Chapter 1
Sometimes, Lexa feels like she was born into this world already fighting. Her hands balled into fists, her jawline clenched, her body tense and on guard, ready. Sometimes, she felt like the bubbling well of fury that simmered underneath her skin was the only thing that sustained her, kept her alive, and that if she paused – took stock, took a breath and let it seep out of her, she would crumple.
She had reasons to be angry, countless reasons. When she had been younger when she was too scared to sleep and too angry to let fear take her, she would lie would lie awake and count the reasons for her rage, knot them out as tangible prayers, every breath that she took was a revenge fantasy of the purest form.
She had always been dissatisfied with the way the world had been presented to her and her role in it. Be quiet,be still, be small, they always said to her– she had learnt early how to do this, but instead of softening her like her parents had wanted it too, it had made her edges sharper.
She wore her rage like armour, but to the outside world it seemed she seemed cold, inscrutable, unfathomable. While inside, she burnt white hot and singed everything she touched. In the schoolyard, she cut a striking figure - all dark leather and sharp cheekbones, grey green eyes that told you nothing. She smoked cigarettes behind the gymnasium with John Murphy and skipped class. They weren’t friends exactly, but they had an uneasy understanding that neither of them fit, misshapen puzzle pieces, and they could sit in silence or cracks stupid jokes without either of them asking too many questions.
Clarke saw her there one afternoon, scuffing her sneakers on the bitumen and blowing smoke rings, a half-smile on her face as she answered something John Murphy had said to her.
Lexa Woods. They had been in the same school year since the start of high-school and she had lurked, like a shadow behind of the rest of her peers, with their easy laughter and fast friendship.
Lexa Woods. Late for class again, wearing ripped jeans and bags under eyes.
Lexa Woods. Bruised knuckles and a swollen lip, smoking cigarettes behind the gym.
Lexa Woods. In detention, again. But also, always, somehow passing school.
Lexa looked up from the ground, scratching out the butt of her cigarette with the heel of her shoe. She caught Clarke’s gaze, a smirk growing across her lips, her forest green eyes meeting the pale blue of Clarke’s. Clarke looked away. She wasn’t sure when Lexa Woods had shifted from an enigma, an outsider in their tight-knit year level, to someone who made her breath ragged, her heart caught in her throat. She looked away quickly, feeling Lexa’s gaze bore into the back of her head.
“What are you looking at, Griffin?” Raven said, tugging her along. “We’re late for History.”
Clarke still felt the burn of Lexa’s gaze, the corner of her smirk. “Nothing,” she said.
Nothing. It was only later when she was curled in her bed that she let the warm feeling of Lexa’s eyes on the back of her neck, the flash of forest green, the smell of smoke on her tongue lull her into a fitful sleep. The sounds and smell of Lexa Woods permeated her dreamscape until she awoke, tired and restless.
Clarke Griffin ran the faucet in the school bathroom, splashing some water on her face and examining the bags under eyes. Get it together, Griffin. She had a full day of classes, a maths test in the last period, and she needed to excise the distraction of Lexa Woods from her subconscious. She walked into English, barely registering the incessant stream of rapturous chatter Octavia was making about her new boyfriend, Lincoln.
Lexa Woods was sitting away from the rest of their class, leaning back on the chair and chewing on the end of her pen as she stared wistfully out the window. She looked serene, almost. She was dressed in her usual leather, white shirt, dark eyeliner, and Clarke could see the hint of collarbone under her jacket that caused her mouth to go dry.
Clarke, without fully thinking through her action, placed her books on the desk next to Lexa and took a seat. Nobody sat next to Lexa Woods. The mixture of fear and distaste that shrouded her in their peer group meant that the seat next to Lexa Woods was nearly always kept vacant. Lexa looked over, meeting her gaze. For a moment, Clarke almost thought she saw something soften under Lexa’s façade – something hopeful, relieved even. But before she could acknowledge, she saw Lexa’s jawline harden and her gaze became unfathomable. In one swift moment, she swept up her books and placed them on the desk next to them, putting a space between them. “We’re not friends, Clarke.” Lexa uttered, barely audible over the furore of their classmates.
Clarke felt the feeling of hot shame creep up the back of her neck, her face reddening. She picked up her books and slammed them on the seat next to Octavia.
“Fine.” She said, fuming, refusing to look back at Lexa and give her the satisfaction of seeing how angry she was. Octavia and Raven shared a silent look between them, knowing better than to try and talk to Clarke when she was emanating so much rage.
Finn Collins piped up from the back of the room. “Hey princess, you can sit next to me if you want?” Clarke rolled her eyes, ignoring him. The last thing she wanted right now was the easy flirtation of Finn Collins. She kept gaze fixed pointedly on the blackboard in front of her, her heartrate racing and she thought about Lexa’s words. We’re not friends, Clarke. Well, you definitely wouldn’t be now. She cursed her idiocy and tried to banish Lexa Woods from her mind.
Clarke’s fury lasted until lunchtime, until Raven bored of her irritability and sullen silences. “Okay Griffin,” she said. “Enough. What is with you today?”
Clarke tore the crusts off her sandwich and tossed them to the seagulls stalking around the edge of the schoolyard. “Nothing,” She said, ignoring Raven and Octavia’s exasperated sighs.
“Is this about Lexa Woods?” Octavia said. “You’re been in a mood since she didn’t want to sit next to you.”
Clarke didn’t respond to this, feeling the knot in her stomach tighten, trying to force her face to remain impassive.
“You don’t have to save everyone, Clarke.” Octavia said.
“Yeah,” Raven echoed. “Some people are a lost cause…”
Clarke sighed. “Thanks guys,” She said, finishing of her sandwich and watching the gulls squawk and fight over the last of her crusts. She wondered if her friends guessed the depth of her crush on Lexa Woods or if they thought she simply trying her best to befriend everyone in their class, charm the cold, aloof demeanour of Lexa Woods before their final year of high school.
She hoped it was the latter.
***
Clarke’s mood did not improve as the day wore on and at seven o’clock, she slammed her textbooks closed with a frustrated sigh. Abby had been hovering near Clarke all evening, impervious to the tension in the air.
“How was your math test, Clarke?”
“It was fine, Mum.”
“Fine. I know you’ve been having difficult with those algebraic equations.”
“Yeah, it was fine.”
Abby sighed, searching in the crisper for something to salvage for dinner. Clarke and her mother usually got on quite well, but sometimes the combination of Clarke’s iron-will and Abby’s steely determination led to tension, knotted and unwieldy between them. If Jake Griffin had been alive, it was at this point that his laughter would break through. He would sweep Abby and Clarke up in a tight bear hug and crack a joke about how they were too similar not to fight. His bright blue eyes would light up, easy laughter and gentle mockery pulling the two of them from their conflict, charming an unwilling smile from them both, an uneasy truce. But without him, the yawning gap in their family, the tense silence fell between them, discordant and aching.
“I’m going for a walk.”
“But, I’m just about cook something for dinner…”
“I’m not hungry,” Clarke said, her nose wrinkling at the prospect of Abby Griffin’s cooking. “I’ll pick something up later…”
Before Abby could respond, Clarke had pulled her jacket from the back of chair and stalked out of the front door. It was still early spring, and a light drizzle hung over the darkening sky. The sky was sleet grey, and Clarke had wandered around the block a few times and was almost considering whether she should go home and try to forage something for dinner before her feet guided her to the local playground. It was an older park, relatively unchanged since her childhood, with a metal slide and timber equipment, a sandpit and swings.
She sat on the swing, barely moving, her feet dragging lazily in the tanbark. It was times like this she missed her father with an aching loneliness than nothing could fill. She missed his warm steadying presence and the gaping hole that it had left in her family. He had always been the binding agent, the secret ingredient to the happy Griffin family, and she missed him with a hollow ache that she could barely put into words.
She saw a figure emerge out of the fading light, shrouded by the slow trickle of rain. They were wearing a hood pulled over their head, a few tendrils of brown locks spilling out. Clarke saw a flash of green, a familiar loping stride that came to the edge of the park before stopping, unsure. Lexa Woods. The thrill of anticipation that had accompanied catching sight of Lexa over the last few months, even this morning, had faded into a hollow numbness and Clarke barely registered her presence. She saw Lexa, as cautious as a cat, scuff her boots on the tanbark a few times, finger her sleeves absentmindedly before edging closer to where Clarke swung limply, barely moving.
“Hello, Clarke.” She said, her voice quieter than usual.
Clarke looked up, saying nothing. She would have given anything this morning to have Lexa acknowledge her like this. But under the sleet grey sky, the silent drip of rain and thudding emptiness in her chest, she felt nothing.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Lexa said, even quieter this time. Her voice was timid, pleading almost and Clarke felt the icy coldness in her chest dislodge slightly.
She met Lexa’s gaze, who looked exhausted, depleted and she gave the smallest of nods.
Lexa took the swing next to her, swinging her legs up like a little kid to give herself height. She swung wordlessly for a little while, the only sound the slow drip of rain and rusty squeak of the swing set. Clarke looked over at Lexa and felt the familiar hitch in her throat. Lexa was beautiful as always, and softer now. Clarke could see a fresh bruise beginning to bloom underneath her chin and her skin was pale, her eyeliner running. But she was beautiful, her high cheekbones, royal features carved freshly from stone, her melancholic eyes and taut jawline.
“I’m sorry, Clarke…about earlier.” Lexa said, almost a whisper, barely audible over the rain. “I’m not used to…people reaching out.”
Her voice was aching, raw, and Clarke almost felt her heart break under the tenderness of it. But the burning anger, the humiliation of earlier and the seething imprint of resentment it had left on her was not entirely gone.
“It’s alright. You’re right. We’re not friends.” Clarke’s words came out colder, harsher, than she anticipated and she regretted them almost instantly. She felt Lexa reel back, scuff her boots on the tanbark to slow her swinging as if she was about to skulk off into the growing darkness.
Clarke looked at her, her eyes were slightly bloodshot and her brow was knitted with confusion. “But maybe we could be?” Clarke said.
Lexa’s face split into an uneasy smile, a smirk almost. Clarke felt the icy numbness in her chest melt a little, smiling back. “I’d like that,” Lexa said.
She played with the cuffs of her sleeves awkwardly, smiling quietly to herself. “I used to love this park as a little kid,” she continued. “I’ve never seen anyone else here at this time, it’s usually a bit of hideout for me.”
Clarke hummed under her breath. “I always loved the swings the best.”
Lexa laughed quietly, breathy and shallow. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, blowing smoke, almost like steam in the chilled night air. Clarke smelt the smoke, the heat from her breath and remember the fitful uneasy layers of her dreams from the night before.
“I see you looking at me, you know,” Lexa said. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but curious, perplexed even.
“I don-“ Clarke began, ready to deny it.
I don’t mind.” Lexa said quickly. “I’m just not used to it, y’know…you don’t at me like the others do.”
Clarke furrowed her brow, she hadn’t considered that cool, aloof, misunderstood Lexa Woods wanted to be seen any other way.
Clarke felt herself buoyed on, suddenly, hit with a sudden bravery. Inspired almost, by the silhouette of Lexa struck across the greying sky, smoke curling into the smattering of stars above.
“I like looking at you.”
Lexa reached out a hand, her fingers were surprisingly warm and curled into Clarke’s cold ones. Clarke felt her heart in her throat, suddenly tongue-tied and nervous as Lexa’s thumb lightly circled the back of Clarke’s hand.
Lexa pulled her to her feet, and it took every ounce of Clarke’s willpower not to kiss her, not to pull her into her arms and lose herself in those bright green eyes, that hidden smirk. Lexa smiled, closer now, her hot breath of Clarke’s neck. She tightened her grip on Clarke’s hand, tugging her away from the swing set.
“Come on, Clarke Griffin. It’s getting late…I’ll walk you home.” Her voice was light, musical even and Clarke allowed herself, suddenly airborne, to be pulled away into the oncoming darkness.