Memoirs Of A Dormant Heart
“Of all the places this is where you–”
With a quiet sigh, and regret coating her tongue, Clarke takes a seat on the bench, hands tucked into the pockets of her black trench coat.
Across the street, a neon sign flickers smearing the wet asphalt with greens and pinks.
The Happy Jukebox.
There’s nothing happy about this.
“What are you doing here?” A tired bite from her bench companion.
“You know why I’m here.”
A cheerful rock'n'roll tune flows from the bar, the chipper beat slicing through the silence.
“I’m not ready.”
“They all say that.” Clarke turns to face the broody girl with eyes the color of the forest. Even on a day like today, where drizzle falls from heavy clouds, those eyes radiate like the sun.
“Well, I mean it.” The girl scowls at the bar across the street.
They all do, Clarke means to say, but decides against it when green eyes begin to shine with unshed tears. Clarke’s heart, dormant and cold in her chest, grow heavy at the sight.
“She’s only seventeen – it’s not fair.”
“Life never is.”
“What’d you know, you’re not even alive.”
“Lexa–”
“Don’t,” the girl snaps. “Don’t say my name.”
It stings. Clarke would lie if she said otherwise.
The rules are crystal clear, she’s not supposed to care.
This is simply another job, another task.
Nothing else.
Pushing against the dread in her gut, Clarke shifts to face the neon sign.
Pink.
Green.
Pink. Green.
A sigh more frail than the soft drizzle that clings to her hair escapes the young girl. It echoes in the hollow void in Clarke’s chest, a painful trembling that resonates along her spine. Clarke balls her hands into fists and wills them to stay in her pockets. “Why are you sitting here?” she asks, the only words springing to mind, awkward and, well, a thought that maybe should’ve been left unsaid.
“None of your business.”
“Okay,” Clarke bites her lower lip and nods to herself. She looks at the girl. The young mortals were always defiant, ignorant, so self-observed. Time is a currency they do not value – until it is too late.
Clarke shouldn't care, shouldn’t meddle, but… “Go be with her.”
The young girl sinks deeper into the bench, her shallow breathing deafening out any other sounds from this realm.
A moment.
Two.
Ten.
The girl lifts her chin, eyes turning into steel as they latch onto something on the other side of the street. “How long?”
There is only one rule: Don’t get attached.
“Clarke, please, how long have I got?”
Pink.
Green.
Pink. Green.
The neon sign pulsates its steady rhythm, and Clarke clings to the mundane predictability as she rises to her feet. She knows the girl is watching her. Those broken eyes will haunt her for all eternity, for all her immortal life. Clarke deserves it. She is, after all, breaking the rules.
“I’ll come back for her at sundown.”
The words elicit a wet sob from the girl on the bench. Clarke fights the twist in her gut and looks to the sky, the dull gray clouds a heavy veil over the sun.
Seven hours to go.
Without looking back, Clarke crosses the street, pulls open the door to The Happy Jukebox. The rock'n'roll beats roar at her as she steps into a bar the afternoon has yet to fill with a crowd. Louder than the music, Lexa’s broken sob still rings in her ears. Her eyes latch onto a familiar shape at the far end of the bar. Dread rumbles in her core as their eyes meet. Eyes that are usually warm now have a dangerous edge to them. They may be friends, but this is business.
With heavy steps, Clarke walks toward the counter. She slides onto a barstool, taking her time to adjust on the seat. The silence between them is unbearable. Like time frames between the ticks and tocks of a bomb that's set to go off any second now. Full of dreadful intent, unavoidable.
“Raven.” Like ripping off a band-aid.
“Clarke.”
Clarke sighs. “Jaha sent you.”
“This is your final warning.”
“It's my first warning,” Clarke bites, already knowing Raven’s next words.
“You know the rule.”
Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes. Yes, she knows the rule, and yes, she broke it. “Fine,” she mutters. “I’ll accept the warning.”
“Clarke,” Raven says, her voice now soft. Official matters are over.
“I'm okay.”
Lie.
They both know it.
“You need to be careful.”
They both know that as well.
“I'm okay,” Clarke offers again.
But nothing is okay.
Three years ago she picked up Lexa's parents. At sundown she will pick up Lexa's love. And in ten years, she will pick up the last person Lexa has left – her sister. That is more tragedy than anyone should ever have to endure. The mortal life is just like Clarke remembers – merciless.
“Beer?” Raven offers.
Clarke shakes her head.
“I wish I remember what it tastes like. I just remember I like it,” the best friend says.
A small smile tugs at Clarke's lips, helped on by the wistful sigh escaping her friend.
“I miss pizza,” Raven continues.
“Chocolate.”
“Chocolate!”
“A warm shower.”
“Sex.”
Clarke chuckles, an impulse that does little to fix the broken bits of her immortal soul. Her eyes slide to the window. The sky is still gray. The bench on the other side is empty, and for a moment Clarke thinks she remembers the feeling of a heart thrumming wildly in her chest.