Today is June 12, 2014.
Lexa stares at the date on the calendar hung in the room of her apartment. A photograph of pugs, all gathered up in a basket, is the calendar's photo of the month.
She decides that she now hates pugs.
Lexa gathers up the rest of her Poli-Sci notes, standing from her desk, stretching the soreness of sitting down for hours at a time, out of her muscles. Her exam is tomorrow, and she's likely more prepared than any other student in her lecture, but she will pick up studying again later nonetheless. She thinks of what she was doing at this exact moment in time. It is two o'clock in the afternoon. This exact time, two years ago, Lexa had not left her bed since she had gotten home after –
After that morning. The morning where she woke up next to Her. The morning where she woke up next to Her, not wearing any clothes, morning light starting to creep its way into Her room. This exact time, two years ago, Lexa had not stopped crying for hours at a time.
The pain is a little less this year. She remains as alone as ever, but Lexa has learned how to not allow the crushing feeling of loneliness overwhelm her. She has learned how to carefully compartmentalize the emotions associated with Her into a little box, at the back of her head. She is careful to never open the box, in fear that it will burst and flood the rest of her body, just as it did last year.
Lexa packs her bag, ready to head to the supplemental Political Science seminar. It's not necessary for her to go, but her professor had suggested that his students attend, and it wasn't as if Lexa had much else to do, anyway. It's not as if she can stand being alone with her thoughts right now. Not today.
There's supposed to be a year-end party that the Poli-Sci cohort is throwing tonight, but Lexa has opted to decline the invite. It always goes the same way, anyway – Lexa nurses a singular drink (if not water) throughout the whole night, sitting at a table by herself, making awkward small-talk with anyone who bothers to sit with her until the person feels too uncomfortable to continue. Then, around 10, she leaves.
Lexa walks through campus, where boys with fraternity t-shirts are wearing backwards caps and throwing a Frisbee across the quad and freshman with tired eyes are dragging their feet to their next final.
Fuck today. Lexa had managed an entire two days without thinking of Her, and today just had to be the day. She inhales deeply, feeling the anxiety of it all starting to attempt at crushing her.
She remembers the day after. Seeing Her at school the next day. Doing everything she possibly could to avoid eye contact with Her.
She remembers every day after. Lexa remembers graduation, convocation, how She was the valedictorian of their class (how fitting, Lexa had thought). How She gave a beautiful speech about maintaining friendships. A speech about allowing forgiveness for yourself. A speech about not allowing the world to harden you.
Lexa did not maintain friendships.
(Sorry.)
Lexa did not allow forgiveness for herself.
(Sorry.)
Lexa allowed the world to harden her.
(Sorry.)
It's been two years since that night and the morning after. Lexa refuses to get Facebook because Her art has reached new heights of fame, plastered all over posters, social media, all of it. Lexa cannot risk seeing any of it, or photos of Her through mutual friends, if she can help it.
She quit playing her violin shortly after school ended, opting to accept the scholarships completely unrelated to music – she could have gone to the University of Manhattan for music (one of the best of its kind in the country), but her parents had always wrinkled their noses in distaste at the thought of Lexa pursuing classical music, violin, as a career. So, she instead chose to major in the Political Sciences, at the University of Berkeley. And she has hated every minute of it since.
You won't make any money playing that fiddle of yours. It's not a smart decision.
The only reason Lexa had not quit before was because She had convinced her to "screw what your parents say. If you want to play violin for the rest of your life, do it. You're amazing with it, and more people need to know about your talent."
She had made Lexa feel like her dreams of playing in the Philharmonic were viable dreams, dreams that she could easily achieve.
Lexa's violin collects dust underneath her bed, now.
The only sort-of-vaguely-friend friend that Lexa has made so far is Costia Abramov, a quirky girl, sweet, and oddly kind to her, considering that Lexa has maybe said around 20 words in total for the year and a half they have known each other. Part of her suspects that there may be a flirtatious kind of lilt to the way Costia speaks to her sometimes, undertones in the way Costia always insists on buying her dinner when they go out to study – but Lexa actively ignores that part. She's not sure what it is about her that could cause Costia to even consider that Lexa is attracted to women, but Lexa does not like it. Not one bit.
Currently, the two of them are studying for their Poli-Sci final in one of the grassy areas in the outer quad, after the supplemental seminar. Lexa reads her textbook, pretending to listen to everything Costia is saying (which is usually the way things go with them), as Costia talks and talks away.
"…and then Vanessa Lee dropped out of the orchestra. After pushing the conductor around to give her a solo for months, she dropped out, right before a huge, huge charity event and concert in Carnegie Hall. Isn't that ridiculous?" Costia places a hand on Lexa's knee briefly, to get her attention, and Lexa looks up from her textbook, staring at the hand. "Isn't that ridiculous?" Costia repeats.
Lexa nods. "Mmm." She goes back to reading her textbook. Costia awkwardly takes her hand off of Lexa's knee.
Costia is an oboe player for Berkeley's orchestra – it is fairly well known, surprisingly enough – not quite at Julliard or Manhattan level, but still renowned. They've played concerts all around the world, and as much as Lexa aches to join them, she cannot bring herself to pick up her violin again. She knows of the Carnegie Hall concert, of course she does – another one of her dreams was to play there. And She had told Lexa that it was so, so possible.
Lexa is wondering how much longer she can get away with avoiding conversation before Costia gets angry with her. It's not that Lexa doesn't like Costia – Lexa likes Costia just fine, as a person, of course. It's that Lexa does not want to come off equally as flirtatious as Costia is. Lexa does notlike women. Absolutely not.
(Lexa tries to ignore this, but she knows that Costia is quite pretty – she has raven-colored hair and bright hazel eyes and beautiful, smooth olive-coloured skin. She is incredibly intelligent, artistic, kind, considerate…
Too much like Her. Lexa never allows herself to even contemplate liking Costia back.)
Costia continues speaking, aimlessly flipping through the pages in her textbook, clearly not reading any of it.
"We're pretty desperate for someone to replace her. None of the other violinists can learn the solo in time for the Carnegie Hall concert. Vanessa Lee was the only one who learned to play it. Did you mention you play the violin the other day?"
Lexa swallows, turning the page of her textbook and highlighting an important sentence. She doesn't recall telling Costia about playing the violin – in fact, Costia is the one of the only people she has said more than a handful of words to, and violin-talk was not included in those words. "No, I didn't."
There's a pause, and Lexa can tell that Costia is itching to say something. She looks up, and Costia is looking down at her hands, biting her lip nervously.
(Lexa tries to not think of Her biting her lip.)
Finally, Costia inhales and speaks again. "Okay, I'm going to admit something to you as long as you promise to not judge me."
Lexa raises an eyebrow, hoping that this isn't some confession of a crush. If it were, Lexa would up and leave. Right now.
"I may or may not have looked up your name on Google. It's just that – when we were studying for our midterm in your room, I went into your desk drawer to find that thesaurus you were looking for, and I saw a gold medal for the Julliard-hosted violin competition thing. And I was like, that's crazy! I remember Marcus telling me about how there's only been one person younger than 18 to win that competition, like, ever, and so I was just checking to see if it was you or not. And it turned out to be you. You won when you were 17. I mean. Wow." Costia breathes out. "I saw a few YouTube videos of news channels covering your orchestral concerts and stuff. You're like, really, really good."
Lexa is absolutely amazed at how much one person could possibly talk so much in the span of thirty seconds. "I do not really play violin anymore."
"Okay, but – it's just – I told Marcus, our conductor, that I know you, and he flipped. Like, he's pretty much a huge fan of you, and he said that you'd won some sight-reading competition, also. He was just wondering if maybe you could cover for Vanessa Lee's solo. Like, sight-read it, see how it is, and maybe cover for her solo. Just for this one concert. They just can't seem to find anyone, and they'd pay for you to get there –"
"I'm sorry, Costia, but I cannot. I am busy that night."
"Do you even know what night it is?"
Lexa reddens at this. She hadn't read the date. She remains silent.
Costia huffs and closes her book, quite aggressively. Lexa flinches.
"Okay. Lexa." Costia runs a hand through her hair. "I'm really sorry if I did something to offend you or something, but I really don't appreciate being completely disregarded ninety percent of the time. Look." She sighs. "I like you, okay? Like, a lot."
Lexa freezes at this.
"But it's fine if you aren't – you know – into girls, or whatever. I like you like that, but I also think you're really cool, and I'd like to at least be friends with you. You're super smart, and you always help me with class stuff. And I really appreciate that. But if you want me to fuck off, I'd really like for you to just tell me instead of making me wonder if you actually like me as a person or if you want to punch me in the face. It's getting really difficult to tell."
Costia sits there and waits for Lexa to say something. Lexa's face is still a little red, and words are starting to choke her a little. A lump forms in her throat.
Lexa doesn't know when she got like this – because with Her, in high school, words always came easily to Lexa. She was always willing to go to a party or two every weekend. Now – now she was pathetic. Friendless. Unable to articulate herself.
Costia's breaks her thoughts. "Fine. I'll see you in class tomorrow. Good luck studying for the final, I guess."
As Costia gets up to leave, Lexa grabs her wrist, panic overtaking her. "Wait." She can't lose the only sort-of friend she has made here. If anything, Costia could be a new beginning for Lexa. A new friend to help her navigate a new life without Her. Costia looks at the hand on her wrist, and slowly sits back down. Lexa puts her hand back down.
"I'm sorry I don't talk much," Lexa starts, starting to pick at the grass and not making eye contact. "I sort of – I sort of lost someone a little while ago. And she was very, very important to me. My life is very different without her now, and I never really learned how to get used to it. So I forgot how to socialize and stuff, and – I'm sorry. Tell Marcus I'd love to read the music for Vanessa's solo and see if I can help out."
Costia's voice is softer. She nods, smiling gently at Lexa. "I'm sorry, too," she says, "I didn't mean to lash out like that. And sorry you lost someone – how did she die?"
"I – she didn't –" Lexa doesn't know how to explain any of it to Costia. She chooses to not explain. "It's a long story. Maybe I can talk about it some other time. But not today. You're my friend, Costia, and I'd like to get to know you better. I'm going to try harder to be better about things."
Costia places a hand on Lexa's forearm. "It's honestly fine, Lex."
(Lexa feels like she will vomit at the nickname because She called her Lex no one else calls me Lex no one else is allowed no one can call me that except for Her – but she chokes it down. She moves on.)
Lexa just smiles at Costia. Hopefully that will do, for now.
Costia leans back and opens her textbook again. "So, uh." She shifts awkwardly. "No date, huh?"
Lexa chuckles slightly. "I'm sorry, but I'm –" she shakes her head. "I'm not into women like that."
"That's fine. Sorry if that makes things totally weird. I'll stop weirdly flirting with you and stuff. Jeez. I'm so stupid. I'll find a non-straight girl who's as cool as you, one day."
"There are many of those, don't worry."
I'm not into women like that. As if Lexa doesn't replay the events of That Night in her head over and over again. As if she does not still ache for Her to be in her bed again, by her side, touching Lexa like She did –
Fucking stop it.
Lexa watches Costia as the other girl starts to highlight lines in her textbook.
Maybe I can be normal, after all.
Maybe I can forget.
It's late into the evening when Clarke Griffin wakes in the middle of the night. She's just had a dream about a flying car chasing her through the forest, and it was oddly unsettling.
Her loft is vast, a little lonely – she is the only resident, and the area she lives in is relatively quiet. Clarke rolls over and pulls her cellphone off of her nightstand to check the time.
1:34am. June 12, 2014.
Clarke has put her phone back to sleep and is about to put it back on her nightstand when she realizes it.
June 12, 2014.
She presses the power button again.
1:34am. June 12, 2014.
"Fuck," she whispers, placing her phone beside her and rolling on her back, staring up at the high ceiling.
How ironic it is that on the second anniversary of Lexa leaving, Clarke is alone in bed again. She wonders if Lexa is alone in bed. She wonders if Lexa has someone else in her bed.
The thought of the latter makes her feel sick. Clarke has never understood the term "green with envy". She's never felt green when it comes to thinking of someone else with Lexa. She's always felt it, visceral, as red. Bright, angry red. All other times she thinks of Lexa, it is grey. The kind of grey that makes you sad to look at. The kind of grey where if you woke up one morning and the clouds were that dark, dismal shade of grey, you would go back to sleep in the hopes that it will clear.
(It doesn't.)
Red is still on her mind when she gets out of bed, knowing that sleep will not come to her tonight unless she does something about it, and she turns the lights on in her loft, moving to the corner where all of her painting gear is.
She picks up a pallet and fills it with as many acrylic shades of red that she can find.
An hour later, she is left with a canvas of reds, some angry, some softer, others blended into both. She stopped painting Lexa months ago – now, she paints objects associated with her during episodes like these ones. Baby steps, as Clarke likes to call it.
Tonight, it is a violin – again. Swirls of red surround it, and Clarke can almost hear the tune that could be played along to a presentation of this – a brusque, fast-paced tune. One that makes you feel as if you need to be somewhere, fast, or you could lose something important – perhaps the feeling of late for work after your boss threatened to fire you if you were late again, perhaps the feeling of being a paramedic racing to get to an accident before any fatalities occur. Perhaps the feeling of going downstairs to the kitchen the morning after fucking your best friend and hoping she will still be there.
Clarke throws the pallet and paintbrush down on the plastic sheet-covered floor and moves back to her bed, sits, and picks up her phone.
She goes to text a contact – Raven. Raven is always awake at this time. Clarke is fairly certain that Raven is nocturnal, at this point – always working on the next engineering project that she can get her hands on until the sun rises.
Raven doesn't know much about what happened with Clarke and Lexa – just that they had once been best friends. That they had been lovers for one night. That Lexa had run away. Clarke knows Wells is sleeping right now, and she doesn't want to incur long-distance fees for him, as he is currently in Canada for college.
Currently, Clarke is amongst one of the top students in her two-year long fine arts program Yale University, and well established as an artist in Connecticut. She misses the quaintness of Oregon, her high school friends, especially Wells (and Lexa, but there is not much that Clarke can do about that), but Clarke has managed to find a home in Connecticut. She graduates with her degree in fine arts next month.
Clarke:
awake?
Clarke can instantaneously see the "read" receipt, and the tiny grey bubble indicating that Raven is typing. She leans back into her bed, feeling a little less lonely.
Raven:
Yeah. What's up?
Clarke:
today is june 12
Raven:
Okay?
Oh
Shit.
Clarke:
i don't really know what to do right now i don't feel good
Raven:
I can come over?
Clarke:
it's okay it's too late for that
Raven:
She still hasn't contacted you then?
Clarke:
no and i don't expect her to. i stopped expecting her to like last year
i don't know why i can't stop thinking about it still. like it's stupid at this point. i feel like it's just stupid
Raven:
That usually happens when you don't get closure with someone. You never got closure, right?
Clarke:
no i didn't
she literally just left me there
and didn't speak to me for the remainder of the school year
she didn't even look at me once
a few months after we graduated i messaged her on facebook with a link to this NBC spot briefly covering this art show that i did even though she had unfriended me
the next day i checked back to see that she had deleted her facebook and that was the last time i ever spoke to her again even though i guess that doesn't really count
Raven:
I don't understand why she left in the first place.
Clarke:
that's a question i've been asking myself for two years
i know she was afraid but i don't know of what exactly. i get that it was a new experience getting with a girl and all that, and i know her parents were super conservative and Christian so that probably added to that fear but i don't know why she had to cut me off like that without explaining.
she was there for everything
she was there when my dad died and when i got my first feature in an art show and when i ran away from home for a bit when my mom threw a fit about my dad being gone. all of it
you don't just leave someone like that. like fuck
i'm really sorry i know it's late
Raven:
Clarke. It's okay. You can talk to me any time and you're having a hard time right now. I'm here for you, okay?
Clarke:
thanks
that really doesn't sound very sincere but i don't know how else to convey that over text but thank you
Raven:
No no no I get it. And Clarke, listen – from the looks of it Lexa is not coming back to you.
Clarke flinches at this.
Raven:
I think you need to get that closure for yourself without her, somehow. You're one of the most talented artists I know and already so well-known in just Connecticut alone. Your art has been sold internationally and it's literally been fuckin' tattooed on people's bodies. Don't let yourself get dragged down by someone who doesn't give enough of a crap about you to even say sorry or to give you an explanation.
Okay, how about this: I have a surprise for you that I was going to tell you about tomorrow night, but I'm going to tell you now so maybe you'll feel a little better.
Clarke:
hit me. i need everything you've got
Raven:
I know this guy who is organizing this huge charity event at the Carnegie Hall in two weeks
The main attraction is Berkeley's orchestra, but they're looking for an up-and-coming young American artist to feature and auction off their art for the lobby. The exposure would be ridiculous, you'd get so much good PR, PLUS it's paid. Like you'd get paid a lot. And additionally you get 30% of however much people pay for your art. Rest goes to charity
Clarke:
that sounds interesting but i dont know f i'm well-known enough to do an auction somewhere like carnegie
if*
Raven:
Your modesty is just about one of the stupidest things I've ever seen.
Clarke:
okay. okay i'll do it. tell them i'll do it
Raven:
good. now go to bed.
After a brief chat with Marcus, Lexa found out that the solo they needed someone to play was Chaconne by Antonio Vitali – a piece Lexa had learned how to play years ago. Since there wasn't much time for Lexa to learn the other parts, it was agreed that she would only help them with that solo – Berkeley would pay for her flight, and she would room with Costia.
Lexa's parents did not take the news of Lexa joining Berkeley's orchestra all too well, regardless of how brief it would be. They're afraid that she'll "fall back into it", "it" being classical music, violin, something they know very well that Lexa loves doing. The conversation goes something like this:
"I just don't want you to fall into that hole again, Alexandria," Elizabeth Woods says through her phone's speaker. Lexa hears her father murmur in agreement. "You're flourishing in the Political Sciences –"
Lexa is not.
"-and I don't want your fiddle-playing to get in the way of that."
"I won't, mom," Lexa says, "It's just that I've made a new friend and I'd like to do a favour for her, since she's been nothing but nice to me all year. I'll substitute for their soloist only once. I have no interest in continuing."
(That's a lie, but Lexa will uphold it nonetheless.)
Her parents ignore the part about Lexa's social life – Lexa is sure that Elizabeth and Howard Woods don't even want her to have one. Her father speaks next.
"When will you be home for the summer? Father Paul has been asking about you."
Lexa likes speaking over the phone with her parents, because they cannot see her roll her eyes. Father Paul is the head pastor at their Catholic church, and their parents are very close with him – but Lexa has never liked the man. She can tell that he judges every word she says, eyes her every time he leads Sunday's sermon, making sure she is actually praying.
(Most of the time, she is not.)
"Hopefully a few days after finals are over, depending on how fast I can sublet my apartment for the summer. And after I'm finished with the concert. "
"I hope that apartment has been serving you well," Elizabeth says, "And I hope you've been taking good care of it – you do remember that it is your grandmother's money, God bless her soul –"
"Yes, mother. I've been taking good care of it." Being the only child of an only child, Lexa received a very large sum of her late grandmother's inheritance – and her grandmother had been very, very wealthy.
Lexa's heart aches at the thought of her grandmother – the only one in her family who seemed to give a damn about Lexa's interests. She had been the one to buy Lexa her first violin.
"Okay, Lexa," Howard says. "Is your news about the orchestra all you had?"
Lexa clears her throat, ignoring the passive-aggressive tone of his voice. "Yes. I – I thought I'd let you know, in case you might want to watch – Carnegie Hall is a beautiful venue –"
"Sorry, Alexandria, but we simply cannot afford the time to fly out just for a little concert."
A little concert. Carnegie Hall. Lexa has had dreams of playing there since she was five years old – Howard and Elizabeth know it.
"Why are you being like this?" she finally blurts out.
There's a moment of silence, and suddenly her mother's voice sounds, quiet, but clearly angry. "Excuse me?"
"This is Carnegie Hall. Did you not hear me when I said that? I'm going to be sight-reading Chaconne. Vitali. In front of an audience full of classical music buffs, famous musicians, possibly even directors of universities –"
"That you will not be attending in lieu of finishing your Political Sciences degree. Alexandria, do not be petulant –"
"I don't understand. I was one of the best violinists our city, and you completely disregarded that. Completely. I could have gone to the University of Manhattan for a degree in music, and –"
"And then what? You teach it? Become one of those low-life professors with nothing better to do than conduct a group of rag-tag fiddle-players? Who is this new friend who asked you to do this? I don't like the sounds of her, already. If she's anything like that Clarke girl, Alexandria, I suggest –"
Lexa hangs up on them. She's sure she will get her comeuppance for that soon, but she refuses to have to deal with it now.
Her phone rings again, her parents calling her back, but she declines the call, turns her phone off, and reads the sheet music that Marcus gave her for Vitali.
For the first time in two years, Lexa reaches underneath her bed for her violin.
She dusts it off.
She tunes it.
And she plays.
"Earth to Clarke. Hello? Earth to Clarke?"
Clarke blinks, realizing she has been stirring her coffee for a solid two minutes now, staring. Raven sits across from her at the café, eyebrow raised.
"How much sleep did you get last night? When you texted me?"
Clarke shrugs. "I went back to bed after you told me to, but then I woke up again around seven and went for a run. So, probably around 3 hours."
Raven groans. "Jesus, Clarke. I thought you were giving up irregular sleep schedules for lent or something."
"I lied. I don't actually celebrate lent. Even if I did, it would be me giving up crossing the street whenever I see someone I hooked up with in freshman year walking towards me.
"I swear to god, you're like a sitcom character."
"I'd be the most tragic sitcom character ever. Please." Clarke sips at her coffee. "And you're one to talk," she continues, "You sleep at 4am, like, every day."
"Yeah, but then I wake up at 12pm the next. Still get my eight hours."
Clarke's eyes start to wander around the café – it's finals season, and the quiet bustle of stressed college students is oddly calming. "How are finals going for you, by the way?"
Raven scoffs. "Almost too well. The only thing stressing me out about finals are the people stressing out about finals."
"Not everyone is a brainy superhero like you, Reyes. So." Clarke leans back against her chair. "What else will be going on at Carnegie? Apart from me exhibiting my art?"
Raven pulls out her phone, scrolling through the webpage. "Honestly, nothing, except for the orchestra. It's featuring some big-shot Berkeley violinist named Vanessa Lee playing a huge solo of some sort. It'll be your art, and their art, as the big features. Clarke Griffin's eye art, featuring ear art."
"Ear art." Clarke chuckles. "A sudden wave of quiet sadness washes through her again as she is reminded of going to Lexa's orchestra shows, watching Lexa perform solos that were not unlike what Clarke is sure Vanessa Lee's solo will be like.
"Where did you go again, Clarke?" Raven says, a curious look on her face as she tilts her head to the right.
Clarke sighs, shaking her head. "It's stupid."
"I will literally kill you if you respond with that to me asking you a question again."
"Jeez, sorry. I'm just – thinking of Lexa again. She used to play the violin. Like, really, really well."
"Guessing that's why you listen to an odd amount of classical music?"
Clarke nods. "She got me into it."
Raven moves forward, mischievously raising an eyebrow. "Maybe you'll fall for Vanessa Lee. I've seen photos of her. She's hot. And she plays the violin. And you need to start dating again."
"What?" Clarke furrows a brow. "I am dating."
"If your definition of "dating" is "go on two dates, maybe hook up once, dump person after realizing they are not Lexa Woods", then I think you and I need to have a really serious talk."
"God, Raven. You should meet my friend, Wells. You two would get along swimmingly, bullying me like this." Clarke pauses. "Think there's any chance that Lexa might be one of the members of the orchestra?"
After a moment of consideration, Raven shakes her head. "Doubt it. I've actually gone to one of their concerts before, a few months back, when my friend who is organizing the Carnegie event needed help setting up some lights. I don't recall seeing her. Besides, if she's as good as you say she is, wouldn't it be likely that she would be the soloist instead of Vanessa Lee?"
"You're right. Wishful thinking." Clarke runs a fingertip along the rim of her mug, resting her chin on her other hand. "I don't know what I would even do if I did see her. I keep playing the scenario back in my head, wondering what I'd say."
"Yell at her? Throw something at her?"
Clarke laughs. "No. I - I think I'd be happy to see her. Even if she wasn't happy to see me. I mean, the really cruel, gross side of me hopes she isn't over me yet, that she's still hurting as much as I am, but...mostly I'd just like for her to be my friend again."
"This girl really did a number on you, Clarke," Raven says gently. "Are you sure that's what you would want?"
Clarke knows that Raven doesn't quite understand the layers and intricacy involved with her and Lexa's relationship - the unbelievably strong emotional bond they had formed just over the span of a few years, how they were completely in-tune with each others' emotions at all times.
"No. But I don't even know why I'm talking about this, really. I haven't seen her or heard the slightest whisper even related to her in two years. That's not going to change any time soon."
For the first time in years, Lexa Woods is enjoying herself at a party.
Costia had invited her to a year-end party hosted by some fraternity, and while it had taken a significant amount of pleading and coaxing for Lexa to finally agree to go, Lexa hadn't enjoyed herself this much in ages.
Lexa finds herself liking Costia more and more - she's fun, energetic, consistently kind and considerate to Lexa; they're currently in the kitchen of the frat house as Costia makes a strange concoction of Bacardi white rum and orange juice and other alcoholic beverages that Lexa has never even heard of.
"Jungle juice," Costia says, taking a sip and wrinkling her nose. She holds the cup up to Lexa. "Try this."
"You haven't exactly sold it very well."
Costia moves the cup back, drinking from it yet again. "You're right. It's fucking disgusting."
"Hey, so for the concert coming up - is it just us playing? Or is there anything else happening?"
"An auction of some sort. I'm not sure. We never get the details for these things, not even a fuckin' brochure. Not a big deal, though. We're probably just going to play and go." Suddenly, Costia takes Lexa's hand with her free one. "C'mon, let's go explore." While Lexa is a little startled by the contact, she welcomes it as she follows.
They head back out into the hall and three girls cram into the bathroom, then throw the door closed behind them before any other girls try to squeeze in. It's like a flood and the door's the dam and it can never close quick enough. They manage to squeeze their way through the swarm of people in the foyer and make it to the kitchen where it's a lot less crowded. Costia leans on the counter and Lexa stands next to her. Lexa is sure she needs another drink, but she's not too worried about finding one if she has to. Generally, all the boys are pretty okay with letting you have a sip, and if you talk to enough of them for two or three minutes each, you can end up with a couple shots in you. Lexa remembers this from the parties in high school.
Two guys walk over to Costia and Lexa.
"Hey, you guys wanna play beer pong?" one of them says. He has dark eyes that look a little drowsy—probably because he's drunk—and short brown hair. He's wearing a navy polo, chinos, boat shoes. Frat Boy Uniform.
"No," Costia says, grinning slyly. She grabs Lexa's elbow and whispers "Oh God," into her ear, and Lexa laughs. The boys smirk and look at each other. Lexa imagines that they think Costia murmured something to her about how cute they are.
"Yeah, beer pong sucks," the other one says, and laughs at himself. He has red hair and brown eyes but not very many freckles and he's unusually tan for a red-head. He'd be kind of cute if he wasn't probably a douche, Lexa thinks.
"I'm Clay," the brown haired one says.
"Figured," Lexa whispers to Costia. Costia giggles.
"Brent," the red-haired one says.
"This is too perfect," Costia whispers to Lexa, then flips her hair and puts her hand out and says, all sultry and sexy, "I'm Bertha."
It's a good thing Lexa doesn't have a drink, because if she did, she probably would've spit it out.
Brent makes a face like he's gonna laugh but doesn't. Clay doesn't miss a beat—shakes her hand and says something like "You don't meet too many people named—with that name," he says. Never underestimate the power of being incredibly attractive, Lexa guesses.
"I'm Eunice," Lexa says. Costia looks at her and grins.
"Hey," Brent says, all suave. This is beautiful, Lexa thinks. The world is a beautiful place.
"What's your major, Bertha?" Clay says.
"Can I have some of that?" Costia says, motioning to Clay's drink. He smiles and hands it to her. She takes a swig and passes it to Lexa, and Lexa takes a drink and then gives it back to Clay.
"Women's and Gender Studies," Costia says. She's a Political Science major, just like Lexa is, but frat boys trying to talk about women's and gender studies sounds pretty interesting. Lexa follows her lead.
"Same," she says. "Are you guys going to the slut walk?"
"The—no, I don't—I don't think—well, I might, but I don't think Clay was gonna," Brent says. Clay shrugs, furrows his brow.
"I mean—are you guys going?" he says.
"Yeah, we're huge supporters of the movement. It's about ending rape culture and slutshaming," Lexa says. This actually isn't a lie—Costia is making a speech and everything.
"I mean—we, yeah like, we do not like rape culture," Brent says. Clay looks at him with horror. Costia and Lexa crack up. There's really very little hope at humoring them anymore.
"I'm glad to hear that," Lexa says.
"We have to pee," Costia says, looping her arm through Lexa's.
"Clay," she says, shaking Brent's hand.
"Brent," Lexa says, shaking Clay's hand.
That's when Lexa sees it.
The tattoo on Clay's forearm.
It's a tattoo of a crown, similar to a Jean-Michel Basquait drawing, but with a cartoonish sketch of a child wearing it. Lexa knows that drawing. It had gotten very popular through art forums on Reddit, Deviantart, all throughout social media. Stickers were made from the illustration and plastered onto street signs. Even some pencil cases had the design etched into their canvas.
Lexa knows this because she knows who the artist is. Lexa knows this because she watched as the artist first started to sketch it.
Brent catches Lexa staring at the tattoo, and he grins. "Like it? I found it through Reddit a few months back, and I loved it."
"Reddit. Classic," Costia murmurs to Lexa, but Lexa is still transfixed on the tattoo. What the fuck are the odds?
(The odds are pretty great, actually, since tattoo artists everywhere picked up the design once it garnered the popularity it did.)
Brent continues talking. "The artist is pretty hot, too, if I'm being honest. She had an odd name, though." Brent turns to Clay. "What was her name again? We went to one of her art convention things with your ex-girlfriend, remember?"
"The blonde one? Clarke Griffin?"
"Yeah, Clarke Griffin. Hot and talented. Dream girl." Brent turns back to the girls. "Have you heard of her?"
Lexa feels like an icicle is being driven into her stomach. She feels the cold and the pain together, every little bit of the feeling, and she feels faint.
Costia shakes her head. "No." She seems to notice that Lexa has paled, and takes her hand again. "We're gonna go now. Bye."
Once they pull away from the crowd, Costia places both hands on Lexa's shoulders. Suddenly, touch is not so welcome anymore, and she shrugs out of the grip.
"Sorry," Costia says. "What happened back there? You okay?"
Lexa looks at Costia, inhaling deeply through her nose, and smiles. "Yeah, sorry. I think I - I think I just drank too much."
"Okay, sure," Costia says uneasily - then she is back to smiling. "Did you hear what they were saying about that Clarke Griffin artist girl? I should try to find her and hit her up. Artsy girls are totally my type."
The icicle drives into Lexa's stomach even further.
"On second thought, I'm going to go home." Lexa turns and pushes through the crowd without bothering to see if Costia is following.
By the time she gets back to her apartment, Lexa's hands are shaking. She moves to her closet, where an unpacked box sits - a box full of yearbooks and memorabilia that her parents had insisted she pack, as it cluttered up their house too much. She digs through the box to the bottom, where she knows what will be there. The thing she has been avoiding for two years.
A few moments later, she finds it. A Polaroid candid of her and Clarke in their eleventh year. Clarke has flour on her nose, and Lexa's got icing all over her shirt. Lexa remembers this moment clearly - baking cookies with Wells Jaha turned into a massive food-and-flour fight. Clarke's got her arms around Lexa and is kissing her cheek, and Lexa is laughing heartily. Clarke had gifted this Polaroid to Lexa on Lexa's birthday.
On the bottom of the white border, it reads, in Clarke's loopy handwriting:
January 16, 2011.
I think we'll be best friends for life. Don't you?
Lexa tears the Polaroid in two.
Lexa throws the pieces in the garbage can.
Lexa cries alone in her bed.