Sixty Beats Per Minute
Sixty Beats Per Minute
There is a clonk from beneath Clarke's feet, and the floor shakes momentarily before it moves to a halt.
What? No. No! No no no nono.
Clarke presses herself against the wall of the elevator, sweaty palms and rigid spine. The counter above the door no longer counts down its descend; instead there is an out of order symbol blinking alarmingly.
No… This can’t be happening. Not today!?
Clarke feels the panic rise, and she closes her eyes to focus on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. It has little effect, and when she catches sight of the alarm button, she reaches over to press it.
Nothing happens.
She presses it again. Nothing. She punches it with a growl and then slides into a sitting position.
Shit!
Clarke pulls up the sleeve of her favorite shirt and runs a thumb over her wrist. The glowing numbers under the skin pulsates to a rhythm that perfectly matches seconds tick by. Sixty beats per minute – Clarke is certain of this because she checked.
22:00
For a long time the soul timer showed two numbers that barely ever changed: in time she learned that these were years and months. The sixty beats per minute pulse was always there as a reminder that time passed, always glowing enough to be seen through a white shirt, always there to bring her peace of mind.
21:00
A month ago, Clarke woke up only to find that 00:01 had become 30:08, and Clarke’s heart almost stopped beating. At first she thought it had started over, but she soon learned that the countdown went faster. In thirty days and eight hours and an insignificant number of minutes and seconds Clarke would meet her soulmate.
20:00
She felt it forty minutes ago. It tickled under her skin, and when she looked, she saw the counter disappear for a moment as 00:01 morphed into 59:59. Clarke had stared at it, watched with awestruck eyes as the seconds ticked away. 58...57...56...55… She had stared at it until the counter showed 58:59.
Then sense had come to her.
In less than an hour, she would meet her soulmate, her other half to complete her existence. With a racing heart, she had hurried to take a shower, to get dressed and to run out the door. She had no idea where to go, but she figured no matter which direction she took, it would lead her directly to her soulmate.
That was before she stepped into the elevator.
19:00
There is nowhere to go.
The elevator light flickers, and with a zapping noise it is sucked into darkness. Clarke holds her breath, eyes clinging to the pulsating glow on her wrist. It takes forty-five seconds until the emergency light kicks in – a dull orange glow from the button panel – Clarke knows because she counted.
17:45
17:44
17:43
“Hello?” A voice calls, muffled by the thick metal doors.
Clarke looks in its direction and wonders if maybe she was imagining it.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Uh, yes. Hello?” Clarke calls back, already on her feet, hands pressed against the cold metal.
“Hi, hello. Uhm… Look, you’re stuck on the fourth floor and I already called the technician. Are you okay?” The voice behind the door is female, and something about it calms Clarke down.
“Yes,” Clarke says, her face so close to the door that she feels the moisture of her own breath.
“Okay, good. That’s… good.”
16:05
“No.” Clarke says, not even trying to hide the sadness in her voice.
“No?”
“No… I’m not okay.”
“Oh. Is it… Are you claustrophobic?”
“No. I, uhm… I have somewhere important to be very soon,” Clarke says, squeezing her eyes shut to hold the tears at bay. “And I’m stuck here.”
“Oh…” the voice says. “Look, I’m sure the technician will arrive soon. She said five minutes.”
Clarke looks at her wrist.
14:10
“Okay?” The voice asks.
“Uhm yeah,” Clarke forces out. “Okay.”
“If I leave for two minutes, will you be okay? I will go look for the technician.”
“Sure,” Clarke says. She leans her forehead against the door, and as her skin touches the cold metal, she realizes she’s sweating. Will she be okay? She is stuck here, there is not much else to do but wait.
So Clarke waits.
She presses her forehead hard against the door, then she pushes herself off of it and takes a seat against the opposite wall. She wedges her hands under her thighs as to not look at her wrist all the time. Part of her wishes for the impossible: that the wrist will pause its countdown until the doors open.
It is more than two minutes before the voice returns. Clarke does not need to look at her timer to know. She wonders if it has reached zero yet, and if that means she missed her shot. She wonders, when it does reach zero and she has not met her soulmate, does she get a second chance? Will the countdown start over? Will it be another twenty-seven years before she meets her other half?
What if the counter freezes on 00:00 and Clarke will have to continue onwards with her life, alone and incomplete?
Has this ever happened to anyone before?
Clarke sighs, and the shakiness in her breath scares her. Clarke is not okay. The walls of the elevator seems to lean in on her. Maybe she is claustrophobic.
“Hello?” The new voice is also female. “Are you there?”
“Yes. I’m here,” Clarke calls.
“Alright. So, my guy in the control room says he’s done rebooting the system, which means the lights will come on inside the elevator very soon, and when that happens, the elevator will move to the closest floor – which should be this one – and you’ll be able to exit. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Will you let me know when the light comes on?”
As if on cue, the orange emergency light fades out and the bright lamp in the ceiling flickers twice before coming on. The brightness forces Clarke to scrunch up her eyes.
“It just did,” Clarke says, slowly getting back up on her feet. Her eyes catch sight of the timer, the glowing pulse feeding her hope.
04:21
Maybe there is still time.
There is a whirring sound somewhere above the elevator, and a clonk from below, and then the elevator starts moving – Clarke cannot tell if it is up or down. It is barely a moment before it stops again, and Clarke wants to cry.
“What happened?” The first voice asks. The one that makes Clarke feel calm.
The second voice hums thoughtfully. It answers the first, but not loud enough – or maybe too fast – for Clarke to hear.
“Sit tight, alright?” The second voice calls through the door. “We need another reboot for the doors to wanna open. Give me a couple of minutes, and I will get you out of there.” A pause. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Clarke says.
02:04
Clarke feels the hope of getting out of the elevator in time dissipate. Even if the doors were to open in time, there is no way she will be able to exit the building in time, not even to crash into a stranger on the sidewalk.
Clarke stumbles backwards until her back hits the wall, she feels herself slide to the floor. Her vision becomes blurry, and she feels wetness crawl down her cheeks.
Glowing seconds tick by on her wrist. Never has time moved so slow and so fast at once. It feels like a million heartbeats are born by each second, and it feels like there are not enough seconds in the world to make room for all the feelings Clarke experiences right now.
She mourns the loss of her soulmate.
She hates herself for believing she would actually find her other half.
00:47
“What's your name?” Someone asks through the door.
“Clarke,” she responds, the lack of emotion in her voice makes her wince. It was not supposed to be like this.
“Well, Clarke. My name is Raven, and I'm the bringer of good news. Any second now you'll see a green button flash on the panel, and when that happens, press it and the doors will open. Okay?”
“Okay,” Clarke says, wiping her cheeks dry with the palm of her hands. She does not want anyone to see her like this, broken and lost.
00:35
The button flashes. It is round and it glows in the same rhythm as her soul timer. Clarke counts five flashes before she picks herself up again. Her body is heavy, and it takes effort she does not feel like putting into it as she straightens up and walks over to the panel. The button is warm under her thumb, and she takes a deep breath, refusing to look at her wrist before pressing the button. Her eyes are glued to her thumb as she hears the doors slide open.
“That's a job well done, I'd say,” Raven says.
“Thank you, Reyes. I owe you for making this a priority.”
“Anything for you, Woods. Wifey will have my head on a platter if I don't treat her sister like my own family.”
“Anya isn't like that.”
“Yeah she is.”
“Yeah she is,” the calm voice chuckles.
The playful banter between the two startles Clarke out of her haze. She looks at them just in time to see them share a smile.
It is only a fragment of time before Clarke finds herself staring into green eyes. They are soft like the voice that calmed her down as she was stuck in the elevator. Clarke feels drawn to them, and before she knows it, her feet are pulling her out of the elevator and towards the owner. She stops five feet away.
“Hello, Clarke. My name is Lexa and I believe you've been expecting me,” she says.
The green eyes express so much vulnerability that Clarke feels bad for what comes out of her mouth. “What?”
At that, Lexa lifts her arm to show Clarke the inside of her wrist, and Clarke's eyes widen as she reads 00:00. Her eyes fleet to her own wrist which reads the same.
“It's you?” Clarke whispers, half questioning, half disbelieving.
“I'm certain of it,” Lexa says. Her smile is careful as she motions for Clarke to take her hand.
Clarke knows that even the smallest touch will confirm if it is true. Her father has told her many times of how the world seemed brighter the second he touched his soulmate – her mother. But she hesitates taking Lexa's hand because she is afraid to learn they are not soulmates.
What if she is meant to be incomplete for the rest of her life? What if–
“Clarke?” Lexa looks at her with concerned eyes, and there is a flicker of something Clarke cannot name that convinces her to take a chance. After all, she has nothing to lose and everything to gain.
So Clarke takes Lexa's hand, lets it hover in the air for a second before placing it in Lexa's. And as palm touches palm, Clarke finally understands what her dad was saying. The world brightens like the sun breaking free on a cloudy day, and Clarke is already in love with the golden freckles in Lexa's green eyes.
A wave of emotion washes over Clarke, and as to not get knocked over, Clarke steps forward and wraps her arms around Lexa. And when Lexa's arms encircle Clarke's shoulders, Clarke knows that this is the only home she will ever know.
“I found you,” Clarke whispers as she buries her nose in the crook of Lexa's neck.
“Finally.” Lexa tightens her arms around Clarke and presses a barely there kiss to Clarke's hair. “Finally,” she repeats.