One
Three Years Ago…
“The city is beautiful,” said Niylah in awe staring out their living room window at the expansive New York City skyline. She turned to the blonde sitting next to her on the couch, handing her a glass of freshly poured red wine. They have been in a relationship for a year now.
“Beautiful like you.” The blonde grinned, soon bursting into a fit of giggles as she took the glass from Niylah, her wonderful girlfriend of a solid year. She was on cloud nine. “God, how cheesy was that?”
“Clarke, you’re basically a poet, the next Mozart.” Niylah attempted to keep a serious vibe as she drank her wine.
“First off, Mozart is not a poet babe.” Clarke paused, placing her glass on the coffee table. “Secondly, you can’t lie for shit.”
Niylah put down her glass. “Come again?” She playfully tightened her expression. “Why Clarke Abigail Griffin I am in fact an excellent liar! You HAVEN’T seen ANYTHING yet.”
Clarke chuckled, grabbing a cushion from beside her. “I’m still waiting.”
“You have—” Niylah didn’t get to finish her sentence. Her loving girlfriend had smacked her in the face with a cushion.
Clarke couldn’t contain her laughter. She had gotten Niylah that time, normally her girlfriend would foil her plans with some witty evasive tactic. Her giggles halted, an immediate weight collapsing atop her. Expectantly she looked up, gaze locking with the other blonde’s beautiful hazel eyes.
It was a scene taken straight from the Nicholas Sparks handbook: her girlfriend, Niylah, all breathy and somewhat sweaty self, causing a soft, warm, mushiness to spread within… then of course, the ensuing hot, gentle sex.
“I love you Clarke,” Niylah softly murmured from above. “I love you so damn much.” She started the languid downward path from Clarke’s tousled hair to the warm pouted lips of her beautiful girlfriend.
Clarke hated to ruin the moment. “Can I ask you a question?” She uncomfortably shifted beneath her girlfriend, body stilling.
Niylah’s actions ceased, instead giving the love of her life her full undivided attention. “You can ask me anything.”
“Why did you choose me when you could’ve chosen anyone in Grounder’s Coffee? Anyone in New York?”
Niylah quizzically looked down at Clarke, baffled by the sudden question. “How could I not? You’re everything I asked for Clarke.” She leaned lower closer to the blonde once more, restarting the languid downward path. “You are kind, selfless…” Kiss. “You put other’s needs before yours, unwilling to watch another suffer.” Kiss. “ I love your big warm heart Clarke. When you love, you give all of you.” Kiss.
“The entire city Niylah…” Clarke trailed off, averting her gaze. “… Just anyone…and… you pick me.”
Niylah cupped the blonde’s cheek, face now an inch from Clarke’s. Her lush brown eyes found icy cerulean. “I walked into that coffee shop knowing you were the one. I just knew right, then, and there in that moment. I wanted you.” She kissed the love of her life.
Clarke mumbled a string of incoherent words against Niylah’s masterful lips.
“What was that babe?” Niylah smirked, the moment passed.
Clarke smiled resuming pressing her lips to her lover’s once more.
Their bodies molded perfectly together… a glove. She could stay in this position forever.
Present Day…
Abandoned days-old takeout containers haphazardly littered the pristine-white marble kitchen island. The putrid stench proliferated to each corner of the small modern walled Manhattan loft. The random clumps of dirty clothes cluttered the recette-dark wood flooring. In the dim lit living room Clarke Griffin curled up into the soft cushions of the pewter light grey sectional sofa. Her hair was tousled, marginally disheveled. She threw on a faded black Layla hoodie and grey knitted jogger pants. An hour ago after she had she wrapped up her last surgery at the hospital, she had stopped at the downtown liquor store to restock her inventory of vodka and wine.
She gazed out through the expansive picture window lost to the enrapturing scene of the Empire State Building towering over the Hudson. On instinct she studied the basic limestone panels lining the building’s exterior, then the vibrantly illuminated tip the metallic spire stretching to the stars. Signature white lights tonight. She gripped the vodka bottle tighter, suddenly melancholy in remembrance.
This shouldn’t be happening to her. Her entire life ahead of her was A-1. She had the perfect girlfriend, the perfect grades, the perfect New York loft, the perfect proposal… Honestly, it shouldn’t be. When did everything fall to ape shit?
“Fuck. Niylah talk to me,” she plead, vision changing from clear to a blur, heartbeat going at one-thousand miles per hour. Was this real? She reprocessed the scene before her, the packed bags, and Niylah ignoring her questions.
She watched her girlfriend complete her last bag, slinging the bags over her shoulders, then swiftly clutching the handles of her suitcases. Niylah hesitantly greeted her confused gaze, holding it. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four seconds. Five seconds.
“Are you leaving?” Her voice cracked. This is real.
Niylah severed the connected gaze, voice strong and solid, composed. “I’m sorry Clarke. I have to go.”
She silently watched as Niylah resumed fetching her bags. “Can I ask you a question?”
Niylah paused.
“Why?” She torn-fully wailed. “Why are you leaving?”
Clarke brought the liquid to her lips once more, drowning the encompassing sadness and violent rage igniting in the pits of her stomach, disconnected and guzzled the entire bottle.
Fuck it.
She catapulted the glass bottle at the wall, the glass shattering into a trillion shards. Fucking Niylah, fucking life, fucking shit. She grabbed another bottle, lifting the mouth to her lips once more.
Goddamnit.
The sizzling burn coursed down the the walls of her throat incinerating everything in its path. Clarke was too far gone; however, she will ALWAYS remember.
Love is weakness.
Raven honestly gave zero fucks if picking the lock was what was required of her in order to get to her friend. January, February, March, April, now May. It was excruciatingly distressing knowing she couldn’t do anything to help Clarke, to help the blonde regain her jubilantly passionate former self. All the brunette really could do was check-in on Clarke every few days.
Out of common courtesy, she knocked on the wooden door. Though, it felt as if she were always knocking on the damn door these days, a common dance danced over and over again on an endless loop.
“Go away.” Clarke’s voice was laced with heartache, defeat, and dejection. Raven witnessed her friend’s burning fire be extinguished, the blonde’s fight snuffed out. She had witnessed Clarke thrust herself into work jumping at every available surgery open to an intern in a sad bid to distract herself from confronting her emotions. Typical Griff fashion.
She palmed her paper clip bringing it to the door. “Clarke, I’m deadset going to pick the lock if you don’t open this door.
A dance danced over and over again.
An unpleasant stench infiltrated Raven’s nose; a mix of rotten food and days old clothes. “Clarke?” Raven cautiously called out, apprehensively stepping into the darkened living room.
Today seemed different. Something was off.
“Clarke?” She caught the quiet shuffles of a figure shifting in the corner couch by the window. Her eyes spotted the glinting glass on the floor. Work, drink, repeat.
“Get your shit together Griff,” she muttered, walking further into the open space.
Clarke’s eyes were sunken, droopy, pushed in. Her posture. Slouched, dejected, sad, damaged, inflicted. Her Clarke was far gone… Well almost. There were flashes of her best friend during those scarce moments when Clarke gazed at the Empire State Building, or the Hudson River wishing for nothing more than to simply be an artist displaying admiration through sketches and drawing, but after Clarke’s father died the blonde never found the will to pick up a pencil again… until Niylah that is, however after Niylah left Clarke, the blonde once again lost her will to pick up a pencil anew.
“Fucking unbelievably,” said Raven under her dragged breath. She wearily raked a hand through her ponytail, fingers smoothing knots and kinks. Clarke Griffin… the biggest repair Raven would ever encounter in her lifetime. Aside from cars. The human population never failed to impress her otherwise boring busy life.
The blonde incoherently mumbled a string of words. “Fuck off Ray.” Clarke rocked backwards and forwards, arms clutching her knees, her eyes near blotched, mascara bludgeoned. She outstretched her arm reaching for another bottle of vodka.
Today was indeed different because today, something inside Raven snapped. She simply had zero remaining tolerance for her best friend. “No. I’ve struggled watching you suffer forever, you’re my best friend.” She carefully treaded closer to her best friend snatching the bottle from the blonde’s clutches placing it as far as possible out of reach. She looked back to find her friend passed out on the couch.
Raven doused the blonde in ice. “Your life has turned to shit permitting that mess of a girlfriend to lacerate the solid foundation of your soul, mangling the best friend who constantly had my back in the midst of my darkest times.” She paused, verifying she had Clarke’s undivided attention. “Niylah didn't and still doesn't deserve you okay? But move on Griff, haul your ass out from your selfish butt. You’re letting her win. I’m sick and tired of watching you wallow in self-pity because guess WHAT?”
She bore her gaze into the pissed off blonde. “YOU’RE TOO GOOD FOR HER ASSHOLE.” Raven’s chocolate eyes pleaded with bleary, bloodshot, blue ones. “You FORCED us to watch you DIE.” She reminisced when the inseparable trio of her, Clarke, and Octavia would trek dire lengths to hell and back for each other. “YOU CHAINED US TO YOUR CAR DRAGGING US ALONG WITH YOU ON THE PATH TO HELL.”
“You shut Octavia out, barring her from performing her best friend duties!” Trio walked on fire for each other enduring the searing burns on the soles of their feet. Clarke and Octavia made sure Raven never had to see Finn’s sorry ass ever again via undisclosed methods, especially after they discovered the fucker dated both Clarke and Raven. “I want my friend back,” Raven pleaded. “I just… I miss her. Please… come back to me Clarke… come back to US.”
“She’s gone.” Clarke’s two words cut through the quiet starry-lit room, response crisp and terse.
Clarke removed the blasphemous box from her back pocket hurling it at Niylah, who managed to intercept it before it hit her face.
“I wanted to marry her that night, the ring was hidden in my back pocket,” Clarke shakily began. “I had it all planned out: the perfect dinner, the right scent of jasmine candles.”
“Get out!” Clarke screamed.
Clarke sniffled. “We promised forever and always—— It wasn’t meant to be—— I was only a phase to her,” she whimpered. “I tried… I tried… I-I can’t. It hurts so bad. Ray. Make it stop, make it all disappear… It’s too much…” She burst into tears, the droplets sliding down her cheeks.
Raven swatted at the tears rolling down Clarke’s face. “Look at me,” she commanded. “Look. At. ME.” She lifted Clarke’s chin up. “YOU. NEED. TO. GET. YOUR. SHIT. TOGETHER. It’s not rocket science Griff. It’s a one plus one equals two kind of problem. Get your shit together equals getting your shit together. You and I both know this after years and years of experience.”
“Ray, aren't you listening. I tried and can’t.” Clarke’s streaming tears glinted in the moonlight shining into the room. “Please. Just—I can’t anymore. I’m tired.”
No fucking way. Sorry Clarkey, you don’t get to do this to me. Not after everything we’ve fought together. “I’m NOT FUCKING GIVING up on you. You NEVER gave up on me when Finn happened. You NEVER gave up on Octavia.” Raven gestured to her leg. “You REFUSED to let us relinquish ourselves to our pain, fence ourselves in, sever our ties completely with civilization. NO FUCKING WAY IN HELL am I going to sit here and watch you waste away to zero.” She forced the blonde to meet her gaze. “GET YOUR SHITOLE TOGETHER GRIFF!”
“Whether YOU like it OR NOT, you WILL BE joining O and us tomorrow for coffee. Now, I know you don’t want to haul your ass from bed, or pull your ass out from work, but YOU’RE still COMING regardless. I’ll swing by at 9’o clock. You’re doing this FOR ME, for MY SAKE… Please.”
♨♨♨
Raven lolled on her Lazy Boy couch, eyes droopy and sunken from last night’s frustrating heart-to-heart with Clarke, her best friend aside from Octavia Blake, a young, vibrant, rebellious free spirit, and her roomie.
3am. 3 – fucking - am in the morning she departed from Clarke’s SoHo complex for her routine checkup. A small success forward if the brunette wanted to call it that. Raven managed to shut her the blonde’s sad wailing self-wallowing in self-pity mouth up, so that she could force Clarke’s ass out of bed today – hell out of her own hermit world of isolated devastation.
Not very best-friend of her yes, but desperate situations required desperate measures…
All Raven had to do now was excavate dear old Clarkey from the rubble.
Raven heard a moan, then soon an emphatic deafening thump from her friend’s bedroom followed by several softer moans. “Hey O, keep your sexual moans to yourself! Just because you're in an imaginary relationship doesn't mean the rest of the world deserves to hear it.”
“I’m the one actually in a relationship thank you very much!” Octavia slyly snagged a huge body pillow and snuck behind her clueless friend angling it to smack her squarely in the face.
“You sincerely wouldn't be grateful for a noise complaint filed by your dear neighbors for … un-categorizable sounds,” she continued. “I mean seriously. Apartment 307 ticketed for sexual noises. Can you imagine that headline?”
Octavia’s fingers gripped the pillow tighter elevating it higher, hoping to gain more speed and power from the height. She slammed the pillow in her friend’s face. “For the record Ray, the incessant rings of my alarm clock startled me, so I rolled off the bed. You have such a dirty, naughty, filthy mind.”
“Enjoyable dreams?” Raven gathered her usual smug composure taunting. “But it’s not like you have a sex life anyways.” She winked, earning another painful whack to the face.
She snatched the pillow from Octavia, carelessly tossing it to the wood tiled floor far away from both of them. She simulated wiping her hands as if to say, well that's that, concluding her performance with the cocky flip of her middle finger.
Octavia rolled her eyes. “I do, and that life is called Lincoln, and missy… you came home late last night asshole. Like sunrise late. Worried sick late.” Octavia’s self-explanatory audacious voice rang through Raven’s ears. “Where were you anyways?” she teased. “Out late with a random stranger? Find yourself a keeper?”
“Clarkey isn’t doing well.” Raven’s tone became somber. She was well aware of the fallout between Octavia and Clarke. Shortly described: it wasn’t pretty.
“You would think after four months she’d be recovered from blonde bitch.” Octavia walked into the kitchen, every hint of the playful joker gone. “Any improvements at all?” She opened the wood counter drawers. It was a messy affair.
“Nada. She’s in hermit-land, the Untouchable Unreachable Land of Clarke Griffin.”
“Why don’t you just stop trying and leave her?” Octavia heated the stove. “After all she has put us through, you still bother to see how she is, you still BOTHER to help her.” She hadn’t accompanied Raven to weekly checkup and tidy the blonde’s loft. “I don’t understand.”
“Clarke I’m just trying to help. Talk to me. Let me help you! I’m one of your closest friends--- one of your best friends! LET ME DO MY JOB!” Octavia pled with the blonde from the other side of a locked door.
“What part of go away do you not understand? O… I’m sorry, I just can’t. Leave me alone.”
Octavia balls her fists in anger and frustration. Since the beginning of time, it was always Clarke, Octavia, and Raven. It was always the trio of best friends having each other’s backs in dire situations of need. “CLARKE! LET ME BE THE BEST FRIEND YOU’VE BEEN TO ME! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?”
Raven sighed. “I know O, trust me… But she has had our backs for years rushing to our sides with Finn and Atom.”
“We never forced our friends to painstakingly watch the girl we grew up with, the personality we loved her for, the person she is, diminish until darkness consumed her soul.” Octavia was angry, seething. “She made us suffer. The absolute worst thing a best friend can do.”
“Best friend obligations O. If we were Clarke’s best friends, would we abandon her when she needs us most? Do best friend’s run away from each other? What’s wrong with you?” Raven pushed herself from the Lazy Boy, soon standing next to Octavia. “Several months ago you would’ve rushed to her side undoubtedly. Now… I don’t have a fucking clue. If you say yes, you aren’t her best friend because you deserted her severing communications, you’re leaving her to the hungry savage wolves. She’s going to get devoured, you idiot! By HERSELF!”
Octavia focused on cracking eggs into a bowl. Damn her obligations. Clarke, her so-called best friend, ran away from her pain, her problems… smothering herself in surgeries and booze. She barricaded herself from the world, including her two best friends who’ve been to hell and back for each other. She demanded Octavia to leave her and to never show her face again. “I didn’t abandon her. She abandoned me.” Keep telling yourself that. “She pushed us away,” Octavia recited her well-versed mantra.
“Give up on me O.” Octavia heard the blonde pour liquid, presumably vodka, a staple favorite of Clarke’s, into what she believed to be a shot glass. Don’t get her wrong, but Octavia listened to Raven’s telltale of that homewrecker Niylah.
That was two weeks ago.
“Never, that isn’t what best friends do Clarke. We don’t give up on each other. We have each other’s backs in times like this. Whatever you need, I’m there.”
“There’s. Nothing. You. Can. Do. Now.” Octavia barely registers her friend’s voice, a mere whisper
“Bull---
“---shit. Niylah hit her hard O, a tidal wave powering her off. She was willing to give her heart and soul to the woman she loved only to be rudely left in their shared bedroom listening to the sound of wheeling suitcases leaving their loft.” Raven shut off the stove halting Octavia’s cooking. “I sound insanely repetitive, but she isn’t allowing herself to hurt, to feel, to confront her problems. She’s running far from them throwing herself into her work at the hospital, then stumbling home exhausted drinking her woes sleeping in the bottom of a bottle. She’s lost, not gone. And as her best friends, it’s our job to get our Clarke back. Best FUCKING friend obligations!”
“MAKE ME UNDERSTAND then.” Octavia clenched her jaw in frustration. “We’ve been at this for months. Make me understand why she abandoned our friendship. GIVE ME ONE DAMN GOOD REASON.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Clarke. Don’t do this.”
“I’m sorry. Goodbye O.”
Tears streamed down Octavia’s face as she exited Clarke’s loft.
“Octavia Marie Blake. YOU abandoned her. STOP DENYING THE TRUTH!” Raven paused. “Tomorrow at 9am, I am forcing our dear best friend to go get coffee with us, so you better get your shit together and forgive Clarke for actions unintended. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”
“Raven are you even listening to yourself now?!” Octavia abruptly turned the stove off, eggs unbeknownst to her burned to a blackened mess.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!”
“FUCK OFF RAY. Does she even have the spirit in her to drag her head out of her ass? Does she still know coffee from vodka?”
“Do you know a good friend from a shitty fake?”
Hurt. Pain. Betrayal. Octavia willed the tears from her face… but how could she? She got shot in the heart.
“You best fucking be there tomorrow O, or I will know where you stand.” Raven stormed out of the kitchen slamming the kitchen door shut.
Octavia groaned. Dropship Brews was Raven’s day job, not even her main job. It was more of a hobby mixing up the best brews and fraps during her free time when she tired of mechanics. Raven Reyes was the damn best mechanic and coffee brewer in New York and the East Coast… Hands down.
But Clarke fucking stabbed her in the back demolishing any wall of their friendship.
All those times Clarke rushed to her side in her aid.
Best friend obligations. Maybe now it was time to open those floodgates once again, to forgive and finally do what best friends are supposed to do.
They were still best friends weren’t they? Were they?
Octavia realized she had forgotten, but just because she had forgotten it doesn’t mean she’d forgive.
♨♨♨
“How's life Clarkey?” Her father asked.
“Fine.”
“You sure hon, your demeanor says otherwise.” To Jake, his daughter was an open book. She had sunken bags below her eyes, and her posture collapsed.
“I formulated a plan to propose to her [Niylah]. It was perfectly step up, candle-lit dinner. I even cooked for her too…” Clarke stuttered.
Jake laughed. It was a well-known fact that his daughter wasn’t the best cook in the world, the family.
“She just packed up her bags, no last words.” She released a hard sob. “She ended our relationship because of me, because I wasn't good enough for her. Four months. Four months since Niylah took a bit of my heart and soul from me.” Jake pressed a kiss atop his daughter’s forehead, holding her in his arms muffling her sobs.
“I've fallen into a dark hole of isolation shutting everyone and everything out. The hospital has become my outlet, my lone world, I haven't drawn or painted.”
“Clarke."
“I've hurt my best friends bad. I keeping them at bay, unwilling to let them help me. I can’t escape this dark hole.”
“Clarke.”
“They watched me suffer from afar as I began my downward spiral. Dad I-”
“Clarke, you're too harsh on yourself. Niylah’s an idiot for leaving you, but do not allow that woman to destroy you. Rediscover you, find you.”
“But--” Clarke fruitlessly tried to convince him otherwise.
“No buts Clarkey. I want to see my old girl again. The free spirit.” Jake smiled remembering the time he overheard Clarke hardcore jamming to tunes in her art studio, or the time he stumbled upon his inebriated daughter laughing hysterically at Raven and Octavia.
“That's exactly what Raven told me last night.”
“Then listen to her. Find that spark Clarkey; the one Niylah fell for. Don't shut down Clarke. Power up. Be alive.”
“Live,” Jake resonated holding his dear daughter close to his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. “For me. I love you Clarkey. Make me proud. Rediscover the daughter I love and know. Heal.”
“Love you kid.” Jake looked at his daughter one final time, smiling one last time as he kissed her forehead symbolizing goodbye before the scene faded to black.
The blaring alarm echoed off the bedroom walls jostling Clarke to the land of living. Don’t let Niylah win. Her recollection was a blur, bits and pieces missing due to her highly inebriated state. Many closest to you were forced to witnessed the Clarke we loved dissolve away into thin air. She groaned rolling out of bed. There’s only one way to fight through this. She didn’t want to get up. I want my friend back. Way too early in the morning.
Five minutes later, Clarke stumbled into the shower yielding to her body’s much required needs. A shower was necessary. Don’t give up. She already has hadn’t she?
The hot steamy beads of water cascaded down on her back. Her head throbbed, each throb rebounding stronger and harder. Her life described in two words, fucked up. Since Niylah, she’d been a sorry ass wallowing in a hole of self-pity and anger. She hadn’t kept up with daily household tasks, everything basically except work at the hospital. She jumped at every surgery, came home, drank herself to sleep, repeat. Not really attentive to personal care. Her life had a huge pause button stuck on.
She figured she should be over the old breakup, but the cut lodged itself pretty deep. The agony encompassed all aspects of life, triumphing against her vain attempts to thwart its successful charge. Clarke shut her eyes, relaxing to the warmth of running water.
There's only one way to fight through this Clarke. Moving forward. Too vividly, her traitorous mind recounted last night’s heart-to-heart. Ah, Raven had stopped by again. The entire exchange. It’s not rocket science, don’t give up, don’t let Niylah win. Please. Her friends. Raven. Octavia. Her mother. She wounded them all.
She squirted shampoo onto her hands. She wasn’t being fair. In fact, it was selfish of her to retreat to a place where no one could access her, reach her, talk to her. Live. She’s regressed into another personality, a polar opposite. For me. Best friend obligations. She’s forced them through hell, everyone. Best friend obligations. She scrubbed her blonde locks, massaging her scalp.
Collect your shit together Griff. Expel Niylah from your thick stubborn numbskull.
Whether YOU like it OR NOT, you WILL BE joining O and us tomorrow for coffee. Now, I know you don’t want to haul your ass from bed, or pull your ass out from work, but YOU’RE still COMING regardless.
She rinsed her hair, and peeked from the shower curtain reading the clock, 850am. Raven arrived in ten. At this rate, she would never leave her apartment on time-- not like she was planning to. Raven gave her no choice but to listen and oblige. Best friend obligations. Clarke seriously needed to get her shit together.
Had she given up?
She didn’t know.
“Clarke! We’re here!” Raven’s boisterous voice sounded from the front door. She slipped into black leggings, a grey v neck, and Toms. Should she go? I want my friend back.
Octavia glanced at Raven. Are you sure about this? She’s coming?
Raven confidently smiled at Octavia. Yeah, one hundred percent. I didn’t give her much of a choice. I’m even more shocked that you came this morning.
Octavia looked away.
They want you back Clarke. The blonde groaned in frustration, the last shred of her former trying to suddenly reason. They miss you, and you’ve wounded them. Get your shit together Griff! She swiped her bag off the dining room table plowing through her unit door.
Had she given up?
Octavia barged into Dropship Brews first, Raven and Clarke following. The shop was a cozy, small snuggly establishment radiating modern vibes, sleek metal tables, an array of neon blue and green cubed seats, stone walls painted a starry black the company logo sprayed in neon orange behind the cashier. Another logo in neon green decal adorned the large front window. The floors were composed of cement.
Clarke awkwardly detached herself to save a table in the front corner of the cafe by the window leaving Octavia and Raven standing in the long line.
She seated herself in an outer seat farthest from the wall. Her expression saddened. Niylah used to frequent this place dragging Clarke along. It became their Saturday morning ritual. Drink coffee, chit chat, read a book, and repeat. They sat in the back table tucked away in a secluded corner in the back. Raven saved their corner every Saturday. Fellow customers also knew not to occupy the table on Saturdays.
Just because Raven owned the shop didn’t mean she exploited her status to cut customers in line. Dropship Brews was now her daily location.
“See,” commented Raven, subtly pointing in their friend’s direction. “She’s not a lost cause O.” She watched Clarke’s eyes track passerby’s trekking to their destinations.
“And you can tell how?” Octavia crossed her arms over her chest, tense and skeptical. “She hasn’t even made a move to talk to me.”
“She’s here isn’t she? Baby steps. This is what I call progress.”
“No. Not for me. She hurt me Ray, she pushed me out. It’ll take more than some simple response.” Octavia couldn’t restrain her rage. Four fucking months. Yes she emulated bitchy, but Clarke pushed her far outside the gates first.
Raven angrily turned towards the brunette. “You MUST be the one to make the move. YOU are the one who left her side causing the strain on your friendship. YOU. It’s YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”
“Dude. Seriously… How can you say that?! I get that she hurt you, but you abandoned her when she called for your help most, when she didn’t know she needed your assistance but her subconscious did.” Raven quickly glanced her shop’s menu. Clarke would love the Nightblood. It’s pure black coffee. “What if Lincoln left you absent of reason?”
“Yes Ray. Best friend obligations, I know.” If Lincoln ended the relationship as Niylah had, Octavia would mirror similar reactions like Clarke, but not for four months. If he had married her, then jilted her… then yes, she would become post-Niylah Clarke. Her blonde friend was to propose yes?
“O, baby steps. Everyone’s taking baby steps.”
Octavia rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
Baby steps. Understatement of the year.
They approached the table, the younger woman clutching three Nightbloods in her two hands, a new addition to the menu. One of Raven’s employees pre-made the drinks for them.
Niylah fancied Rocket Fuel, the ultimate caffeine shot one could ingest, a popular expresso to the rush hour crowd, the caffeine junkies, the adrenaline junkies, the average everyday junkie…
“Shit’s good Griff, on the house.” Raven lazily grinned. The Nightblood was her most up-to-date masterpiece, developed three months ago at midnight in a drunken stupor. She passed out, waking up nine hours later wondering who left coffee for her. She glared at Octavia. Make your move dimwit.
“How’s life Clarke?” asked Octavia. She needed to reach out, start the long mending exhibition. Watch her effort begin to crash and burn.
“Ok,” she answered. In actuality, Clarke was nowhere bordering okay. Every single day, a long ass knife painfully stabbed her in the gut twisting skin, constant deja vu of the day her life disintegrated. She’d be lying if she claimed she wasn’t, but that’s exactly what she’s doing now isn’t she? Dredging up memories of Niylah. However, her friends already knew that.
“Good.” Octavia gave a halfhearted forced smile. Clark looked nowhere near okay, she looked like shit. Niylah did a damaging number on her.
“Fine,” Clarke insisted. Her friend probed the depths of her eyes for further explanation. “Seriously.” She weakly grinned to prove her point, blatantly failing.
Octavia didn’t bother to probe further. She didn’t care.
Raven flashed another angry stare at the brunette.
Octavia internally groaned. “So have you at least caught up on Orange is the New Black? Season four is due soon.”
“No—”
“Knee deep in voluntary surgeries cooped up in your loft shut away from the rest of the world,” Raven listed every menial item. “On vacation from civilization, hermitland, far in lala land.” She ticked the numbers off on her fingers.
Clarke stared down at her feet. Raven is just Raven. Her own essence. She wished to reveal the entire story of her depressive months, but she wasn't strong enough yet. She really wanted to tell her best friends, not shroud them in constant darkness. Maybe someday. Maybe someday when Clarke could firmly plant her feet and stop running. Her mouth wouldn’t move.
“No worries Clarke,” said Raven sipping her brown coffee cup. “Whenever you’re ready, we’re ready.” She shot the brunette another steely glare.
Clarke couldn’t fathom how lucky she was to have Octavia and Raven as her friends. Through thick and thin, to the fiery pits of hell and back. Though sometimes Octavia’s presence lacked, but she was partially to blame. She expelled Octavia who initially tried to build her back up, comfort her during the first two weeks.
Up until today, she couldn’t remember the last time she allowed herself a moment of tranquility. She gazed out the window watching the bustling daily life of a New Yorker.
“So what season are you on?” asked Octavia. She fidgeted the cup, swallowing her pride. Honestly, she didn’t want another glare from Raven, or her head chewed off.
“Season two,” Clarke tersely answered. She longed for the silence of her own company.
Raven mockingly gasped. “Griff, season four is releasing in a month!”
“Shut up Ray.” Octavia smirked. “I need a refresher without this one...” She dramatically gestured towards the Latina. “Who can’t control her impulsive comments.”
Clarke forced another tight smile.
“FYI, I’m not that bad guys. I’m just detecting the flaws in the plot and character relationships. It’s not rocket science guys. However, I rock at that too.” Raven smirked. “Hands down, what do you expect from a person with a PhD in mechanical engineering and a coffee shop established during their free time out of sheer boredom?” She had to brag.
Clarke and Octavia groaned simultaneously. Raven was employing her double career as an excuse anew.
A scalding sweltering hot liquid splattered onto Clarke’s grey v-neck tee soaking her chest. She passed as a gym rat excessively perspiring, sweat drenching her tee. Grey is not a good color to become sweaty in. She spun one-eighty, surveying the hooded individual, brown braided hair tips peeking from the hood that concealed the features of her face, a shadow casted over majority of her features. Her icy blue eyes bored into impassive forest green.
“Crap,” the brunette muttered, sparing the blonde no attention. She didn't have time for this. As it was already, she was late, thus she could endure the day absent of her drink. She swiftly fled the scene sprinting to the door out into sunny New York never looking back. It wasn’t affordable time crunch and all.
Clarke assessed the damage inflicted upon her, inspecting how much of the black liquid her shirt absorbed. She was pissed off. The liquid soaked her chest area. The doctor in her concluded prognosis a minor burn due to Raven’s coffee intentionally heated to steamy and very warm. Raven handed her napkins passing a few to Octavia assisting dabbing the liquid from her shirt.
Clarke clenched her fists, nails threatening to break skin. The brunette never apologized, but walked away as if she didn't exist. Walked away like Niylah had without looking back. Clarke rose from her seat shrugging off her friends’ restraining hands storming after the stranger determined not to allow escape this time.
She spotted the hooded brunette several feet in front of her, halted by a green light at the intersection. She snuck behind the woman, tugging on her wrist. “You,” she somewhat hissed. The hooded figure turned, face mildly irritated. “You,” she repeated. The brunette blankly looked at her, unintimidated by the situation. “Coffee bitch,” she growled.
Lexa sighed. It was the blonde from Dropship Brews, the one she splayed her coffee on. Recognition flashed in her eyes, currently raking over the woman’s curvy figure unashamed. She was quite attractive, hair lightly brushing against her shoulders, acute tawny-beige collar bones peeking out from the cut of the tee. Striking, not to mention, her boobs were impressive, notable due to the damp coating of coffee causing the tee to cling firmly. The blonde clearly captured her attention. Internally to some extent, she wished to encounter this woman differently on cordial terms.
The blonde closed the space between them, sizing the brunette. Her heated breath grazed Lexa’s skin causing her throat to involuntarily hitch. “You offered no apologies.” The blonde was exceptionally close to her, vibrant curls whisking against Lexa’s face (barely and briefly). For a split second, her mind fuzzed. Her big brain was at a loss for words by means of first encounter stranger… or maybe it was the leggings hugging the blonde’s cute ass, or the dip of the v-neck. A foreign concept to playboy CEO Lexa Woods. Composed. She had never come across an individual as beautiful as the blonde before her. No one-night stand could ever compare to this woman. Control.
Anya would tease Lexa forever if she discovered her masterful smoothness temporarily was unable to formulate a response to a newly stranger encountered on the sidewalk by Dropship Brews. She was going to be late to her meeting. “If I recall, you decided to sit in the worst seat in the shop… exposed to customers entering and exiting.” She smirked. “So if I’m right, it is solely your fault because you chose the worst seat possible.” Nailed it.
The blonde blinked, checking her ears. She balled her fists, about to pounce. The green-eyed woman spilled her coffee on her! She was right to sit wherever she pleased. “If I recall correctly! Fellow customers are supposed to be aware of their surroundings, aware of their coffee vice versa. That’s! That’s recalled correctly! Normal people also APOLOGIZE!”
“Enlighten me next time.” Lexa began walking away. She had no time for this. She was late for work. “May we meet again.”
Not this time. Clarke stalked after the brunette. “Griff!” Raven swooped beside her friend, grabbing her arm. She noticed Clarke’s fists. She connected the dots quickly, eyes flicking from Clarke to the other woman. “Come on, Octavia is waiting for us.”
♨♨♨
Lexa wove in and out of the maze of New Yorkers. She glanced at her watch, 10am, she was very late. The run-in with the blonde stranger held her up longer than anticipated. What the hell had happened?
Lexa: Did you take Socks to the vet?
Anyass: Nice to see you too, you owe me for your evil kitty’s claws.
Anyass: A compensation per scratch. FYI. I have like hundreds.
Lexa: :)
Anyass: A party then, I'm dragging you as my plus one. Friday at 6pm. See you.
Lexa: What I do for you... Fine. later asshole.
As Lexa rushed to her company building, her mind wandered back to the blonde and her passionate azure eyes Lexa could contently drift about in for ages. She hadn’t engaged in an exchange with anyone as tenacious as the stranger. Never.
The higher important matter, no stranger held her curious attention.
Never.
She neared Trikru Industries, the number one tech company in the world. The colossal tower echoed aspects of the Tribune Tower of Chicago, but futuristic and grey, reflective windows a sustainable alternative to increase AC use.
Lexa stepped her office located in a tall skyscraper in the penthouse. Her decorations weren't mainstream, accolades and prestigious merits lining the white walls awol. They were pictures of family, friends, memories, and cherished company creations, however her personal presence was sparse—very. She relaxed in her black Herman office chair enjoying the tranquil silence before the storm. “Send him up Gustus.”
“Lexa Woods, CEO of Trikru Industries” addressed Cage Wallace. He wore a white classic suit and tie, his black hair trimmed and combed parting his dark-brown hair to the side emulating Ryan Gosling and failing. She hated the dude. He is a cocky arrogant bastard who gets everything handed on a gold platter like Wallace Technologies, his father’s precious baby. “Took you long enough to arrive.” He inspected her choice of clothing, the pullover hoodie and jeans. “Rather unprofessional today aren’t we?”
“I believe I am free to wear as I choose.” Lexa inspected her hasty wardrobe decision. “When you’re as successful as me Cage, you can wear anything your heart desires.” She smirked. “But that’s not soon isn’t it? Is daddy not there rushing to your side? Running your business for you?”
He struggled to civilly passed her a stack of files. His effort resulted in a quick shove. Lexa couldn’t help the amused laugh spilling from her lips. “I hope you agree to this collaboration. Picture it, my distinguished company and your prestige working side by side producing the best result to date. And Lexa…” He spat rather venomously. “Wallace Technologies is functioning greatly without my father. In fact, I foresee colossal accomplishments and gained momentum in the near future.”
Lexa, purposefully, languidly reached for the files before scrutinizing its contents. She considered his appointment a space of squandered opportunity. She had meetings with her twelve sub divisions discussing more pressing matters. Cage’s plans called for creating weapons capable of wiping the enemy in a matter of seconds. It required excessive trial counts, but impossible wasn’t a possibility. Progress would be slow, and success not for a while.
“Nanobots to terminate the opponent. Terminate, wound, or torture, either one. Fireable via firearms or drone strike, storage available in automobiles a specifically designed button to release them, or portable console, the vast infinite possible options.” His brown eyes sparkled. “Trikru Industries’ top notch equipment and background in auto and tech can make this all happen.” Cage gestured to the files in her hands. “My associate Dr. Tsing has conducted many preliminaries and virtual tests confirming the possibilities of the project…”
Who was blondie? Even with her livid rage, Lexa couldn’t help but notice the unnoticeable faltering in the blonde’s voice. The tone was delicate, slightly unstable. She couldn’t help but wonder what or who, caused the blonde to react in the manner she did. She also couldn’t stop from wondering what those pillowy breasts would feel like against her expertly skilled tongue making Blondie beg for release… or better, the wet center begging for touch. What did the blonde taste like?
Cage dragged on his proposition. She knew her answer already. “We can end our wars faster, quicker, less casualties. The government will practically empty their wallets for this, the top-notch weapon available on the market. Our earnings and reputations would be increased drawing more clientele. Lexa, we—-”
“—-are having no part in this,” Lexa said, CEO mask reinstated, her head reinstated. His proposal negated the very core beliefs of her company, no weapon creation. Under no circumstances would her company manufactures weapons, let alone develop them. Her parents were pacifists, peacemakers, Samaritans. Originally the company’s sole purpose was to fashion medicines, aids, and contraptions to assist the sick, poor, and struggling. Her father, then unearthed his hidden knack for designing cars, explicitly sports cars. “You arranged this meeting acknowledging I don’t do weaponry, an outright waste of my time.” She tossed the files at the man-child. “Have a nice day Mr. Wallace.” She signaled Gustus to lead Cage off the premises.
Blondie. Her conscience was committing sin. Totally.
♨♨♨
Raven invited Clarke to stay for dinner, hamburger night, since Octavia was at Lincoln’s. Earlier, Clarke, the pacifist, the kind selfless bean, had almost kickstarted a brawl in the middle of a sidewalk —- over a cup of spilt coffee. No one fights over spilled coffee. Spilled coffee for christ’s sake! Clarke wasn’t classified as emotionally stable, her feelings scattered all spectrums passing as bipolar. Her friend was lucky as hell she caught up when she did.
Clarke sat on her queen bed lined with orange sheets eating a hamburger. Maybe she overreacted earlier today. I love you too Clarke. Fuck. She indeed was a mess. “I’m sorry.” She charged after the stranger an inch from pinning her down.
“Why?” Raven quizzically looked at her.
“I ruined it.” Clarke casted her gaze at her untouched burger.
“Shush Clarke, you're not ruining anything,” Raven warmly smiled.
Clarke started to shut down, crawl back into her safe, protected world of hermit-land. She began to gather her things, ready to bolt.
Raven put her plate down, laying a hand on Clarke’s shoulder, “No, no, no. Stop enabling Niylah control over you. Clarke, you are your own person who can dig themselves from this hole. Niylah wasn’t your fault. The coffee spill wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”
“I’ll always have your back. Like I said before, obligations of friendship, You’re my best friend.”
“Am I acting like one?” Clarke silently questioned.
“Confront your feelings Griff, quit that attitude. The third room is still yours if you want it. I’d love your company. I'm sure O would secretly love it too,” Raven’s serious eyes met her friend’s letting her words sink into Clarke’s brain for processing. “It’s the best thing for you Griff, your loft holds too many painful memories of the past. I also kinda miss you.” I want my friend back. “We can face your emotional load together.” Like old times when we faced everything together as a team.
Was moving in the right move? Was it too soon? Raven stilled awaiting the anticipated rejection.
Clarke nodded, silent for a moment. Her loft did hold many afflicting memories. Her life was a wreck. Her friendship was almost destroyed. “Thank you.”
It wasn’t much of a response, but it was better than uncomfortable awkward silence. Raven supported her burger in her mouth, staring blankly at the blonde, dumbfounded Clarke even said anything let alone accept her offer.
“Thank you,” Clarke murmured again like an idiot. Raven vetoed the forsaken idea of abandoning her side and held unyielding audacity to stubbornly keep attacking her sturdy blockade until she prevailed fracturing it. She was the luckiest person alive.
“Well duh, of course asshat,” Rave commented. “I am the best, even better than O.” She smirked chomping a chunk of her burger, disentangling her arms around Clarke.
Had Clarke given up?
She still didn’t know.
♨♨♨
Clarke parked herself on a Central Park bench of a mid 10am May morning, the leaves circling in the light cool breezing winds, birds chirping pacifying tunes alleviating her qualm-plagued mind. She sought refuge from life. From everything that has happened in the past several months.
She was fully aware she hadn’t given up on herself. Way down within herself, in her innermost core, a hearth persisted in the darkness and prevailed, its flickering light still ablaze. Old pre-Niylah Clarke rooted herself far in retreat, in her safeguarded sanctuary remote from the world, and herself. She still was present, but she was choosing to run away.
Her choice entirely.
Today, she found herself running from her mother. She gave Clarke the day off, practically booted her legendary ass from the hospital premises proceeding to then trail Clarke to have a heart-to-heart-mother-daughter talk. Clarke didn’t want to confront her feelings just yet. She couldn’t, the pain would be near-insurmountable.
During these past four months, Clarke secured the title of legendary, completing difficult surgeries in record time, results impeccable. Clarke sure had gathered a following among the interns worshipping her as if she were a goddess.
Her mother claimed work seized her life in its strong grasp, commandeering her life after Niylah. Her mother was also the second person to tell her to move on with her life and be a normal person for once.
Then again… what even was normal?
Like her drawing days, she spent nearly twenty hours a day in surgery. She also had no regard to her personal hygiene, friends, and emotions. She got into the zone, and stayed in the zone.
ZeroGReyes: Yo Griff, tomorrow night?
LittleBlake: Lit!
ZeroGReyes: Technically, you will be attending because you are occupying the third room in our apartment.
LittleBlake: ?
ZeroGReyes: You see O, um…
ZeroGReyes: I um…
ZeroGReyes: I was going to tell you later today ;)
LittleBlake: …
SkaiPrisa: … … …
LittleBlake: Guess I’ll be seeing you later tonight Clarke.
ZeroGReyes: Lol
SkaiPrisa: ;)
Clarke reviewed her response. A simple smiley face. It was the least she could muster.
Truth: Clarke didn’t want to party. She didn’t want to interact, socialize, re-integrate herself with the delinquents, with Raven’s other strange friends, with life.
Clarke hunkered down in the back corner of Dropship Brews nose stuck in a book, True Believer, devouring each and every printed word. Jeremy Marsh, scientific debunker journalist, in small town Boone Creek. Currently he was visiting the cemetery to witness the ghostly light apparitions himself where he spots Lexie Darnell. She already knew they were soulmates at first meeting. It was Nicholas Sparks for christ’s sake. Clarke savoringly sipped her Nightblood coffee, Raven really outdone herself this time. For once, Clarke’s troubled conscience granted a flash of peace.
She felt at ease, mind adrift from Niylah, away from the turmoils of her life She felt at ease, tranquil in the company of Lexie Darnell and Jeremy Marsh. Live for me. Her dad would beam in pride right now, she thought. Here she was, finding peace in a paperback novel, no qualms, actually giddy for the story to come.
She had unearthed her new coping mechanism; well not completely brand new considering she read excessively after her father died.
Technically in reality, she had unearthed another method of running away.
She flipped to the next page.
The first time Lexa saw the blonde with no name, she was impatiently standing in the long line at Dropship Brews, mentally willing the line to move faster with no availing success. Dropship Brews had the longest damn line just to obtain a caffeine fix every American sought after. Fortunately, Anya cleared her morning schedule, no meetings, no clients, no surveillance, unquestionably nothing. Her attention mindlessly flickered to the back of the shop from pure boredom. Her gaze settled on blonde hair. Was that Blondie?
She hurriedly waved bills in the employee’s face, sputtering off her order, tacking on an extra coffee to her bill. Spur of the moment decision. Blondie did strange things to her as of yesterday. She paused three feet away from the seated blonde, eyes devouring the beauty of the goddess, unsure of whether to approach or not approach. She couldn’t not actively stare. It was a confounding and preposterous thought.
Their prior encounter wasn’t amicable, Lexa’s coffee soaking the poor woman’s chest, the blonde enraged growling at her, Lexa’s snarky counter-comments, the ludicrous idea of the blonde nearly rendering Lexa speechless, the odd butterflies in her stomach when heated breath touched her skin, the — Why did the blonde render her to shambles? Discombobulated? Disarrayed?
When pigs fly, Lexa Woods would be reduced to shambles… COULD be reduced to shambles.
Pigs don’t fly.
“You know… you shouldn’t really stare like that. Obviously you weren’t taught the art of subtlety. I sensed your eyes distantly.” Clarke rotated her seat to Lexa, expression souring at her dressed in a black leather jacket ensemble. Her tone was lifeless and monotone. She returned to her former position, her porcelain hand fluidly flipping to the next page once more. “Are you here to apologize?”
Clarke absolutely condemned the fact the brunette was here at all. Why couldn’t the coffee bitch leave her alone in her own peace? Her reaction yesterday was unwarranted, but she abhorred the fashion the green-eyed lady strutted about oozing superfluous confidence and coolness. She couldn’t quite understand how a person became so… the brunette.
Clarke didn’t even know why her voice even left her mouth.
Lexa suddenly felt self-conscious. How did she notice her? Was she self-pronounced? Too brazen and straightforward? Lexa Woods never second guessed herself. “Morning to you too beautiful.” She slid the extra order of coffee in front of the blonde’s line of vision obstructing the words.
God. What was happening to her?
Clarke glared at the brunette, eyes lasers burning into the other woman’s soul.
“Book nerd.” Lexa couldn’t exactly call blondie a nerd however. Secretly, she binged documentaries droning on and on infinitely about the deep blue ocean and its marine life on Netflix, Discovery Channel, and home DVDs, marathon-ed comic after comic delving further into the Marvel and DC Universes identically seeking geek shop after geek shop meticulously combing through every issue of her favorite heroes occasionally picking up a new line, and could navigate a tea shop like no one’s business. She had a strong tea game. Once in a while, Lexa completed a real book of literature ranging from fiction to nonfiction to memoirs.
Anya had to listen to her lengthy ramblings of squids, crackpot theories, and revelations of life. Her best friend always responded by shoving a warmed tea in Lexa’s hands. She read the novel title of the blonde’s book, True Believer. Hmmm, Nicholas Sparks. You can do better. She hadn’t read the title, but Nick equaled too cheesy and romantic. She preferred action and philosophical, her fascinating informative videos, and comics.
Five minutes passed. Clarke was finally absorbed wholly in the pages of her paperback heart and soul forfeiting to Lexia and Jeremy’s story, the shop chatter and buzz tuned to zero volume. However, the wondrous moment of calm was short-lived.
“Dare I ask what’s the plot?”
Clarke fixed another icy glare. The woman probably had nothing to do this morning, and she just had to choose to pursue Clarke interrupting her one period of tranquility absent of pain, stress, and sadness, her SINGLE moment.
“Just trying-na socialize like a normal human being. Sorry for doing what normal people do.” The brunette held her hands up in mock surrender to Clarke’s iced glare. Her glare was lowkey a major turn-on. “So Lexie Darnell…”
Clarke slammed her book down, fiery blue eyes ice burning into green. She’s had enough. “Now— you decide to apologize, and not apologize for the coffee incident. I cannot believe you and your smug, overconfident, rude self. You want everyone to think your above it all but I see right through you. I’m guessing you are a fuck-girl burned badly in the past, but you want some advice? Get over it! I’ve gotten badly burned and it still hurts like hell, but I’m not giving up and losing myself to the depression it carries! Just because you’ve been burned, doesn’t give you the fucking right to flirt with me, to harass me!”
Clarke felt the need to release her anger locked away all these months, the bubbling rage she had tried to run farther and farther from.
“You and your sky-high ego making you believe you run the world, command everyone who you expect to bow down and surrender to your desires kissing your knuckles in reverence. But guess what! The world doesn’t revolve around you! It doesn’t work like that!” Fuck you Niylah.
Lexa swallowed whatever words were in mid-roll off of her tongue. Blondie’s unwarranted, unexpected raging outburst startled her. She surely didn’t forecast the potential temper of the blonde. Blondie hadn’t permitted time for her response.
“Why can’t you act normal and apologize for shit’s sake! It requires only two letters and minimal exertion!”
“Thank you. Those are two letters aren’t they?” Lexa smirked.
“You……….” Clarke picked up her belongings, terminating the conversation by stormily exiting via employees only door. Thank god Raven owned the place. She would’ve blown up right there in public because of spilt coffee. But she already had hadn’t she?
Clarke barged into Raven’s office located behind the shop, slouching against the wall in relief. Her best friend’s office had the constant incessant whirs of machinated tools as a result of the custom built work station installed in the corner.
The screeches died, Raven glared at Clarke, flinging her protective mask on the metal table. “You cannot charge in as you please. Now, you might as well sit there on the floor or sit on the couch, and tell me what the hell is going on. I’ve got quite a bit of work today.”
Clarke collapsed on the sofa screaming into a pillow. “Coffee,” she grumbled. Who interrupts a person clearly engrossed in a book?
Raven raised her eyebrow.
Clarke nodded.
“Jesus Christ.”
Clarke stared blankly at Raven.
“Lexa Woods. CEO of Trikru Industries? The epitome of auto and tech companies combined?” Raven grinned at Clarke. “Green eyes, brunette hair, swagger, appears indifferent? I didn’t recognize her with braids and a hoodie. My dream job at her company…. The dream for low-life mechanics like me? Million-dollar bachelorette published in headlines as 21st Century Playboy Prowess?”
“That sure explains her behavior,” Clarke mumbled. Lexa seeped egotistical. The bitch instinctively knew what buttons to push, how to get a rise. The persistence to socialize with her. Was she another prize for the brunette to claim under her conquests. Raven’s description confirmed everything. She confessed, Lexa was a masterful expert in the art of smoothness, but it proved ineffective on her.
Raven propped herself on the table, legs dangling in the air. No one cries over spilt coffee. Clarke should mentally be aware. Best friend obligations. Deliver it straight. “You’re sort of kind-a overreacting Princess, still emotionally bipolar and unstable from Niylah fallout.”
No duh. Lexa was really a cute nerdy bean. She just had issues separating CEO from warm soul, and a mean habit of picking up girls on the fly. Dear old Clarkey needed to see past that. After a yearlong friendship with Anya, she has heard the blonde rant on and on about Lexa’s maddening obsessions of Iron Man, Captain America, Hawkeye, etc etc. She listened to her other blonde friend explain how to soothe Lexa’s random ramblings of “look at those majestic crabs” and “beautiful squids”. Tea: the answer to everything.
“Stop calling me that. She’s simply a dick. She won’t leave me alone.” Clarke rose identically positioning herself next to Raven.
“Sort of impossible not to.” Raven placed her hand atop Clarke’s, the reassuring touch saying you will survive, as she winked. “On the bright side though, this woman has you talking! You’re angrily talking! It’s lit!”
Clarke’s mouth opened as if to fire some retort, but then closed swiftly rethinking her next words.
Raven smirked, impervious to the blonde’s inner going grief and rage.
“Fucking spilt coffee,” Clarke grumbled.
Honestly.