AN: Happy Friday! Thanks for waiting and keeping up with the story, I am really glad (and lucky) to have dedicated readers - thank you!
Clarke paused and readjusted her position under the covers, moving their joined hands further up the mattress to rest between their faces. She took a big sigh and continued, "I ordered another shot… maybe two. All my drunken giddiness had shattered the moment Raven appeared, but after the initial heartbreak, it was like the fractured shards of my heart had resurrected into a storm of fury. My mind must have checked out because the next thing I know, I'm standing outside Finn's apartment and banging on the flimsy door. I was running scenarios through my head, imagining what I'd do when Finn answered, so when the door opened and I saw him in reality, I didn't just think of punching him, I notched back my fist and socked him in the eye. I attacked him first, so I wasn't that surprised when he retaliated. I was absolutely furious, and he was too, probably already pissed at Raven and then I show up and hit him and then he's pissed at me too. So he grabs me by the wrist and yanks me inside, I remember that."
"And then… some shit went down, I don't know," she shrugged, "He hurt me and I wanted to show him just how much by hurting him back. Next thing I know I'm yanked back and I realize the cops are here. My arms were yanked behind my back and I felt the cuffs ratcheting around my wrists, getting tighter and more uncomfortable with every click. After that I tried to calm down to appear more level headed, but it was pretty useless. The police couldn't get a clear story from either of us. I realized who'd let the cops in when I turned and saw Murphy, Finn's rat-bastard roommate. I don't think he was the one who called the cops though, he seemed a bit shady to me, like the kind of guy who you just know is flying deviously under the radar. The police most likely came because the neighbors called about a noise complaint, but Murphy came sneaking out of his room after the cops threatened to break down the door. He just sat innocently on the couch and gave his statement, "I didn't see anything." We both got taken to the station, and I wasn't doing anything to help my case by drunkenly slurring in the back of the police car. I don't know what happened to Finn, they took us in separate vehicles and I only briefly saw him at the station. And that was how I got arrested."
She finished simply and evenly, but by her tone Bellamy gathered that she was tired and a bit indifferent towards the whole predicament.
He frowned and wondered, "how come you didn't just claim self-defense?"
"Because my dumb-ass drunken self couldn't think of that at the time… but I don't think they would've bought that explanation, because I was the one who threw the first punch… and because of the fact that he looked way worse than I did," she smiled.
Bellamy grinned proudly at her, "bad-ass princess."
Her smile weakened and she broke his gaze to look down at his hand, which was still covering hers.
"There was a bunch of paperwork and waiting around. I didn't fully register that I was being locked up until I was literally behind bars, and then I sobered up real fast. They took my shoes - shoelaces and heels can apparently be used as weapons. And then they put me in the cell and I just sat there and waited and waited. They told me I got one phone call, go figure, and I don't know what I would've done if I didn't know your number. And then I was afraid you wouldn't pick up, and then I heard your voice, and then I was scared to tell you what happened."
"Why?" he frowned
She closed her eyes and took a breath, "because you would be mad at me."
He sighed and shook his head, trying to assure her, "Clarke when you called I knew something was wrong, but I was running wild imagining the worst possible situation. I was scarred you were badly hurt; so yeah, the jail thing freaked me out but at least then I knew where you were and that you weren't in danger and at least relatively unscathed. To me jail is a better outcome than hospital."
He bent his chin down to meet her eyes, "Clarke, I might've been mad at you, but I was way more worried about you. I would've been mad at you if you'd've got behind the wheel when you left the bar, or something like that. I'm mad at Finn that he hit you and lied to you and I'm mad at Raven for causing a scene and disrespecting the sweetest, purest person who would never be messing around with a married man. Clarke, you can always call me, okay? Even if it's something you think I'll be mad about; I'll come get you out of trouble and I'll be mad at you once I know you're ok. Okay?"
"Okay," she smiled softly and held his gaze for a quiet moment - it was the first time since he picked her up from the jail house that her eyes were calm and clear, no longer shifting with anxiety, appearing cloudy and distressed.
"Bellamy," she whispered.
"Yes, Princess?" he asked lightly, giving her and easy smile.
"Thanks for bailing me out of jail," she whispered, understating it playfully, like the kindness of receiving a "get out of jail free" card from him was the equivalent of… let's say, him getting her a cup of coffee.
"Any time," he answered deeply and honestly.
She pushed herself up and leaned towards him, and before he can register what's happening he feels her soft lips on his cheek, giving him a sweet kiss. Then she pulled back and settled into the mattress again.
"Goodnight," she sighed and squeezed his hand.
He was stunned silent for a few moments and the first thought to cross his mind was to ask her, "Are you still drunk?"
But she was already fast asleep. He tentatively reached out and smoothed her hair behind her ear, bringing his hand down to stroke her cheek.
"Night, Clarke," he sighed and closed his eyes.
He woke a few hours later, mind and limbs still heavy with fatigue. He stretched his legs and an arm, the other one being connected to the hand that was still holding onto Clarke's. Looking over, he saw that Clarke was still sound asleep, her nose pressed into the pillow and a tiny frown on the corners of her soft lips. He blinked and noticed that the sunlight trying to shine through the curtains was quite bright and figured that it was the afternoon by now, or at least midday, considering what time they fell asleep. He heard a soft sigh from Clarke and smiled lazily. He squeezed her hand and shifted under the sheets, getting comfortable before drifting back to sleep.
The next time he woke she wasn't there and his heart panged painfully in his chest upon realizing that he was alone. He flopped back on the bed and considered going back to sleep, but then he heard a clatter echo from down the hall and figured that it was Clarke tottering around the apartment somewhere. So he got up, stretched and groaned as his joints popped, and went outside to see what kind of mess Clarke had gotten into. His bare feet padded across the floor as he made his way towards Clarke, who he found in the kitchen leaning into the counter on her tiptoes, stretching her arm far above her head to try and get something from the cabinet. Her shirt might've ridden up, exposing the soft, pale skin of her lower back, he thought to himself, if she wasn't wearing one of his own, which fell far below her hips. He scolded himself for thinking something so sexual about a perfectly innocent action, and about Clarke. She was his sister's best friend, and even though he rejected the idea that it meant she was off limits, he still felt unsure about having feelings towards her. He cleared his throat, not wanting to startle her and she turned around, rolling back on her heals to her regular (which was less than average) height. She greeted him with a wide grin on her face, but it was quickly replaced by an accusatory glimmer.
"Why do you put all the coffee cups on the top shelf?" she demanded.
"Because unlike you," he said, walking up to stand behind her, "I can actually reach them."
He anchored one hand on the counter, just slightly near her waist, and leaned forward, using his body to press hers into the counter. His hand took the majority of his weight so that he wouldn't be crushing her, but it was enough force to be suggestive and to ensure that she couldn't escape without sliding against him. He reached up with his other hand and easily grabbed a coffee cup, placing it down on the counter in front of her, then reached up again to grab one for himself. She taped her fingers on the counter impatiently and after a while he stepped back so she could move from his trap.
He heard water boiling and smelt the strong whiff of coffee in the air. "So, how long did it take you to figure out the coffee maker?" he teased.
"Not long," she fired back.
He sincerely doubted that, but he let it go with a nod. He would give her this round, it wasn't worth much to argue over. Besides, he was already ahead in the "call each other on our bullshit" game.
He went to the fridge, his brain on auto-pilot of his morning routine, and was jarred when he found it empty. Oh that's right, he remembered; he usually went shopping Saturday morning, so now there was no food for breakfast… or rather lunch. He noticed a pathetic looking plastic roll that held the remainders of a loaf of bread. He perked up and grabbed it, unfurling the wrap to find that it was just the end pieces. He glared at the slices, wishing for a middle piece to suddenly appear and save him from starvation.
He held up the ends to show them to Clarke, "want some toast?"
"Sure," she said.
The toaster popped and he searched his pantry for any kind of spread. He didn't have butter, would never have jam – eww, but low and behold he had a jar of peanut butter. Not only that but four jars of peanut butter all at varying stages of being empty… or full, depending on how you want to look at it. Bellamy was a pessimist, not an optimist, so the glass would always be half empty. But he was also tenacious and would make do with what he had. He was reasonably happy, or at least believed there was no point in wasting time being bitter upon seeing that he could have more.
They sat down at the table and ate in silence. Clarke's golden hair was pulled back in a messy bun and she gazed down at her plate with tired eyes. It didn't take long for Bellamy to finish his toast, so he cleared his throat and looked up from his coffee to meet her eyes.
Once he got her attention he carefully and calmly said, "I think you should call your mom."
"Why?" she frowned. Clarke and Abby had a strained relationship. Abby wanted to connect with her daughter but Clarke spent most of the time ignoring her mom's phone calls. But in times of crisis Clarke depended on her mother's love to give her strength. And when she came to Abby for help and didn't exactly get what she was looking for, she went back to resenting her mother.
"Because I think it would be good if you had a lawyer. I don't know what's going to happen at this court date, but you need someone who knows the ropes and can get you out of this situation with nothing on your record. And I don't know about Finn, but you said that this Murphy guy was shady, so who knows what kind of shit he could pull on you."
She looked down and reluctantly admitted, "you make a good point."
"When have I ever not?" he smirked, wanting the atmosphere to be lighthearted, and she looked back up with a smile and a faint glint in her eye.
They finished their breakfast… snack, whatever you want to call it, and Bellamy got up to collect the dishes and deposit them carefully on the pile in the sink. He really needed to wash the dishes, or admit defeat and cut back on his spending to save up for a dishwasher.
"So what's the plan, Princess?" he called to her from the kitchen.
He waited for a reply but a while longer he turned around to see her at the table with her head in her hands. He came back to sit across from her and waited patiently.
He wasn't very patient.
"Clarke," he said.
"I don't know," she sighed. She closed her eyes and scrunched her face to the point that Bellamy feared she was going to cry. He tensed, pleading that she would know she was alright and that worst was behind her.
"I don't know where my keys are," she said shakily. She took a deep breath and tried again, "I need my keys to drive my car home from the bar and to get into my apartment. And they're either at the bar… or at Finn's place." Her nose scrunched slightly as her eyebrows drew together and her frown deepened
"Okay, so why don't we start at the bar?" he suggested lightly.
She nodded gratefully and got up, mumbling that she was going to the bathroom. He went back to his room to change into a pair of jeans and put deodorant on… and to check on the state of his hair, which desperately needed combing.
"Ready?" he called to Clarke cheerfully when he found her standing in the living room. He looked down to see that she was still wearing his sweats and t-shirt. Well, he thought, upon realizing that she didn't have a change of clothes, the only options were for her to put her "spent the night in jail" outfit back on or wear what she had on. She followed his gaze and smirked, shrugging her shoulders, "guess I'm wearing this out; I'm sure it'll give Finn the impression that I'm more than okay without him."
"Hey," he shot back playfully, "my clothes are dope, the only problem is the wearer."
She glared at him, but Bellamy's grin only got wider. He turned and headed for the door, waving a hand over his shoulder in dismissal, "you can stay in the car."
AN: Thanks for reading! Please review and let me know what you think, or just to say hi, that's fine too!
Ramblings: Everyone has a different perspective when reading a story - because the author might have a certain picture in their mind and intend to communicate that idea to the audience, but there's a lot left to be interpreted by the reader, a lot of space between the lines for the reader's mind to imagine. "Everyone has their own reality," I guess is what I'm trying to say, but go back and read the previous sentence. This conversation however, is too philosophical for my mind to handle in the middle of the night; think about it for a second though.