Chapter 5
Clarke’s day passed in a blur. She held the image of Lexa at the forefront of her mind. Lexa absconding from her bedroom in the mid-morning light, her self-satisfied smile and single cocked eyebrow as she looked at Clarke though the sprawling branches of the aged oak. Moments like this with Lexa felt ethereal, as if walking through her days in a half-sleep, moments fossicked from the muted banality of daily life. But here was a hardness to Lexa that scared her, something untouchable and wrought from something Clarke didn’t quite understand. Lexa didn’t scare her, but sometimes the far off look in her eye or the resignation of her clipped tone caused Clarke’s breath stand still. How can a hardness feel as brittle as glass between her fingertips?
***
Octavia had sat with Clarke at lunch. There was still an uneasy tension in the air, and the conversation was stilted, but Clarke could feel the vice-hold in her chest, the protective lurch she felt when she thought of Lexa begin to lessen.
Raven kept up her constant stream of jokes, her playful teasing of the hickey on the corner of Clarke’s collarbone.
“I’m surprised you’re even eating lunch with us today, Griffin.” Raven said, spearing a cherry tomato out of her tupperware with her fork and pointing it at Clarke with a hint of playful malice. “…I thought lunch was usually reserved for seeing how long Lexa could deprive you of oxygen in the library.”
Clarke felt a blush creep up her cheek, thinking of last week when Lexa had kissed her with urgent intensity and pinned her against the backwall between the quiet shelves and familiar scent of musty books.
“Hey!” She said, “It’s nothing compared to what I used to see you and Wick get up to in the gym toilets…” She said throwing a napkin at Raven. “…at least I was fully clothed.”
“Oh, I know you were fully clothed. It almost makes it embarrassing to watch, so much soulful intense eye contact...at least Wick and I put on a good show for the audience.” Raven laughed, cackling into her salad.
“It wasn’t supposed to be a show, Raven.”
“I know,” Raven, her eyes glinting in the sunlight. “But now that Lexa has been tamed by the shrew and there are no vengeful bouts of chivalrous violence. I’m going to have to find my kicks elsewhere.”
Clarke kicked her under the table, and Raven laughed harder. Clarke looked at Octavia. It was always like this. Clarke and Octavia had been best friends for years, years of easy laughter and fierce friendship, matched only with their equal unwavering stubbornness. Octavia, unyielding and overwrought in her convictions. Clarke, always the diplomat, but with an icy determination that overtook her usual staunch grasp of logic.
She smiled, if Raven hadn’t arrived halfway through middle school, armed with her razor sharp wit and her no bullshit attitude, they would spend far more time in icy, uneasy silence.
“She came over last night…”
They both looked at her, and Clarke was relieved to see a small smile on the corner of Octavia’s lips.
“What did Abby say about your late-night caller?”
“She didn’t know, she climbed up the oaktree and surprised me.”
“…how the fuck, Clarke?” Octavia said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you know how many times we tried to climb that tree as kids Clarke?”
“…we were seven, O.” Clarke said, a smile finally breaking though. “I know you’ve grown into your athletic prowess, but I’ve never quite mastered tree climbing.”
“So, how was getting banged at midnight by Catwoman, Clarke?”
“…nothing happened, we just talked and fell asleep.”
Raven baulked and grunted as she fished out the last parts of her salad. “…and now we’re back to the family friendly rating. Why does your love story have to be so boring, Clarke?”
Clarke smiled, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know, I’m kind of worried about her. She doesn’t talk much, but I think things at home…”
Clarke paused, trailing off, knowing how private Lexa was, the furtive glances and silences that sat between them, unuttered and arid, as if bleached by the sun.
She didn't pick up and the thread, and instead watched a group of boys in the year above throw a football to each other. Bellamy, Octavia’s brother, wrestled the football from Miller, playfully punching him in the shoulder in an effort to force the ball from his grip.
Raven followed Clarke’s eyeline, ignoring her stilted comment about Lexa and worry.
“...so in follow up to my previous brilliant idea of having a party. Who is going to host? Clarke, your Mom is never home…”
Clarke scoffed, “I know Abby loves you Raven, but she’s been on my back lately. I don’t think it would work.”
“It must be all those adolescent pheromones wafting from your bedroom, Clarke. Abby isn’t stupid, she must have noticed you’ve been skipping on air lately.”
“I’m holding out for stupid,” Clarke said, pulling the crusts from her sandwich.
“Alright, Octavia. You have been gifted the mantle as party host.”
“Me?” Octavia said, throwing the packaging from her lunch at Raven. “Why do I have to host?”
“…because my Mum will drink all our booze and the party will not be fun…and your Mom’s out of town.” She said, throwing the wrapper back at Octavia with a grin, her eyes glittering. “Plus, Bellamy looks like a thirty year old and can usually score us booze.”
“Fine,” she said with an faux air of annoyance. “I’d actually love to blow off some steam, between kickboxing with Lincoln and school, I feel like all I do for fun is hang out with you two losers.”
“Great!” Raven said, clapping her hands together with a self-satisfied grin she had been wearing far too often lately. “It’s settled, Saturday night at O’s house. Bright your dancing shoes…. don’t forget to invite your lady friend, Clarke. The guest of honour.”
Clarke rolled her eyes, a small smile under her lips as the bell rang.
Lexa walked her home with the same coy sweetness the Clarke loved. The same uneven weave of her fingers through Clarke’s, the same shy and persistent nudge of her shoulder as she moved closer and wrapped her arms around her before saying goodbye under the yearning shade of the oak tree.
Lexa kissed her, sweetly, as if sunlight twisted between eaves.
Clarke wanted to drag her up to her room and kiss her. She wanted to explore every corner of Lexa, peel back her layers like clothing and taste every unspoken word on her lips.
She wanted to peeled the back the layers with the greatest of care and fold them up neatly, hide them in the recesses in of her bedroom. Then, under the damp lamplight of night, she could examine them more closely, searching for an understanding just beyond her reach.
Clarke kissed her desperately, her fingers lost in the tendrils at the nape of her neck. Lexa pulled away for a moment, and Clarke kissed her harder, barely coming up for breath.
“Lexa,” she said. “I want you.”
She felt Lexa’s breathing hitch, tasting the urgency on her tongue.
Clarke kissed her against, her body pressed against Lexa’s, enveloped in familiar musk of her skin, the small breathless gasps she made when Clarke kissed her like that. “Now.” She said, biting Lexa’s bottom lip, feeling a bruise begin to bloom underneath her tongue.
“Fuck.” She said, kissing Clarke with the same urgency, her voice almost a stutter. “I wish…but your Mom’s car is in the driveway so I assume she’s home.”
Clarke hadn’t even seen her Mom’s SUV parked in the driveway, lost in the gentle swirl of Lexa’s fingers on the back of her palm, her bright emerald eyes brimmed with gold in the dusky glaze of afternoon light.
Clarke kissed her back, her lips caught between her teeth. “Soon,” she said with a sharp exhalation of breath.
Lexa smiled, and gently brushed one of Clarke blond curls behind her ears.
“…are you busy on Saturday?”
Lexa smiled, “…no, definitely not now.”
“Octavia is having a party…”
Lexa made a non-committal noise in her throat, but meeting Clarke’s gaze she forced a small-smile.
“…it will be fun! You can finally meet all my friends.”
Lexa smiled again, “…sure, I’d like that.” She straightened, cleared her throat. “I’d like to meet your friends.”
Clarke face broke into a wide grin, kissing her again with her with the same breathless urgency as earlier. She pulled away briefly, and whispered in her ear, “…it also gives us a great excuse to stay out all night. Octavia has a really big house…lots of empty bedrooms…I’d love the have you all to myself.”
Lexa swallowed, opened her mouth to say something, her heart stammering in her throat.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lexa.” Clarke said, sending her a wink before disappearing through the front door.
Lexa stood on the stoop, breathless and red-faced in the waning afternoon light. “Fuck,” she said again, her brain still reeling from the feeling of Clarke quivering against her torso, the scald of her lips on skin, her desire to consume Lexa metered out in the soft gasp of her moans as she had kissed her goodbye.
***
Clarke burst through the front door, her whole body still vibrating from her kiss with Lexa. She hummed to herself, tossing her schoolbag down and shoes by the door. She could feel her face, blushing and warm and ran her tongue over her swollen lips.
Sometimes, Clarke’s evenings with her mother pass in passive silence, a chess game of orchestrated distance and considered movements in the house with in an effort to avoid each other. Abby was sitting on the kitchen table, her palms placed facedown on the polished wood surface. Clarke knew immediately that tonight would not be one of those nights
It was rare for Abby to be home this early, and Clarke had almost forgotten about her car in the driveway, lost in feverish goodbye as she had stumbled inside.
It was even rarer for her to sitting down, her body tensed, waiting for Clarke to arrive home.
“…Mom,” Clarke acknowledged, heading for the fridge without meeting her mother’s eyes.
“Clarke,” Abby said, her voice tense and reproachful.
“..mhmm.” Clarke said, her face buried in the crisper as she fished an apple out of the depth of the fridge.
“Clarke,” Abby said, her voice more forceful now. “We need to talk.”
Clarke perched on one of the stools next to the the island bench, making eye contact with her mother for the first time. She cut an austere figure across the vast kitchen, her face whitened with anger, her lips pursed with disapproval.
“…okay. Let’s talk.” Clarke said, taking a bite of her apple. “…what are you doing home this early?”
“I got a call from Thelonious. I came home to talk to you.”
Clarke raised an eyebrow, chewing her apple slowly as she considered this statement.
What event would force her workaholic mother to return home early from the hospital? She was passing all her classes and besides sneaking out on occasion to see Lexa she had mostly been following her mother’s weakly enforced rules around curfew.
“Thelonious called me this afternoon to tell me that he saw Lexa Woods climbing out of your window this morning.”
Clarke sighed, her brow knitted in frustration. Of course her mother would immediately assume an accusatory tone instead of asking her what was going on, instead of trying to understand. She bit back the bitter retort on her lip, taking a bite of her apple to distract herself from the rising anger in her chest.
“Do you care to explain, Clarke?”
Clarke sighed, trying to calm her tone. “Lexa came over last night. She had a bad night at home and crashed here. She was pretty shaken up and didn’t feel safe to go home.”
Abby sighed, “…is something going on between yourself and Lexa, Clarke?”
Clarke said nothing, the frustration churning at base of her throat, caustic and metallic as bile.
“…I then called Principal Kane and he told me that you and Lexa were involved in an incident.”
Clarke scoffed, “…an incident. Lexa stood up for me…Finn was trying to touch me, and Lexa…”
“You know the rules, Clarke. You’re not to have boyfriends…or girlfriends stay the night in your bedroom. I can’t tell you how embarrassing it was to hear about this happening from a neighbour…”
“I told you, Mom. Nothing happened. She just needed somewhere to stay…” Clarke’s tone was icy now, her gaze unwavering as she stared down Abby’s gaze.
Abby softened, ever so slightly, uncrossing her arms. “I’m protective of you, Clarke. Your welfare is my responsibility and I know you want to care for everyone. But I can’t approve of Lexa, let alone you having her in your room overnight without my permission.”
“…what’s wrong with Lexa? It’s not like you don’t know I’m interested in dating girls...you know I'm bisexual."
“It’s not because Lexa is a girl, it’s because she’s violent and dangerous. I’ve heard the stories, I can’t let you date someone who is going to lead you astray or put you in harm’s way.”
“…you don’t even know her!” Clarke was fuming now, her voice rising as the words violent and dangerous swirled around in her head. She thought of Lexa with her hidden smiles and wooden façade. She thought of Lexa, bared teeth and gentle whispers, her body taut and rigid with silence and the explanations she owed nobody.
“You’re not to see her anymore, I’ve already talked about it with Principal Kane.”
I’m not five, Mom.” Clarke said, “…you can’t control who I date.”
“We’ll see about that,” Abby said, unmoving, her arms crossed back around her body.
Clarke held her gaze, daring her to go further. She was calm now, resolute and unyielding. She wouldn’t compromise Lexa.
She thought briefly of her father, his lightness and easy laughter and ability to pull her and Abby out of their standoffs and weave an uneasy truce between them. He would know what to do, he would listen to what she had to say, she thought. He would try to understand.
“I look forward to watching you try.” Clarke said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Abby said nothing, and with that Clarke took a final bite of her apple before throwing the core in the compost, leaving the kitchen without another word. A few moments later, Abby heard the door to Clarke’s room slam shut. She sat back down in the char, feeling the lonely silence stretched over the kitchen like a thick layer of dust, muffled and soundless.
***
The world teaches us that love redeems us. Love picks up the broken threads of our heartbreak, our grief, our pain, and stitches us into something worth living for. Lexa had been counting the stitches weaved into her bruises, the anger quilted into the lines in her hands for as long as could remember.
Love. She had never said those words before, but the sight of Clarke leaning over the windowsill as she cascaded down the tree. Clarke, kissing in the back of the the library, breathless and urgent, as if kissing her was the closest thing to breathing.
Clarke, bursting through the door of Principal Kane’s office as if Lexa was not only worth saving, but worth holding. As if Lexa was not only worth the fight, but the silence afterwards, the taut tension of heartbreak and grief that filled a room louder than anyone could speak. Clarke held Lexa and held the silence, and for the first time, Lexa felt the words she had never been able to say.
Lexa held this thought under her tongue, between her fingertips bunched into fists. The familiar sounds of anger, of drunken lurches through rooms. She heard her mother scream, a smash of a window and she felt held that love tighter between her palms.
She had never felt love and rage so closely wrapped together, unfurling like a phoenix in her gut. The anger, the yelling, the violent reverberations of the doors in their frames.
She opened the door, her hand shaking, her body reverberating with tension of it caught in her insides, under her tongue, beneath her fists,
It’s so funny, she thought. Adults tell you to be scared of strangers in dark or of making the wrong choices and of people who make bad decision. But the scariest thing is always men who are at home. She had never had an adult warn her about the scariest things in life.
In the aftermath, she only remembers the colours and the textures. The well-trodden feeling of bruises blooming across her collarbone, but for the first time, the feeling of blood under her hands and of limp flesh acquiescing under her fists. She remembers the colour of screaming, the taste of blood and rage and love under her heartbreak, under her bruised knuckles.
Lexa, all animal rage and love. She hit him with the vengeance and vitriol of finally knowing how much he had taken from her, how much the bruised edges of her knuckles and shaky nudge of her heartbeat were worth something to someone in the world.
She looked her mother in the eye, her lips bleeding and bruised, her breathing heavily, almost choked as she lay hunched over the lifeless body. Lexa saw no love in her mother's eyes.
She fled, the well-trodden escape routes as quiet and breathless as a cat.
But for the first time, she knew there would be no return.