Warnings for severe drug use and severe drinking, child abuse, verbal abuse, child abandonment, planned abduction, planned gang rape and stalking.
Also, Fireclaw111's vampire fic sort of inspired the mental reasoning that Clarke's mates and stalkers have.
Chapter two
The price of instant gratification
While the apartment which Clarke Griffin owned was far from spacious, it was pretty decently sized. It had enough room for all the things she had deemed essential to be here and for the things she just wanted in the apartment.
Her TV, cable box and DVD player and DVD tower were all up against the wall opposite of the kitchen and living room.
There were a few bookshelves, all packed with books. More than a few books about exotic animals were on the shelves of her bookcases. There were a few bookcases where there were her art supplies; charcoal, papers, paints and stuff.
There were pictures of what few family members she cared about and what her friends on the table just next to the kitchen area.
There was a couch in the living room and said couch was flanked on each sides, by small tables which was where she tended to place her drinks or the drugs she tended to take.
After closing the door to her apartment, she secured all the locks on the door, tossed her keys on to the table just next to the door, and went about getting into the clothes she'd wear for tonight.
She often kept her blinds closed since, she lived in a building that was close to other buildings and you didn't want to have your blinds up while getting up dressed, when your building was near other buildings with windows.
She discarded many of her things, grabbed her wad of hefty cash and stored it into a pocket in her closet in the bedroom, kicked her shoes off of her, undressed and got into her nightclothes, that being a plain black T-shirt, and plain black underwear.
After she was done with that, she grabbed one of her extra single dollar bills off of the dresser across from her bed in the bedroom, carried it to the living room and dropped on her ass on the couch, tossing the bill onto the table, then got up and went to the liquor cabinet that was a few feet from the TV, cable box, DVD player and DVD tower.
That was where she kept all of her…guilty pleasures.
She kneeled down, opened up the cabinet, pulled out a smooth, round glass, keeping it in her left hand and her right hand entered the cabinet, grabbing the bottle of tequila by its bulbous shoulder, bringing it out. She stood up, putting both the glass and the bottle on top of the cabinet and uncapped the bottle, pouring the tequila into the glass. She filled the glass halfway up, capped the bottle back up and grabbed the glass, carrying it over to the table, placing it down next to the single dollar bill.
She then turned around and headed back to the cabinet, and kneeled down again, reaching deeper into the cabinet, and grabbed the reason why she had whipped out the single dollar bill in the first place.
That being, a large, plastic bag full of cocaine.
She stood up, carrying the plastic bag full of cocaine.
Clarke knew that she probably was taking a lot of risks here, but with what little things that made her happy these days, she had always figured, 'you know what, fuck it.'
She divided up some of the cocaine up into six lines along the table in front of her, then zipped up the bag and carried it to the cabinet, tossing the bagged cocaine back into the cabinet, went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass and filled it with water, then got up and went back to the couch, putting the glass of water next to the glass of tequila and dropped back onto the couch.
She grabbed up the single dollar bill, rolled it up and leaned down over the coffee table, where the first line of cocaine was, put one tip of the rolled up bill to her right nostril, placed the other end of the rolled up bill to the end of the first line of cocaine, and she inhaled deeply, moving the single dollar bill along the line of cocaine.
She groaned quietly, feeling the rush almost immediately, leaning back against the sofa she was seated upon.
She pressed back against the sofa, eyes going to one of her bookshelves, eyes going to the large book of animals she had opened recently and was leaning out in the open against some other books.
She had always wanted a pet, ever since she'd been little.
Her mother never would have allowed it. Her father, Jake Griffin, often had tried to reason with his wife, wanting to make his daughter happy, that it would be good for their daughter, but it had become clear over time, that Abby Griffin couldn't care less about what was good for her daughter.
Clarke had no idea how her father had ended up marrying the terrible woman that had been her mother, but whatever.
Now that she was an adult and had her own place, she couldn't bear the thought of bringing any animal into this chaos. She was irresponsible and had horrible habits. She drank, took drugs and knew more than a few unsavory characters in this city.
Better not to bring a totally innocent creature into all this.
But honestly, if someone had just dumped some weird animal in her lap or something, even if it was something as outlandish as a platypus, she'd probably be happy. Then again if someone dropped something as mundane as a guinea pig into her lap, she'd probably be happy too.
Still, it was nice to fantasize, wasn't it?
She leaned down and inhaled another line of cocaine up into her person, causing her to gasp and shake.
As her shaking left hand reached for the glass full of tequila, she braced herself, grabbed the glass, carried it up to her lips and gulped some of it down.
She knew she was most likely going to have issues tomorrow morning. Luckily, she didn't have to work tomorrow.
And yes, she knew that it could potentially damage her liver. But she preferred that she be the one to decide what damage she took into her body, than anyone else decide that.
Besides, in this bleak fucking city that she hated so much? Being blissed out of her mind, even with the potential for liver damage, seemed preferable than having to be reminded of where she lived every single fucking day.
People she knew, complained about where they lived all the time. Find a location where enough people lived, you'd find at least six people in a location of over a million, that definitely complained about where they lived. You'd be lucky if you didn't find more.
So, Clarke wasn't sure if her distaste for Los Angeles stemmed from genuine complaints, or if she'd be complaining if she lived in any other place.
Then again, Los Angeles? You lived here long enough, and you'd understand why just about anyone might complain.
There were many unsafe areas in Los Angeles-and again, that could be said in many other cities, it felt particularly unsafe here sometimes, if not often. There was no greenery anywhere in Los Angeles, save for some palm trees and golf courses. While the fixation on youth and beauty was amok no matter where you went in the world, and no matter what city you went to in the United States, but here in Los Angeles, it felt strangely pressing and overwhelming. And dating? Sheesh. Clarke wasn't sure what was in the water around here, but men and women in this city didn't know much about commitment.
It was why she had just decided to keep it casual and just focus on having fun and getting off.
Seriously, as she had learned from experience over the years, any attempts made to follow up on one-night stands, usually ended in silence, but the moment the person she had been seeing before, whether it was a man or a woman, it was always because they just wanted sex and nothing else.
So, yeah, dating in this city wasn't good for anyone who wanted commitment.
And you know, by this point, Clarke was just fine with that.
It kept things intensely simple for her, didn't it?
She gulped some more tequila down, put the glass down onto the table next to her, grabbed the single dollar bill and leaned in to inhale the next line of cocaine.
And Clarke knew that she wasn't exactly what you might call a prize. She knew that.
She took cocaine, she liked drinking excessively, she was cynical and bitter and had mommy issues.
She knew she wasn't exactly a prize. But would it kill the people that she had tried dating, to be more upfront and communicate better about what they wanted?
Because really…
It was just one of the many reasons why she always took her birth control, even before she made some sort of connection for a one-night stand. And always insisted on her partners using their own protection. She was not risking potentially getting pregnant or picking up anything from any of her fuckbuddies. Granted, even if she was having a serious relationship with someone, she would be using birth control pills and be making sure that any partner she had, also used protection, but since she had sex with various different people in one month at times, she always was super careful.
In any case, she had more or less given up on the whole dating life, and looking at the words all along her arm, just made her uncomfortable, thinking about the implications of those words-which seemed to imply that her soulmates, would one day try to abduct and sexually assault her.
Apparently, that was to be her first meeting with them.
Yeah, no thank you.
Those words all along her arm, were exactly the reason why she had put multiple locks on her door and had several cannisters of pepper spray and a few tasers.
So, she was better off not dealing with anything as risky as actual dating or fuck forbid, love.
Just fuck that.
Keep it simple and just stick to her getting her instant gratifications, her own way.
She inhaled the fourth line of cocaine, laughing at the sensations, her vision getting slightly blurry.
She only then reached out and grabbed up the glass of water, bringing it to her lips and gulping it down.
It made her glad that she had put the tequila and the water in two distinctly different glasses, since she could feel around one and the other, and tell which glass was which.
In any case. Time to drink more tequila after downing her water.
Outside of Clarke's apartment building, the many vehicles, which were parked out in an alleyway just besides her building, remained, and the people inside, looked out the window up at the building where their soulmate lived.
They knew better than to think they could grab her now. It wouldn't be good for her if they did.
They had done their research on her, tracked her habits and knew about the drugs she took and how much she drank.
They had made more or less, a safe den for her to be in, to rehabilitate her, for however long it would take to do so.
They had no doubt that she would resist the whole time, though.
That was fine. They had made the apartment where they'd keep her, secure enough for her not to be able to leave from until she was better. And they'd get her anything she wanted in the meantime.
While they hadn't been in her apartment, because she had too many locks on her door, and relocking those doors would take too much trouble, they knew enough about her to know about a lot of what she liked.
Her dating preferences, the things she liked to do in her spare time, and she knew from the art supplies and books she purchased, what she liked from that, as well.
She really liked animals, as they had been able to tell from some of the animal books she had purchased.
They could work with that later.
From what they could tell when they had seen her carry out animal books from the various bookstores she went to, she seemed to particularly like reptiles and some amphibians. She even had a few books on insects.
Again, they could work with that.
They had no prejudice against any animal she might want, one way or another.
From what they could tell, she had a limited number of books on mammals as pets, and no books on birds or fish.
But an excessive number of books on reptiles, amphibians and insects. That was fine with them.
All they cared about was containing her and getting her better and making sure she didn't put herself in danger again.
They had stalked her for a while.
They had seen what for her, passed as a good time.
Sex with some loser, a man or woman, it didn't matter, then drinking and cocaine.
They had done as much research on her as they could.
A dead father, abandoned by her mother…it certainly would explain a lot of her issues.
After being thrown away by her mother, she had been raised in an orphanage. And Clarke, who had been ten at the time, from what they had looked up, had made it impossible for anyone to want to adopt her.
At least, that was what they had learned when they had approached the orphanage that they had tracked down, which had raised Clarke, and had gotten the information that they did out of the staff.
Clarke, already certain that she'd be abandoned again, had made it extremely difficult for other adults to want her.
She would be cynical, would curse out the adults that came to visit, standoffish and in no way sociable.
And it had worked.
And Clarke had grown up without being abandoned a second time, but had grown up without any sort of family, for the next eight years.
The orphanages in Los Angeles were far from ideal, but Clarke had looked after herself afterwards, getting a job here and there as a waitress and bartender and then finally landed a job after a few months, right at the club where she worked today.
None of them could say that they blamed her for her issues. Especially since, during her time at the orphanage where she was, they had learned that Clarke had been verbally abused repeatedly throughout the years by many of the staff members.
As young as eleven, Clarke would be told repeatedly that even if she wanted to be adopted, no one would like her, that there was a reason why her mother had abandoned her, and that she was stupid and ugly and so on.
But there was no need to dwell on that.
After all, Clarke's mates who had all fumed with anger when hearing that, had gotten revenge for her.
No need for Clarke to know how.
But to put it bluntly, those same pieces of shit that made Clarke feel like dirt when she was a child, would never be speaking harshly to another child ever again.
And yes, they were very aware that stalking wasn't a very good start to any relationship they were hoping to have with her.
But considering how she isolated herself, and put a distance between herself and others? They hadn't been sure what else they could do.
Besides, they all in their own way, were….from somewhat checkered backgrounds, many of them having criminal records and many of them having to do…a good many violent things either to survive or to protect people they cared about.
So, for them? Doing things illegally and immorally for the people they cared about, was nothing new.
Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova, Melina Vostokoff, Clint and Barney Barton, Maria Hill, Brunnhilde and Frank Castle were all former assassins, Elektra Natchios, Danny Santos and Luke Cage had learned how to be mob bosses, though they never became one officially, Jessica Jones was a professional blackmailer, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff had used to work in the same mob group that Elektra Natchios worked in, Steve Rogers, Carol Danvers, Sam Wilson and James Rhodes, were defected from the military and got involved in crime, Hela, Thor, Sylvie and Loki, all had usurped their rich father and had full control of his fortune, Bruce had pushed bogus cures, to get money in his lab, Tony and Pepper ran a wealthy but clearly corrupt business, and Clint's wife, Laura, was somehow even more ruthless and heartless than he was about certain things, and Simone, Barney's wife, wasn't all that much better.
They understood, after observing Clarke and her various dates, from a distance, that she was disappointed with the…rather slim pickings that this city had to offer her, which was the bare minimum.
And for her to be the mate to all of them? All of which were…lacking greatly in moral compasses?
It seemed almost as if it were a vicious prank that the universe was playing on her.
But they would try to do their best by her.
The problem was that even they knew that their best was going to be fucked up.
They were going to cage her, keep her where they wanted her till she stopped being an addict, and till she stopped drinking the heavier stuff.
And yes, they also understood that they likely were going to be very…..immoral when it came to their methods of wooing her.
Under normal circumstances, they would never commit rape, but this was not a normal circumstance. This was their mate, and she was slowly killing herself.
They hadn't learned anything of her taking anything besides drinking and taking cocaine. So, if she was taking any sort of other hard drug, it was unknown to them.
But the term "out of sight and out of mind," didn't mean that someone wasn't doing something else dangerous to their person.
So, if Clarke was in fact, taking some sort of ecstasy pill or other opioid? It would be completely something they'd be unaware of as of right now.
Which was all the more reason why they had to do this.
If they didn't grab her soon, she could do something worse to herself.
So, they kept watching.
Waiting.
All night.
They planned on grabbing her in two days, when she got off from work, two days from now.
She didn't have work tomorrow.
But she did the next day.
After she got out of work? They'd grab her.
It was alright. They knew how to take care of her. Even if she didn't know how to take care of herself.
Besides, it wasn't like it would be permanent. It was only so long as she didn't keep putting herself in danger. She could walk around freely afterwards, as long as she didn't take any more drugs or drink herself nearly to death, or put herself in danger in some other way.
But they weren't going to deny, that they were going to enjoy keeping her against her will, since they all knew that they wouldn't be able to help themselves with her…sexually speaking.
They just hoped she could forgive them.
Author's note
Like I said, this story is going to get fucked up. And I put in a lot of the stuff about the types of pets Clarke would want, because I sort of like Wheelhouse101's ideas of Clarke's pets in the werewolf fics that they posted.
P.S. I have no problems with Los Angeles. All the things mentioned in this chapter are just things I've heard. I have no idea if there is any actual evidence of it.
