means something." You close your eyes and stutter out, "So, for that, thank you." That's not good enough Clarke. Look at her. Peeking through warm eyelashes you find her tenderly observing you, and the flush from your cheeks finds its way to your lips that manage to push out, "Thank you". Her eyes, green and soft, follow the bend of her head as it dips down into a nod, "You are welcome". She makes a pause and adds, "Anytime".
The air around you is still. You clear your throat with a small cough, leaving enough room for the words to pass, "I have this odd coping strategy". You can feel her eyes resting on your profile, giving you courage to continue, "Whenever I feel as if I'm about to cry, I'll think of a random object, hold its image and repeat its name in my head". That doesn't sound weird at all, Clarke. Feeling slightly uncomfortable by your own confession, you clench your jaw and turn your head towards her. "For example, if I'm about to cry, I'll say to myself apple." You stir in place, trying to suppress the apparent embarrassment that lingers on your face, as you nervously tread on, "It's not exclusive to think of an apple. It can be anything. The point is, as long as I think of it and say it enough times, the need to cry goes away. I feel better. It's a distraction."
The girl inhales sharply, her eyes gentle. There is no judgement, but you can tell that there is a question that finds its way to the wrinkles on her forehead. You answer it before she has time to ask, "My mom is sick." The words are hollow and taunting. They ring with such a force that you instantly feel nauseated. You can feel the tears brimming, but it is not your place to feel sadness. My suffering is the smallest of them all. Stop it, Clarke. "I know it's not the healthiest of ways to deal with problems, but this is what I need for now", your voice hoarse and overflowing with all the things you do not allow yourself to feel. A hand slides on top of yours. She lets it rest there, weighing yours down, meant to pacify your qualms. It is warm and her fingertips feel plump with vigor. You do not move, because the feeling of her washes over you a thousand times, taking away all the aches of tomorrow. Your seams do not burst, but you feel as if something in your chest will.
You do not know how much time has passed, but by now the sun was not as warm, even though it still hung from the sky. When you finally decide to rise to your feet, she follows your motion, retracting her hand to her side. You fight the urge to grab it and hold it, with your chest stinging a little from the longing. You begin the walk back, the air around you thick, as if hundreds of conversations are taking place. Although, you do not rush your pace, it does not take long before you reach university grounds, both of you standing awkwardly in front of the gates. And it is there, standing rooted into the asphalt, that you remember and utter, "I never introduced myself. I'm Clarke". She smiles and you feel as if you have dived off a precipice and fallen into a warm interstellar cloud of dust.
"To think that this entire time I have been referring to you as Camus", she says and proceeds to clarify herself, "He is an author who wrote a novel called The Stranger. And you being one, led me to temporarily naming you Camus. But from now on I will use Clarke, whenever I think of you." You both go quiet as the last part of her words settles between you. She catches herself and adds, "I am Alexandria. But feel free to call me Lexa." Lexa, the name bouncing off of the walls of your mouth, before accidentally rolling off your tongue and leaking into the space between you. You take a step back, slightly embarrassed that it was said aloud and slightly astounded by the amount of care that had also come croaking out. Yet, the way she is looking at you, fills you with valor as you bridge the gap between you and pull her into an embrace. "Thank you", you whisper. Her arms clasp around your back, "Anytime, Clarke."
"Holy hell. I mean, shit a brick and fuck me in the ears with it, because I have already told you that you look wonderful. Now, can we please go?" Despite Raven's playful approach, you are aware of the fact that you have been difficult to deal with ever since you agreed to come to Finn's gathering. To a certain degree, you were going because you had made a promise to the boy, but even more importantly, you had made a promise to yourself. Your exhausting attitude would be waiting for you to pick it up by daybreak. You looked down on your outfit, feeling unsure. You had put some effort in your appearance, but considering your prior and utter lack of interest, the effort was not great in comparison. Tugging at the sleeves of your jumper, a slight sound of defeat coated your words, "Well, it's the best I can do for now".
Without hesitation, warm hands soothingly framed your face, followed by swift words, "Clarke", she paused, "You look beautiful. And I'm also relishing in the fact that you are one small step away from having a social life. Don't blow it before it has even started."
By the time that you arrived, the sun had begun to set. The horizon enveloping it with its endless arms. Your feet were sinking in the sand, making you arch your back in a forward motion as your arms flailed awkwardly, attempting to thrust yourself faster towards the bonfire. You felt slightly self-conscious advancing on the huddled cluster of people, too engrossed in their conversation to notice you. You smelled the aquatic air that had perched itself on the ends of your hair, your mouth and your skin. It made you feel more present in the moment, grounded, as though the waters were ravenously stealing the salt from you, only to carry it back to the waves.
In between the crackle of the flames, you observe Finn stand up and greet you with a warm "Welcome, welcome ladies!" Your arm goes into a graceless wave, before Finn grabs it sturdily. "Clarke and Raven, this is everybody", he continues. He leads you around the fire with the intention of properly introducing you, but at the same time manages to disclose that the he only knows Jasper and Monty out of the group. They were his childhood friends and they were also the culprits to the many unknown faces surrounding the bonfire. Shortly after the brief introduction, the talks resumed. You feel at ease and welcome, yet due to the fact that you wanted to make a good impression, you avoid using anyone's name, feeling completely unsure whether it is the correct one or not.
You look around, picking an empty spot and, with your hand clutching the beer bottle, you sit down. As you are about to put your lips to the bottleneck, you hear a soft voice address you, "Cheers". In your peripheral vision you can see a drink being suspended in the air. "Cheers", you respond with a smile, as you follow the path up to a vaguely familiar face. As if she has a direct understanding of your thoughts, she stretches out her hand and reintroduces herself, "I'm Costia, remember? And you are Clarke, right?" You wonder why such an interesting name was not able to implant itself in your mind. "I am", you utter, "It's nice to meet you. Again".
Costia is beautiful, as well as vibrant, which makes you think that both of those traits are the reasons as to why you enjoy her company. You talk about moving to California, difficulty adapting, food and art. Costia also talks about her girlfriend. "She's in Chouette's class, as well! You'll, at least, have that in common once she decides to show up", she says with a hint of impatience. "Funny how it works", you declare with both Costia and Raven waiting for you to continue, "I just think it's interesting. You know, the probability of us having already met and, perhaps, even spoken to each other. But regardless, we have remained strangers. Until, a series of random events led me to tonight. And here we are. It's just interesting how it works." Costia seems to be taking in what you are saying, but you can always depend on Raven to express herself without filter, "Is there something more in your beer that you aren't sharing with the rest of us?"
Suddenly, Costia's movement is swift. She perches herself on the edge of her seat, before pushing off with her palms. She is elated when she speaks, "Finally". Her movement startles you, the tremor traveling to your hand, causing you to almost spill your drink. As you nonchalantly wipe at the few droplets that did manage to escape and cling to your jeans, you attempt to get a glimpse of the figure Costia is addressing. Your eyes widen in shock, sending a jolt of distress that instantaneously inhabits the bones of your ribs, hammering against your sternum. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Raven, at times knowing you better than you know yourself, squeezes your leg gently and worriedly searches for your eyes. Without turning your head away, you whisper, "That's her, Ray. That's her." At the sound of surrender in your voice, Raven clasped her fingers around your arm and benevolently uttered, "Let's leave Clarke. We don't need to stay." You gave her a quick shake of the head, blonde strands of hair detaching from their spot behind your ear. Ultimately, there was nothing to feel deceived about. "It's neither of their fault, Ray", you reply. Therefore, you stay.
Costia, through threaded fingers, tugs at the girl, familiarizing her and making each new individual a little less unknown. You burrow your face into your palms and sigh your thoughts into them, I'm fine. You're fine, Clarke. At the sound of shifting sand, you peek through the gaps of your fingers, only to see a pair of feet settle in front of you as Costia gladly announces, "And this here is my new friend Clarke." You drop your hands to your sides, pushing yourself up. Your bones feel weak and you wonder how you have not collapsed under the heaviness of your hoarded emotions, once again clasping down on your lungs. You end up clenching your palms into fists, a well needed push to slowly meet her gaze. And once you do, holy fuck. She is more wonderful than I remember.
"Clarke and I have met", she replies with the suggestion of a smile. Keeping in mind that you had been openly vulnerable with her earlier during the day, your interaction seemed more intimate. "Well…", Raven speaks, breaking the stillness and widening the gap between you and Lexa by grabbing her hand, "I'm Raven". She turns to you and speaks in a confirming tone, "Alcohol. I think alcohol is a wonderful idea. I'll go and get each of us a standardized bucket of it." And right before she leaves, she cups your shoulders and adds, "I will be right back, Clarke." The, you will be fine, part goes unsaid.
As you are about to sit down, Costia pushes out, "And how do you enjoy school?" "I enjoy it", you say while making a slight pause, "Apart from the few humiliating moments that have taken place during class. In fact, that's how Finn and I met. During an excruciating moment in Chouette's class." By now Raven has returned and slithered next to you with a smirk on her face, as if it was the only barrier preventing her from embarrassing you. "Yeah, particularly excruciating because Clarke here", Raven nudges you lightheartedly, "was disappointed that she failed to make a good impression on… someone." And with that you sincerely wonder what would stop you from leaping at Raven's neck. You take a prolonged sip of your drink, as you shake your head, a gesture that was an attempt at dismissing your friend's words. You think that the longer you stay quiet, the quicker the moment will pass. Calm down.
Costia puts her hand on your shoulder and through the ghost of a smile says, "You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to". You glance at her, feeling relieved and reassured, adding, "I can tell you the gruesome story of how I met Finn. And inadvertently Alexandria." With that, you begin to narrate, feeling as if the moment you were speaking of had taken place during a different lifetime. As if you had died a thousand deaths and lived a thousand lives between then and now.
Regardless of the situation you had found yourself in, you are enjoying your evening. The incessant laughter and unadulterated conversations were not fueled by the alcohol, although you suspect, the alcohol helped. Finn, who had joined your conversation about three beers earlier, speaks to everyone, but addresses you, "So, where did you end up going earlier today? You never came back to class." You whip your head towards the boy, as if he had managed to rip all your clothes off in one sentence, leaving you bare.
"I'm sorry", you manage to squeak out, knowing that you are lying. The truth is, you do not feel apologetic at all. "I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world", you reply as the boy's smile fades and is replaced with confusion, settling in the furrow of his brows. "It's from a novel", you state. Lexa is observing you with a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "The Stranger", you continue, "I just needed some peace of mind and I ended up wandering away. I'm sorry I made you wait." There is a brief pause, before words are uttered, "It takes the time it takes". Lexa's gaze does not waver from yours as her voice goes quiet and, ultimately, cold.
As the evening is coming to an end, you rise to your feet and proclaim, "Ladies, I need to go home and sleep this beer off." Raven nods in agreement, protectively looping her arm under yours. With your refusal of letting it go, the ensuing embrace that is shared between Finn and you is both awkward and reserved. However, when Costia throws her arms around your neck, you reciprocate fully by letting your arms encircle her back. You hug her hard, wanting to pour dozens of apologies into her body, as you feel overcome with guilt when the girl pulls away with a smile and says sweetly, "You are a lightweight."
Your hands still resting on Costia, you face Lexa who seems distant and indifferent. Unsure of what to do, you let your arms fall to your sides and give the girl with the brown mane a nod. To your surprises, she closes the gap between you and, rigidly, encloses her arms around your waist. The embrace you are sharing now is vastly different from the one you had shared hours ago. But you take whatever little she will give you. You clasp your arms around her and murmur into her locks, "Thank you". You can hear her hesitate, but she ultimately decides to speak as she relaxes slightly in your hold, "Anytime… Camus."