Chapter 4
Lexa stared at the ceiling, counting the holes in the patterned cornice on the ceiling above her bed. It was meditative, almost, a well-thumbed coping mechanism from childhood.
She heard a door slam, a yell, the house shook with force of it, trembling as if scared of its own inhabitants.
Twenty-nine. Thirty. She heard her father smash something in the next room and made sure her desk chair was securely wedged against the door handle.
Thirty-one. She knew there was one hundred and twelve holes in all and always dreaded the nights where she reached that number before falling asleep, a macabre nightly ritual of counting sheep.
Thirty-two. She pushed her pillow against her ears, blocking the noise from the rest of the house, her eyes still trained on the ceiling.
Thirty-three. Thirty-four. She heard another drunken yell, closer this time, and threw her pillow across the room in frustration. She sighed, and sitting -up in the half-light reached for her shoes that she thrown under her bed.
Quietly, cat-like almost, she grabbed her backpack from next to her bed and her jacket from her desk. Her windows were old, glass panes that shuddered and slammed at the slightest touch. With well-rehearsed dexterity, she quietly opened the window and climbed out, landing on the ground below with a thud.
She felt her heartbeat, a tourniquet on the adrenaline pulsing through her bloodstream, the sweat on her palms, the taste of sulphur on her tongue.
Thirty-five. Thirty-six. She counted her steps now, slower, allowing her breath to catch up to the slow night and the airless breeze.
***
Clarke was almost asleep, her math homework laying abandoned next to her bed. The low, bass notes of electronic music from her tinny speakers of her laptop were matched by the mothers’ soft footsteps on the other side of the house.
She heard possums climbing in the tree next to her bedroom window, the branches rubbing against the gutter of the roof. The low orchestra of night-time suburbia, coaxing her to sleep. She heard a knock, quiet but distinct enough from the background lull to pull her from her sleepy haze.
Lexa Woods. Smiling small, perched on a tree branch outside her bedroom window.
She ran quickly over to the window, fumbling to unlatch the window.
“Lexa!” She said in an urgent whisper, reaching to pull her inside. “Fuck. What are you doing?
Clarke’s room was on the second floor, and she quickly calculated the silent acrobatics Lexa would have needed to perform to appear at her bedroom window with so little as a shaking branch or a rustle in the wind. The tree was a sprawling Oak, towering, its lowest branches almost impossible to reach. Clarke knew, she had spent a large portion of her childhood begging her father to build her a tree house on its lowest limbs or trying to manoeuvre ways to hoist herself up to explore its shaded alcoves that she only glimpsed from her bedroom window.
Lexa pulled herself through the window. She smiled, a little-shell shocked and out of breath, but with an air of that cocky arrogance that both deeply irritated Clarke and sent pinpricks up the curvature of her spine.
“…sorry, to turn up unannounced.” Lexa said, still smiling, a little less sure this time as she edged inside.
“How the fuck did you get up there without waking my mother up?”
“I’m a woman of many talents,” she said. “Do you mind?”
“…do I mind? Lexa, I never mind. I’m just carrying residual fear that you broke your neck and you haven’t noticed yet.”
“…now, that would be a talent.”
Clarke smiled, but then furrowed her brow, instinctively looking Lexa up and down for signs of bruises or scratches “…are you alright? Telephones or doorbells are usually the more traditional forms of courting.”
“Courting? Is that what we’re doing? I can trade a tree-climbing lessons for your mothers’ blessing if that’s what you want.” Lexa said, deflecting the intensity of Clarke’s gaze, the worry lines etched across her forehead.
“I didn’t know you were so funny, Lexa.”
“See? Many talents.” Lexa could tell the mood was shifting; Clarke having recovered the shock of Lexa’s unscheduled arrival. She moved further in the room and perched on the corner of Clarke’s bed.
“...I had to get out.” She said, breathing slowly. “I thought I would come to see you instead of holding out hope that I might find you on one of your midnight strolls.”
“Well, obviously I don’t have to do those as much anymore as I’m now the destination of choice.”
Lexa smiled, a little sadder this time. The adrenaline from her late-night escape and daring entrance. She felt tired, as if she’d been soaking in water, her bones brittle and her fingers dehydrated to husks.
Clarke sat next to her, and with a gentleness that almost made Lexa flinch, pulled a curl that had come loose and gently combed it behind her ear.
“Lexa.” She breathed quietly. “Are you alright? Really?”
“I’m not not alright.” She said, staring at her hands. Eighty-nine.
“Lexa,” Clarke said, with a little more insistence.
“I’m alright, Clarke.” She said, she looked at her and something about the resignation in her eyes made Clarke’s stomach turn with nausea and rage and heartbreak.
“It was no better or worse than any other night.” She smiled, small and sad. “But I guess tonight I had somewhere better to be?”
Clarke smiled back at her but couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. She wanted to pull those pieces of Lexa together, almost like her Mom did, wrap them in bandages and goodwill and wait until the new skin and fresh scars formed over them.
Lexa looked at her, and instinctively seemed to pick up on what she was thinking.
“I’m not a victim, Clarke.” She said, quietly. “I don’t need you to fix me.”
Clarke sighed and pulled Lexa down onto the rumpled doona next to her, tracing the outline of her knuckles on the back of her hands.
“I know,” Clarke said, looking at her through the dim light, taking in the hard set of her jaw, her high cheekbones, the blazing look in her forest green eyes. Lexa said nothing, but nestled her nose into Clarke’s neck, breathing deeply.
One hundred and twelve. There was so much that Lexa wished she could say, without words. Soundlessly, she whispered them into the nape of her neck, into the small soft hairs that tickled her collarbone. She whispered and breathed them into the smell and taste of Clarke, vanilla with a hint of something floral she couldn’t put her finger on.
Slowly, she fell asleep like that, breathing in the unuttered phrases, chalky and acrid at the back of her throat.
***
Clarke awoke to a sharp knock on the door. Her mother, a hurricane in the morning hurtling through the house, chaotic and unpredictable. “Clarke, are you up? You’re going to be late for school.”
The room was bright, streams of eager morning light lay flecked across Lexa, her sleeping body curved around the imprint in the sheets of where Clarke had been a minute before.
Clarke yelled through the door. “Yes, I’m up. Please don’t come in, Mom. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Clarke heard the doorhandle rattle. “Hurry, Clarke. I was going to drive you to school before my shift…”
“It’s fine, Mom. Raven is picking me up.”
“I wanted to talk to you before I left…”
“I’ll see you downstairs in a minute,” Clarke yelled, pushing herself against the door.
Lexa had awoken, still mussed by sleep, fully clothed with her brown curls askew. Clarke would have thought she looked adorable if she hadn’t been entirely distracted by maintaining a yelling match with her mother through the closed door.
Lexa looked confused and slightly bemused as the sight of Clarke, her whole body pressed against the door to stave off the insistent pushes from the other side.
“Fine, Clarke. I’ll talk to you downstairs. Hurry up.” Abby yelled through the door, knowing when she had been beaten.
Lexa, with the same cat-like nimbleness of the previous night had already pulled on her sneakers and slung her backpack over her shoulder.
“No!” Clarke mouthed at Lexa, as she edged towards the still-open window. “You’ll break your neck, last night was not an endorsement of that extracurricular activity.”
Lexa raised an eyebrow, “I’m not hiding in your closet, Clarke. We’re well past that now.”
Clarke laughed, “…but seriously, Lexa. No. She’ll be gone in a minute, I promise.”
Lexa laughed, “…but as Abby has loudly reminded us…then we’ll be late for school.”
Clarke reached for her and met her with a kiss, hard and insistent, irritated, and dizzy. Her fingers raking the back of her neck, lost in Lexa’s familiar taste, earthy and sweet, like molasses on her tongue.
Lexa kissed her back and laughed into her open mouth with a lightness Clarke had never seen before, her green eyes bright with mischief, her curls wild and mussed from sleep. She looked beautiful like this. Clarke wished she could freeze this moment in time, dry and press it between books like wildflowers, fragile and faded – but still perfect. She wanted to remember the glint in Lexa’s eye and the pale morning light that filled the room, yellow and fractured like a dream.
Without another word, Lexa turned away and pulled her body through the open window in one liquid motion.
Lexa Woods. Brown curls whipping out the open window, disappearing into the hidden dappled eaves of the oak tree.
Lexa Woods. Balanced along a branch of the oak tree with an agility of a tight-rope walker.
Lexa Woods. Standing at the bottom of the tree, a self-satisfied grin as she looked up at Clarke.
“Clarke!” She heard her Mom yell from downstairs, a jarred re-awakening as she watched Lexa’s retreating silhouette disappear beyond the hedgerow.
“I’m coming, Mom.” She yelled back, sighing to herself.
****
Raven careened into the one-way street in her pick-up truck, far too quickly for the suburban cul-de-sac. The truck had seen better days – rusted and dented, with a peeling coat of paint that might have been midnight blue, it seemed to run purely on the obstinance of Raven’s genius.
She was surprised to see Octavia in the backseat, looking a little sour. Octavia had been distant with Clarke since the Finn incident and its aftermath. She had responded badly to the news that Clarke and Lexa were dating and Clarke, lost in her own newfound happiness and Lexa, had been happy to leave it alone.
She had listened politely to Clarke and Raven’s excited explanation, her brow furrowed, her line of sight a little glazed.
“Octavia?” Raven asked, “Are you listening?”
“Yeah, I’m listening.” She said, a little annoyed, as if holding her tongue.
“Well, no feedback on the exciting headlines of the day?”
Octavia said nothing, crossing her arms and tapping her foot on the ground. “Headlines?”
Raven rose dramatically on the seat bench of the picnic table in the courtyard, declaring loudly. “CLARKE GRIFFIN’S ILLICIT LOVE AFFAIR OUTED BY A DARING BLAZE OF CHIVALRY.”
Clarke rolled her eyes at Raven but kept her gaze on Octavia.
Finally, Octavia sighed and placed her hands palm down on the table. “I don’t know, Clarke. I’m happy for you, you seem happy. I’m just surprised. Lexa?”
“Yes, Lexa.” She said her name with the same finality that Octavia has used, as if self-explanatory.
“I don’t know, she doesn’t seem like your type. You don’t seem like someone who gets off on wanton act of violence…”
Clarke felt the anger rising in her cheeks, her fingernails digging into her palms. “She was defending me, Octavia. Are you telling me Lincoln wouldn’t have done the same?” She thought of Lincoln, fiercely defensive of Octavia, but at his core a pacificist much more likely to use his words before resorting to violence. “Alright maybe not Lincoln. OK, better example. Bellamy. Are you saying Bellamy would sit by while some creep put his hands on you?”
Octavia pursed her lips, saying nothing.
Raven interrupted, trying to break the tension. “I, for one like Clarke’s new love interest. Someone as fiery as her who can reign in her a bit, keep her in line.”
Clarke appreciated Raven’s subterfuge, but she was furious now. Still on edge from the altercation with Finn earlier in the day, her rage was pulsating below her heartbeat in her chest like radio feedback, static white noise buzzing in her ears.
“I thought you of all people would support me, Octavia. After all the issues Lincoln and you faced getting together…I thought.” She glowered at Octavia and stood up without another word and stormed out of the courtyard.
“Hi Octavia.” Clarke said curtly, giving Raven a side-eye as she jumped in the front seat.
“Hey, Clarke.” She said, matching Clarke’s clipped tone.
Raven stopped the car, and dramatically locked the car doors. “Alright, children.” She said, clearly enjoying this too much. “Octavia, what was the agreement we made before you got in the car this morning?”
Octavia said nothing, so Raven continued. “Octavia wanted to apologise for not being as supportive as she should have the other day.” Raven emphasised the words supportive and apologise as she hit the back of the head-rest, her gaze towards Octavia. “Right, Octavia.”
“Right.” She said, simply. “I’m sorry, Clarke.” She said quietly. “I’ll give Lexa a chance.”
“Fine,” Clarke said, crossing her arms, still not looking at Octavia.
“…and Clarke, you’re going to forgive Octavia for her little outburst and maybe we give us a chance to meet Lexa properly? I only ever get a look the back of her head when I see you guys making out behind the library between every class. I’m sure she has other good qualities.”
Clarke paused, trying to imagine her friends and Lexa Woods hanging out. “Yes,” she said, finally looking around to look at Octavia. “That sounds nice.”
Raven gave herself a self-satisfied pat on the back. “Wow, I’m good.” She said, “Maybe I give up my engineering dreams and become a conflict mediator?”
Clarke laughed, despite herself as Raven started the car with a sudden jerk. “Anyway, I think Octavia only dislikes Lexa because Bellamy dislikes Lexa.”
“What?” Clarke said, spinning around to look at Octavia. Octavia shrugged, saying nothing.
Raven continued, “…combined with that big crush he’s been harbouring on you since fourth grade, Griffin, I’m sure he’s at home crying right about now.”
Clarke said nothing, shaking her head, satisfied for the moment with the uneasy truce between them.
“Maybe we should have a party to welcome her into the fold?” Raven said to no one in particular as she pushed her foot further down on the gas pedal.