Chapter 4
A/N: Hey guys, hope you'll like this chapter. I appreciate all of the encouraging and nice words and wanted to thank you for giving this story a shot. Also, thank you for the comments and the kudos, they mean a lot.
Shoutout to my friend Will once again for editing this because I have the attention span of a fish and am really inattentive.
“Clarke?” You ask. “Where the hell are you? You’re never late, I’m worried,” you say to the voice mail and put the phone down on the table. You can’t concentrate on the presentation you’re doing, so you just blankly stare at your laptop screen for a while, trying to collect your thoughts.
Clarke is running 20 minutes late to your Friday movie night and it is really weird because she’s never late for anything. She doesn’t look like it, but she is extremely punctual. You think that Clarke broke some kind of stereotype, that all artsy people always have their head in the clouds and are always late because of that. Also, that they’re spaced out and talk about things no one understands. But Clarke wasn’t like that one bit. She was practical, and even if she’d spend more time thinking than an average human being, it was never to a disadvantage. She was always precise with everything that involved time, be it deadlines or meetings, so you are worried. A lot. Hundreds of different scenarios run through your mind. What if something happened to her? What if she got into an accident? What if she doesn’t want so see you anymore? What if, what if…
10 minutes pass, as you contemplate every possible scenario ever, before you hear the ringtone of your phone, grabbing the device hurriedly and almost dropping it on the floor. You curse as you readjust the phone in your hand.
“Hey, Lexa, hello,” Clarke says entirely out of breath, and then pauses. “I’m sorry I’m late,” you can hear her walking very fast in the background.
“Did something happen?” You’re concerned for her. “Are you ok?” You can’t help but ask.
“I’m fine, I’m just-” she stops and tries to catch her breath. “I had to borrow Raven’s car again. To drive my dad to the hospital,” Clarke explains. And your heart stops.
“Oh my god, is he ok? Why didn’t you tell me?” You jump up from the chair and start pacing. It’s an old habit of dealing with the stress.
“I didn’t know. He called me in the afternoon and asked if I could drive him because he got a doctor’s note. The doctor decided to put him in the hospital so he can start getting treatment. He’s having a surgery first, in a few days,” Clarke rushes her words and you wonder how difficult it should have been for her, dealing with all of this.
“No, no no, everything is fine; don’t be sorry, it’s a really important matter. I imagine that you didn’t even have a free minute to breathe properly,” you comfort Clarke. “How is he feeling?”
“I’m still sorry, but yeah. He’s terrified, I’m terrified. We’re all terrified to be honest. It’s just the way it is I suppose. But he’s glad he’s getting treatment at last, mom and I are a bit relieved as well. The sooner they start the better. Though I’ll be back really late, like 1 AM or something like that, but can I still crawl into your bed?” She asks. “I’m exhausted, like beyond tired. I feel like I’m on autopilot.”
“Of course you can,” you state. You feel sorry for Clarke. “I’ll just probably be asleep by then,” the guilt settles into your stomach. You haven’t seen her today and you want to, but also you didn’t sleep very well and feel sleepy.
You think that it’s good that Clarke’s hometown is only about an hour away, she can visit her parents more often. Clarke mostly spends her Sundays at home now; she wants to spend more time with her parents, be there for her dad. You, on the other hand, have to take a 3 hour trip by a train to visit your parents. Still, you don’t feel sad because of that. You wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere, where your dysfunctional family couldn’t get you and wouldn’t be able to ask you come see them often. It’s rather freeing being far away from home; you avoid it at all cost. You never understood people saying that home is the most important place in their lives; you never understood what was so great about a place where abusive words were thrown at you so casually. It was only after some time that you realized– everyone’s got a different story and a different home to return to. Not you though. You’re not sure you can even call it home, you’ve never felt like it was your safe place to begin with.
“Lexa?” Clarke sounds nervous, as if treading carefully, testing the waters.
“Yeah? Is something wrong?” You stop pacing and cough a bit because your voice doesn’t sound right, your throat goes dry in an instant.
“I showed my dad a picture of you. He said that my girlfriend is gorgeous and that I don’t deserve her,” you can feel Clarke smiling, even though you don’t see her, but you just know.
“He said that?” You smile as well. “Well, he’s right, isn’t he? Besides, you’ve never asked me to be your girlfriend in the first place,” you laugh as you complain jokingly.
“You’re mine,” the blonde says calmly and it makes your head spin. “All mine,” the confidence in her voice is astounding. You’ve never heard her being so possessive.
“Yours,” you repeat slowly, seeing how the words feel when your mouth says them. “Yours.”
You don’t tell Clarke, but you like the way it sounds. Being hers.
*****
After the phone call, you’ve made some popcorn and you’ve watched the movie by yourself. Your room felt somewhat weird without the loud blonde. You liked having Clarke around, being with her, kissing her. She made you feel like you belong, like you’re lovable. Clarke made you feel that you deserve the world, that you’re beautiful, smart, kind. She’d whisper sweet nothings in your ear just before falling asleep. She made you forget about all the fucked up things in your life. You felt better; you haven’t taken a blade to your skin for weeks now.
You changed into your pajamas and got into the bed, ready to sleep. You left the door unlocked for Clarke to get in. At about 2 AM, Clarke returns from her trip. You wake up to the sound of the door closing, not because she isn’t being quiet, but because you’re a light sleeper. Though you weren’t really sleeping, it’s more like a state between being awake and asleep. Clarke shuffles in the dark as you hear her bag being flopped carefully on one of the chairs. She then silently undresses herself; you see her figure in the dark. After a few minutes, she gets under the covers of your bed. You turn and change your position so you lie on your back now. Clarke readjusts and puts her head on your chest; her warm hands find your waist and caress the skin there.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” she mumbles. “I really tried to be quiet,” you hear her yawn.
“It’s ok,” you yawn as well. “I couldn’t really sleep, I was worried,” you confess as you wrap your arms around Clarke tightly.
“Sorry,” she apologizes again and nuzzles into your chest. “Today was just… I don’t even know. It was insane. I don’t remember being this tired, ever.”
“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” you say as you soothe her tense back gently, rubbing small circles on her soft skin.
“Well, at least my girlfriend can comfort me,” she smiles into your chest.
“Your girlfriend? And here I thought you were single. Damn it,” you joke and Clarke lets out a little raspy laugh. A few minutes pass, and you think that Clarke has fallen asleep until you feel movement from under the covers.
“Mine,” she grabs your hips possessively and kisses your chest once. “Mine,” Clarke repeats and kisses your chest again.
“Yours,” you embrace Clarke tighter as you relax, your fingers against her warm skin.
Before you fall asleep, you think about how you have finally found the definition of the word home. And it’s two arms that are always waiting for you and embracing you tightly in the time of need.
*****
When you wake up on a Saturday morning, Clarke is already gone. You can’t help but become confused as to why she woke up so early when she got back so late. You figure that maybe Clarke had some errands to run, so you make a light breakfast, drink some coffee and flip through a magazine, all distracted. You’re still in your pajamas, reading an article about a healthy lifestyle, when the handle of the door turns. After 20 minutes Clarke has returned and is now grinning widely.
“What is this?” You stare at Clarke‘s grin suspiciously, then at the colorful array of flowers in her hands.
“Well, I wanted to properly ask you,” Clarke laughs and then extends her hand with the beautiful bouquet. “Take them, these are for you.”
“Thank you,” you say and Clarke laughs at your confusion. “I still have no idea what’s going on, Clarke. But these are very beautiful,” you find a vase, and the whole room just lights up when you put the flowers in the middle of the small round table.
Clarke doesn’t say anything, just slowly approaches you and takes your hand into hers.
“I said that I wanted to ask you properly,” she says and brings your hand to her lips. “So, Lexa, will you be my girlfriend?” Clarke smiles and you roll your eyes.
“You’re an idiot, do you know that?” You shove her a bit with your free hand and laugh.
“So is that a yes?” Clarke wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“It is,” you laugh again and Clarke kisses you lightly.
“So now that you’re officially my girlfriend, I want to officially make you mine,” her hands bring you closer to her and start exploring your body, her fingers in search of skin.
Clarke kisses you fiercely and you reciprocate with the same fierceness in return. She looks at you like you put the stars in the sky, and you can’t help but to think that she is the sky, and you’re the ground - always reaching out for each other. Her hands travel to the hem of your white T-shirt, which is then discarded, and your hands travel to her leather jacket. Her nails dig into your hips and you inhale sharply as Clarke navigates you towards the bed. Her tongue is in your mouth as the both of you shed the remaining clothing. You like this somewhat possessive side of Clarke. At least you’re not complaining.
“Mine,” Clarke bites your collarbone and you moan, electricity surging through your body.
“Mine,” her nails rake your ribs and dance on your skin as you struggle to breathe.
“Mine,” she says as her fingers hit just the right spot and you grab the bed sheets, your knuckles white.
“Mine,” Clarke whispers into the hollow of your neck at your release and you realize that bliss has never ever been so sweet.
Clarke’s head finds its way on your stomach. She kisses your navel and embraces your hips, staying like that for a while. You both spend the day in bed, rediscovering one another.
*****
You knew that it was only a matter of time. That everything was too good to be true. Life is never like that, right?
And you were fine. You were fine until you weren’t.
*****
A week passes. It’s Sunday evening and you can’t figure out what is this thing that you’re feeling. Until the phone rings that is. Then you realize that you already know who it is, it’s been too long. Your whole day felt weird, as if something was about to happen. You felt it right after you woke up, as if the storm was coming. What’s worse is that Clarke took the bus and went to visit her dad in the hospital, so you were left alone with this strange sensation. You called Octavia, but she said that she’s spending her weekend at Lincoln’s, and Raven is at Finn’s. With no other option, you sat down to read a book you wanted to finish before the week began. When the phone rang you finally understood what the feeling was about. What if you just ignored it? Muted it? Pretended you never got the call? Said that you can’t talk? Anything. But you knew that you couldn’t escape it. You brace yourself as you answer the call.
“Yes, dad, I’m listening,” you hear yourself say in a dead, emotionless voice.
“Hello, Lexa. How are you doing? You never call or ask how we’re doing. Your mother and I miss you greatly,” he says sadly.
“I, I miss you too,” you say guilty. “I’m just really busy with all the assignments,” you lie.
“Are you doing alright? How’s university?” Your dad asks.
“Difficult, lots of things to do,” you take a glance at the window and notice the dark clouds. Maybe there will be a storm after all.
“I hope you’re not being a slacker,” he laughs. “Either way, I know you’ll manage.”
“Thank you, I will,” you hear the rain start outside; heavy drops against the glass. “Was there something you wanted?” You look at the window and wonder where Clarke is and what she’s doing. You don’t remember her taking an umbrella.
“No, not really, just wanted to ask how you’re doing. Your mother wants to chat though,” you freeze at his words and a feeling of uneasiness washes over you. For a second, you feel like you’re going to throw up. Mom always has a way to push all of your buttons.
“Hello, Lexa, I hope you’re doing fine,” you hear your mom’s voice in less than a minute and you already dread it. “But you really should call more often. Your dad misses you greatly, and you never even call him. You’re acting a bit ungrateful; you never call to ask us how we’re doing,” she says casually.
“Well if you wouldn’t put me down for every small detail, I would probably call more often,” you’ve had enough of her constant nagging.
“You know we love you,” your mom says trying to guilt-trip you. “We just want what’s the best for you. And if we don’t call, you’d never call us yourself.”
“I know, I love you too, but at the same time, you’re being toxic at times and I feel better being here. I feel like suffocating whenever I’m home, I can’t relax there,” you say, anger rising up slowly, bubbling right near the edge.
“Your depressive personality and always being unhappy with everything doesn’t make it easier for us,” your mom’s voice is ice cold and a chill runs down your spine.
“Yeah, probably because I am depressed,” you say sarcastically. “It’s the depression. You know, a serious mental illness that I have,”
“It’s because you have way too much free time to overthink everything. It’s all in your head,” she says coldly. ”Always the suffering one, the unhappy one. Nobody likes sad people. You don’t even try to get better, you enjoy being a mess because everyone then just worries about you. But who am I to tell you that, you never want to listen anyway. Bye, I hope you have a great day,” she plays the passive aggressive card and hangs up.
You just stand in the middle of the room, frozen. You didn’t want to falter, but you did.
*****
Clarke finds you in the corner of the room, near the wardrobe and the bookshelf. She’s soaking from the heavy rain outside, staining the carpet with dark spots.
“Lexa?” Her eyes are wide when they find you on the floor, curled into a ball, your back against the cold wall, your head in your hands. You don’t reply, you don’t really hear her. “Oh god, what happened?”
You want to tell her, you do, but you’re not sure. It’s not just your parents, not entirely, it’s all the negativity you carry around all the time, it’s the self-hate, the self-loathing, it’s this terrible excess baggage that is tied to your ankles like an anchor. Clarke doesn’t deserve this; she has her hands full already. She doesn’t need more of this, she doesn’t. Not Clarke, not her.
“Clarke, just make it stop, please,” you plead her, rocking back and forth with tears streaming down your face, cursing yourself for being so weak.
“Lexa, what’s wrong?” She asks and you start crying even harder because you just don’t know what to do and what to say.
“I don’t- I have pulled the trigger on this awful truth, Clarke,” you say as you wipe your face, but more tears appear. “I want it to stay buried,” your voice is quiet as the storm outside rages.
“You haven’t buried it if it still makes you suffer,” Clarke says softly and kneels in front of you. “I know there’s something very wrong, but I want to know,” she takes a deep breath.
“You have enough to worry about,” your voice breaks a little. “I don’t want to burden you.”
“I want to know,” Clarke’s voice is serious as she repeats the words. “I want to know what’s wrong. Not because I’m curious, it’s because I care, Lexa. Jesus Christ, I care about you so much; I can’t deal with you being this upset.”
Your tears dry on your cheeks and you finally let go of your head. Clarke takes your hands in hers and you just stare at your left forearm, all in scars. You don’t even know how many of the vertical lines are there. These cuts start lower than the base of your wrist and end higher than your elbow. You never know the exact number, you make new ones, they heal and disappear among other. Then the cycle repeats itself. Nobody notices, nobody’s counting them.
“Lexa?” She snaps you out of it and you meet Clarke’s blue and concerned eyes.
“I don’t know, Clarke,” you say, trembling. “I don’t want to ruin us.”
“You won’t,” she says knowingly as she shivers, rainwater pooling on the floor.
“How can you be sure?” You question because you can’t believe Clarke’s words.
“Because I am. Because I know I need you,” she explains simply.
You just stare at her blue eyes and realize it’s better to drown in them rather than your own doubt.
*****
Clarke helps you up and you curse yourself for being so oblivious and self-centered. The blonde smiles as she shivers and clatters her teeth and you realize that she didn’t have an umbrella when the rain caught up with her. She also spent a fair amount of time snapping you out of the negativity, thus why she’s freezing.
You reach out for the lapels of her leather jacket and carefully remove the wet garment from her shoulders. It plops on the floor. You grab the hem of her grey T-shirt and try to discard it as well, even though it’s sticking to her pale skin. The both of you are silent in the dark of the room, heavy clouds making it hard to see. Clarke unzips her own pants, and then she’s standing in the middle of the room in only her semi-wet bra and underwear. Her hands are around her waist, rubbing the cold skin, trying to contain at least some of the warmth. You take a step closer and kiss her, taking her hands into yours carefully, flinching a bit at the cold but never letting go. You take a step forward again and Clarke’s eyebrows furrow as she takes a step back, her lips never leaving yours. Your hand travels up to caress her cold and wet cheek as Clarke’s hands rest on your sides.
After a few steps Clarke finally understands that you’re coaxing her into the bathroom, to get a warm shower. She doesn’t let go of you even then.
*****
You lie on your back as Clarke’s head is propped on her left hand, her other hand drawing circles on your naked stomach.
“Will you tell me?” She asks carefully, stopping her hand for a few seconds.
“It might take a while. Also, I’m not good with words, especially when it comes to expressing how I feel,” you turn your head to look at her. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to explain it.”
“I’m not in a hurry, are you?” Clarke gives you a small smile. “Tell me,” she encourages.
“Here goes nothing,” you inhale and then exhale sharply. “I’ve been diagnosed with depression since I was 16. I was always quite melancholic, but never had I felt despair and sadness until I turned 16. That was the first time I fell in love. Her name was Costia. I’m not going to get into it, but it didn’t end well. We broke each other’s hearts. It felt like a gaping hole that grew bigger each day. I didn’t have any energy, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t eat. My parents have always been somewhat neglectful, so they didn’t really notice the change. They started yelling more because I became so apathetic and passive. I couldn’t deal with everything. I tried a lot of things that would help me cope, but to no avail. So I started cutting. It was an accident, at first. I cut myself unintentionally while preparing food in the kitchen, and I realized that it felt so good. I tried to resist it, but later I started doing it on purpose, with a razor. Nobody noticed, nobody cared.”
“That’s, that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” Clarke whispers into your wavy long hair, as she tightens her grip on your waist.
“When my parents noticed it was too late. My arm was already in scars, so many scars. They cared at first, but later they went back to their old ways. It’s not that they didn’t love me; I think they never knew how to take care of me. They never knew how to express that love without ruining me. Besides, they always put work first,” you explain. “I’ve been so angry at them for so long, but then I realized they won’t ever change. They just continue to hurt me, especially my mom,” you stop for a bit and then sigh. You stare at the ceiling for a few minutes.
“Why?” Clarke asks confused. “Why do they continue to you hurt you, even though they know how sensitive you are?”
“I don’t think they know how depression works; I guess they think I’m cured. I was 16 when it all started; they probably think all of the problems magically disappeared. Also, they’re both a bit too emotional and talk without thinking most of the time, so they easily say something inconsiderate. I just… You know, I’ve spent my teenage years trying not to kill myself, coping with my depression, navigating a sinking vessel through every fucking disaster. So now I feel like all of those years shifted forward, I feel like a teenager when I’m not supposed to be. I am supposed to know what I want to do with my life; I’m not supposed to cry in corners.”
“Your parents are insensitive, I get that the closer the people are to you, the more they can hurt you. Especially family because you can never get used to it. I’m really sorry you have to experience something like this,” Clarke gets closer to you, puts her head on your chest and throws her leg over your hip. “And it is fine; no one said you can’t get sad over this. You can cry, you can get angry,”
“I don’t want to make it sound like I’m damaged. But I am, there’s no way to put it differently,” you start caressing her golden hair. “I’m broken. It’s just the way it is.”
“There’s this quote I’ve read somewhere – we’re all broken. That’s how the light gets in,” she says. “But you’re not damaged, you had it hard, you had to come up with something that helped you cope. Not that I approve of your methods,” Clarke’s hand travels to your scarred forearm and runs over bumpy scars.
“I was desperate and nothing else helped, Clarke,” you explain. “It wasn’t something I decided to do lightly.”
“I get it. I understand. Not that I can fully comprehend what you’ve felt and experienced, but still, I’m here for you. All the time. I want you to know that,” she brings your scarred arm to her lips and kisses it multiple times. “Everything now probably seems like a fast-forward, that there are too many responsibilities and not enough time,” Clarke states.
“It feels just like that. And a lot of things are really overwhelming for me,” your free hand moves to Clarke’s naked back, your fingers dance on her perfect skin. “But I do feel better, now that I have met you,” you smile.
“At least something is good,” she nuzzles into your chest.
Sometimes you think that everything is fine between the two of you. And it is. You care for each other, support each other, give each other strength. You’d like to think that at least. But sometimes, you think that you really don’t deserve her.
*****
Weeks pass and only now you notice that it’s winter. And you love winter, you always did. You love the cold, the warm scarfs, the hot chocolate and long sleeved shirts to cover your scars. You love the snow and how it paints everything a blissful white. There is no snow yet, but you know there will be soon. You feel it, it’s in the air. You walk into the university, looking through your class schedule and trying to remember in what auditorium the political science class will take place.
“Hey, Lexa,” Octavia sneaks up on you in the university corridor, smiling widely.
“Hey, Octavia,” you smile as well. “Haven’t seen you in a while. What’s up?”
“Well yeah, I’ve been busy. With Lincoln, this stupid university, the stupid physics class. Also I’m going to visit my brother Bellamy this weekend,” Octavia explains as the two of you walk together. “I still have yet to start my physics assignment.”
“It’s nice that you’re busy. Except physics because I never really understood what’s the big deal with it anyway. Do you and Raven still hate on the physics professor?” You laugh as Octavia looks at you annoyed.
“I’m not saying I want to strangle him in his sleep, but I want to strangle him in his sleep,” she says in dangerous voice, but then she laughs as well.
“I don’t have a professor I want to strangle, but copyright law is pretty fucking boring,” you complain. “But hey, at least Clarke’s there,” you laugh more.
You and Octavia walk a bit more, chatting and exchanging news, saying how all four of you need to go grab coffee one afternoon. Octavia says how she’d just try to shove black coffee into her mouth until she died from caffeine overdose and maybe then she wouldn’t need to turn in the assignment.
“So how is the dating Clarke thing going for you?” She teases. “I knew you two had an eye for each other from the moment you met. I called it,” Octavia says proudly.
“We’re good, thanks,” you say as you roll your eyes. “It’s nice of you to ask though.”
“Really? Clarke looks stressed all the time now, so I thought I’d ask,” Octavia says more seriously. “Cause you know, the things with her dad and …”
“She told you?” You ask her. “Of course she did, you’re her friend as well. Sorry,” you shake your head because that was a stupid question to ask. Octavia and Raven are her friends too.
“It’s fine. Have you told her about your parents?” Octavia stops to adjust her bag. “I think she deserves to know,” the two of you start walking again.
“I have,” you nod your head. “Recently.”
“Good, Raven was worried about you. Me too, to be honest,” she says casually. “I’m glad you told Clarke, now you’re both on the same page. Ok, I’m off to this fucking boring class. See you at lunch?”
“Sure. Hope you don’t die from boredom,” you yell as she smiles and waves goodbye.
*****
Her dad’s condition worsens.
Clarke laughs less and her skin is pale. There are dark circles under her eyes. You try to be there for her, but you don’t know how to act, how to help. She repeats over and over that what you’re doing is enough for her, but you don’t believe her. Clarke is good at hiding her emotions, maybe even better than you are. It hurts somewhat, that she doesn’t fully trust you. But you realize that’s just the way she is, trying to shield you from all the negativity, mitigating it.
“I’m not that fragile, Clarke,” you tell her once.
“I know, Lexa,” she kisses your knuckles. “But sometimes I just really don’t want to talk about it.”
*****
You walk into your room after a long day and are a little surprised to find Clarke there (you made her a copy of the key because she spends about 90% of her free time in your room anyway). She just sits there, head in her hands. She doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge your presence. She’s like a statue, frozen in place.
“Clarke?” You ask cautiously as you get closer, leaving your bag on the floor and closing the door.
“Yeah?” Her voice is hoarse and she doesn’t look at you yet.
“Are you alright? Raven told me she saw you crying after class,” you sit down and carefully put your hand on her shaking shoulder. It feels like stone from all the tension that Clarke has been carrying around. All the stress goes to her back and shoulders, she said so once.
“I. Am. Just. Tired,” she says pausing after very word. “Some of my assignments are late and I still haven’t finished this one painting because I have no inspiration whatsoever.”
“It’s ok, you will, don’t push it. Besides, I can help you with your assignments,” you take her hand and caress her cheek carefully with another. “I’ve done all of mine.”
“Of course you did, you always do everything on time,” Clarke replies, smiling a bit. “But I don’t want to burden you with my university stuff,” she says seriously.
“You’re my girlfriend,” you say softly. “I will help you with whatever you need, you just need to ask, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” some kind of emotion runs through Clarke’s face, but it’s gone before you read it.
“Clarke?” You say her name again.
“What? Oh, yeah, I’d like that. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom and then we can start, ok?” She smiles as she gets up and walks to the bathroom, closing door.
“Sure, let me just get my laptop,” you say loudly as you reach out for it. “I’ll also make some coffee, you want some?” You ask, but Clarke doesn’t reply.
There is a weird, unexplainable feeling in your stomach. Something you haven’t really experienced.
And it stings.