Chapter 5
A/N: Hey guys, thank you for reading this little story of mine, it always warms my heart when I get e-mails of all these people leaving kudos on my work. That means a lot.
I also got quite a few messages regarding this story. People told me that this story means a lot to them because of all the struggles with mental illnesses they have, so yup, this is for all of you.
Again, shoutout to my friend Will who edits these chapters, I'm not a native English speaker and he helps A LOT. Thanks :)
Hope you like this chapter. Enjoy!
You feel the weight of Clarke on your chest. She’s sound asleep, her hands gripping your white T-shirt, her face peaceful. But you can’t seem to drift off, your mind is racing. You remember how two days ago, Clarke emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, her cheeks still a bit wet from crying and her face red. You were worried sick, especially when you heard the lock of the bathroom click. There was a heavy feeling in your stomach, turning everything inside; your head was a mess. But when you called out her name, she’d respond that she’s fine, that she needs a bit more time. You’d carefully, silently come closer to the locked door but couldn’t hear anything. That half an hour was the longest you ever remembered, filled with dread and waiting, waiting, waiting…
“Clarke,” you’d try but she just waved it off, clicking the pen in her hand multiple times before putting it down on the table, on the scattered pages of different assignments.
“I’m just stressed, Lexa,” she said as she exhaled slowly. “But I’m really grateful you’re helping me with this homework. One less thing to worry about,” she smiled a little.
You lie in bed and wonder how much Clarke isn’t telling you and how long will it take for her shoulders to hunch from all the weight she’s carrying.
*****
Raven snaps her fingers in front of you in a loud and busy university cafeteria.
“Lexa?” Are you even listening?” Raven asks and puts food in her mouth, chewing, then trying again. “God, what happened? You’re more distraught than ever,” she takes a sip of a glass full of orange juice.
“Huh?” You flinch suddenly and Raven can’t help but let out a laugh at your slow reflexes, but her face gets serious again.
“Lexa? What the fuck is going on?” She puts down the fork aside and stares right at you, trying to understand the situation better.
You’ve grabbed lunch with Raven at the cafeteria. The both of you accidentally met up after lectures in a corridor and decided to go get something to eat. You asked where Octavia was, and Raven said that she was busy with a group project, explaining in detail how and why Octavia hated group projects. She in turn then asked about Clarke. You said that Clarke texted you and that she skipped a lecture to go visit her dad in the hospital.
“What day is it?” You ask Raven absent-mindedly, not really hearing her question.
“Wednesday. What the hell is going on?” Raven doesn’t relent and you sigh. “Is it Clarke? Your parents? Something else entirely? Lexa, talk to me,” she pleads as she stops eating.
“It’s just, I’m worried about Clarke,” you say as you pick at your food, not feeling very hungry but still trying to eat something, needing to eat something.
“Well, she’s your girlfriend, of course you are,” Raven’s voice gets a little softer. “She’s having a difficult time right now, I’m sure she’d tell you if something was bothering her.”
“Yeah, probably,” you say, not entirely convinced. “How is Finn by the way?” You ask her, trying to change the subject but also interested in how their relationship is going.
“He’s doing great. I’m still somewhat sad we’re not going to the same university, but hey, we’re doing alright even if we don’t see each other every day,” she concludes.
“Where does he live?” You put the cutlery down and take a gulp of the orange juice as well.
“This will sound funny, but the same town that Clarke used to live. Can you believe they were classmates?” Raven laughs.
“Really?” You look at Raven confused. “They were classmates?”
“Yeah. Apparently, Finn had an eye on her before he met me, but she clearly wasn’t interested in him,” Raven laughs again. “I used to spend a lot of time in that town with Finn. Strange that I only met Clarke in my first year here.”
“It’s such a small world, right?” You say. “And yes, Raven, she told me how you saved her ass,” you look at her and Raven’s smile grows wider.
“It’s a very nice ass, so no problem there,” you almost choke on the juice. “Relax, relax, Lexa. I’m not here to steal your girl,” Raven grins widely and winks at you.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferable?” You jokingly ask her as you get up, taking the semi-empty tray in your hands.
“Never,” Raven pretends to feel insulted and gasps. “You always say the worst things about me,” she shakes her head in disapproval, trying her best to hide the smile.
“Probably because I’m right. Ow, okay, okay, I get it,” you scowl as Raven playfully elbows you in the ribs.
You both make jokes on the way to the dorms. You forget about the feeling of uneasiness for a while.
*****
It’s one of those days when nothing’s wrong, but nothing’s right either. You’ve been feeling like you’re in a trance all day, lost in another time, another dimension. You come back to your room to find Clarke already there, lying on your bed, staring at the white ceiling. You leave your bag on the floor and join her, soon taking up your favorite position – you sprawled on your back and Clarke lying on top of you, her head on your chest. The both of you don’t say anything for quite some time. You wonder how everything outside this room feels wrong and not real, like a dream, an illusion.
“Why?” Clarke breaks the silence and touches your scars.
“I’ve had too many things going on. On some days, I’d feel as if I was bursting with every possible human emotion and I couldn’t contain it in my head, in myself. I’d cut to distract my thoughts, to arrange them,” you answer after you clear your throat.
“Wait, you’d cut so you could concentrate?” She asks. “That doesn’t really make sense.”
“It does to me, Clarke,” you say softly as you close your eyes. “Imagine as if a hundred voices screamed different things all at once loudly in your head. That’s how I felt,” you open your eyes and stare at the ceiling.
“I guess it does make sense then. It helped to concentrate because you could focus on the pain, right?” Clarke strokes your inner forearm carefully, tracing every line, every bumpy scar.
“Yes. Sometimes I felt so numb; I’d honestly think I was dead. I’d feel as if I am in space, in a vacuum, I’d feel like an empty shell. Then I’d cut to feel something, anything,” you explain.
“Did it help?” Clarke shifts and her breath is on your neck now.
“Not always. But sometimes it did and that was all I needed at the time,” you answer shifting slightly as well, wrapping your arms around her tightly.
“But it wasn’t just your parents, right? I mean, I know they only added to the pain, but they were not the primary reason for it, were they?” Clarke says, and it’s as if she’s seeing into your soul, reading it easily. Or maybe you’re just an easy person to read, you don’t really know.
“There were many reasons. I told you that I fell in love with this girl. But before we started going out, before we confessed to each other, before I fell in love with her… Clarke, I thought I was straight, no kidding. I mean yeah, I never had a boyfriend and guys never really interested me, but once I fell for her I realized why,” you say as you recall the moment of utter terror.
“It must have been hard,” Clarke says, getting as close to you as possible, wrapping her arms around you. You no longer know where she ends and you begin.
“It was, believe me. I had no one to turn to, I had so many struggles with my sexuality and accepting it, understanding it, realizing what it meant and how it impacted my life. It was terrifying. Not to mention other shit that went down,” you breathe out. “It may sound stupid now, but it wasn’t back then.”
“It’s not stupid, internalized homophobia probably played a hand in this too, not to mention that you had no one to talk to. I can’t even fully grasp how difficult it must’ve been because my understanding of it was seamless, effortless,” Clarke says as her hands grip your waist. “I accepted my sexuality easily, not even giving it a second thought”.
“Probably because your parents didn’t make a big deal out of it, they were more liberal, more accepting, more loving. My parents were always somewhat homophobic, so I never told them. I never shared this with them, I already knew what they would say,” you turn the both of you slightly so now you’re lying on your sides and you nuzzle into Clarke’s neck, breathing in her scent.
“Will you tell me more?” Clarke’s hands caress the skin under your sweater, just above your waist.
“I will,” you say as you kiss her pulse point. “But not today.”
*****
Clarke walks in, locks the door behind her, doesn’t even say a word.
“Clarke?” She comes closer, puts her bag on the empty chair besides you. Clarke then takes off her coat and her shoes, doing everything in silence. “Clarke?” You repeat.
“Yeah?” She turns her head and her eyes are full of something you can’t seem to understand. Hunger mixed with something else entirely and it’s somewhat unsettling, weird.
“Are you ok?” You ask her as she starts kissing you, her hands unbuttoning your plaid shirt and discarding it. Clarke takes your hands and you stand up, confused by the suddenness of it all.
“I will be,” Clarke hungrily latches her lips on your throat and starts sucking at your pulse point. Her hands work on your belt and the button of your skinny jeans as you still can’t seem to fully understand what’s going on.
“Did something happen?” You try as she continues to undress you.
“Not really, nothing serious,” she says pushing you to the bed, kissing you, her cold hands touching your warm skin.
“Then what is it?” The back of your knees hit the bed and you find Clarke on top of you not a second later. She has managed to get you naked, but only now did she take off her red sweater, still in her undershirt, still fully dressed.
“I just really fucking missed you today, Lexa,” she says, her voice low and husky and full of want. Her pupils are blown; you barely see the blue around the edges. She buries her face in your naked chest, groping, licking and you can’t help but moan and shudder.
“We saw each other yesterday,” you recall, but Clarke just shakes her head as she kisses the valley between your breasts and then down your stomach.
“But I didn’t see you today,” Clarke’s hands scatter across your body, leaving skid marks.
“Clarke, sex isn’t a coping mechanism,” you say as she lowers herself and kisses your thigh.
“I just really need you,” Clarke’s fingers grip your thighs harder.
“Okay,” you say softly. “Take me,” you give in.
Later, still in your high, you cannot manage to come up with any coherent question to ask her what’s really wrong. Clarke’s fingers are still inside of you when she falls asleep. You kiss her forehead and forget about the anxiety that washes over you.
*****
“Clarke, are you cheating?” You make a move and ask her, looking directly into her blue eyes, trying to figure it out.
“Of course not!” She throws you a knowing look and then concentrates her eyes on the board. “Admit it, you never thought I’d be so good,” she stares at the board for a few more minutes and then moves a chess piece. You overview the pieces and try to come up with a new strategy.
“I’m going to be honest, I underestimated you,” you laugh, but at the same time you think that Clarke is probably the toughest opponent you’ve had to face yet. She’s good, really good. You carefully move another piece forward, trying to predict her next move.
“What can I say, I have talented hands,” she says as she contemplates which piece can go where, not even realizing the implication behind her words.
“Oh, that I know,” you smirk and Clarke shoots you an annoyed look. “What? I’m telling the truth,” you laugh out loud as Clarke’s cheeks fluster.
“Don’t distract me, Woods. I’m going to beat your ass in this,” Clarke shakes her head, smiling, looking at the board, then at you.
“Are you sure, Clarke?” Your smirk gets cocky. “I’ve never lost. Not once.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint,” she looks straight at you, licking her lips. “But you’re going to lose. Wanna bet?” Clarke tilts her head arrogantly and stares expectantly at you.
“What are we betting on?” You sit up straighter, intrigued, waiting for an answer. “I want to know what I will win.”
“Hmm,” Clarke thinks for a moment. “Whoever loses has to prepare dinner. Half-naked,” she says as she relaxes into the chair, eyeing you from head to toe, biting her lower lip.
“Sounds like my kind of bet. You’re going down, Griffin,” you say as you stretch your neck, preparing to get serious.
Determination in Clarke’s eyes almost makes you lose.
*****
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Clarke’s face is turned to the wall as you laugh out loud in the dark of the room.
“Babe, I’m sorry that I won,” you try as you press up against her back, placing your hands on her hips. “But those were your own terms. You came up with them,” you giggle into the back of her neck before kissing it carefully.
You’ve won fair and square. But it was probably the most difficult match you’ve ever played because Clarke was incredibly good. It lasted for hours. You almost lost too, after you saw you’ve made a foolish move, though you managed to bounce back. After you’ve won, you relaxed back into the chair, raising your eyebrows and smiling victoriously. Clarke sat still, her arms crossed and her face angry for a good ten minutes before she casually threw her shirt over her head onto the floor and took off her pants in one swift motion. You laughed as you just stared at the perfect curve of her back and shoulders. While Clarke walked around fetching spices and preparing food, you read a magazine lying around on the table, but couldn’t really concentrate. You stared at Clarke’s hips and the tattoo that peaked from her black underwear. You stared at the golden mess on her head and at her black bra covered breasts when she’d turn and ask you something. You found it endearing, that no matter how many times you’ve had her, you always wanted more.
“I hate you,” she turns to you and whispers grumpily in the dark.
“No, you don’t,” you correct her, your foreheads touching, eyes closed, hands clutching at her black tank top.
“No, I don’t,” Clarke repeats, her hands sneaking under your shirt and traveling to your back.
“I do hope that you at least like me,” you laugh again. “I’d be sad otherwise.”
“Go to sleep, Lexa,” you hear Clarke say. “I’m so done with you today,” she giggles.
“You’re awfully bossy for someone who’s lost today, Clarke,” you shift a little and lower yourself so that you bury your face in her chest.
Minutes pass and you’re engulfed in the familiar warmth which is Clarke, her hands drawing some kind of patterns on your back. You feel yourself fading away, sleep taking over little by little, step by step. You’re almost out when you hear it, the faintest of words.
“I love you,” Clarke whispers into your hair.
*****
“Tell me about your dad, Clarke,” you whisper one day while lying on Clarke’s stomach, the blizzard outside raging on.
“I’ve told you about my family, Lexa,” she plays with the strands of your hair, twirling it between her fingers.
“And I’ve told you about mine. I want more,” you say, then kiss her flat stomach.
After returning from lectures, you found Clarke still asleep, her black tank top ridden up to reveal her smooth, milky white stomach. Entranced by it, but still sleepy, you placed your head on the soft skin and closed your eyes.
“To be honest, I never got on well with my dad. I always felt closer to my mom. Mom used to say that dad and I were too alike and that’s why we didn’t have a good relationship, we both were too stubborn, hot-tempered. He’d usually yell at me and I’d yell back. Only a few years ago did we start building a better relationship,” Clarke explains.
“You put your differences or should I say – sameness aside?” You ask, kissing her stomach again.
“Not exactly. I just realized he’d never change, but the way I respond to him can. So I started being more patient with him, reacting differently. When he’d yell, I’d just stay silent, remain cool-headed. We started seeing each other in a different light, I became more patient, he became more understanding. Our relationship improved tremendously,” she caresses your hair, raking her fingers through it gently. “We grew really close in the past few years.”
“I’m sure he will be alright. He’s a fighter and the doctors are doing all they can,” you try to reassure her. “Besides, you’ve told me that it’s in an early stage. I believe he’ll get better soon.”
“I know, it’s just… really difficult,” her hands find their way to your shoulder blades; her fingers trace the bones there.
“I know I can’t fully understand how you feel, but you have me either way, Clarke,” you pull up her shirt a bit more and leave a trail of kisses there.
“Thank you, Lexa,” her nails carefully travel throughout your back, scratching it.
There’s caution in Clarke’s voice and you figure that you still can’t put your finger on what’s wrong. But something definitely is.
*****
The bubble finally bursts.
“You never tell me what’s wrong, Clarke!” You try to reason with her.
Clarke came by. The heavy silence indicated that something happened, but when you asked about it, she just brushed it off. As always. You felt on the edge, fed up with the phrases “I’m okay” or “It’s nothing really”. You just wanted to know, to help, to get her to talk, to share.
“Lexa,” her voice is dangerously quivering and you know that she’s on the edge too.
“I want to help. I am always here for you, but that’s not enough either for you, or for me,” you say. ”I can’t just ignore that there’s something wrong. I care about you,” you explain to her, but she just stands in the middle of the room, her face pale and indifferent.
There’s a long pause and Clarke looks so small and tired. As if the whole world just crashed down, pulling her with it. You don’t mind the silence if it means that you’ll get an explanation, just something that might help you understand. You care for her, God; you never cared for anyone as much as her. You cross your hands on your chest and wait. After a few more minutes Clarke starts shaking.
“I am in a constant state of fear. Every phone call or text I get, I feel so anxious, I’m terrified. What if something’s wrong with my dad at the hospital? What if I get a call that something happened to you? That you did something to yourself, Lexa?” Clarke yells. “Do you have any idea of what I have to deal with every day?” Her words take you aback.
You should have foreseen it really. It’s true then, you’re the problem. It never changes, does it? People always walk away from you, not being able to deal with who, what you are, not taking you seriously. They think you do this for fun, slit your wrists occasionally, no big deal. They think that you’re weak, not being able to take anything life throws at you. Why? Are you too self-centered? Too absorbed in your problems? Too fragile? Lacking empathy? To hell with this.
“You aren’t obliged to take care of me, Clarke. I am not a child,” you say.
“You’re not, but you act like one sometimes!” She’s furious, emotional. “You think that if you cut yourself, all of the problems will disappear? It doesn’t work that way, does it?” Clarke’s voice is heated, laced with some sort of venom you’ve never heard before. So that’s what she really thinks, huh?
“That’s great, Clarke, really fucking great. Thanks,” you say coldly. “Yes, my coping methods are probably the worst, but at least I deal with my problems, I don’t run away. I’m not pretending like you. I may be a liar, Clarke, but you’re a hypocrite,” your voice is ice cold.
“Lexa,” Clarke tries. “I didn’t mean…” Clarke stutters as she stares at the ground.
“No, Clarke, you did,” you interrupt her. “You said exactly what you meant.”
“Lexa… Please,” there are tears in her eyes, but you’re unmoved, not one bit. You just feel hurt, betrayed, tired, dead.
“Just go,” you clench your fists tightly, the knuckles as white as the snow outside. “Just, go,” you repeat as you turn away from her, unshed tears burning the back of your eyelids.
You hear the door being shut and the tears finally escape. You stare at the whiteness of the snow outside and realize how empty you feel. There’s probably no salvation after all.
*****
It’s been three days since your fight with Clarke. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, new scars appear on your arm, but no one notices them when you’re dressed in cute sweaters that hide them. It’s a curse really. Being so self-conscious of your methods and realizing how terrible and self-destructive they are. Clarke’s right though – something bad happens and you go back to your extreme coping methods. You’re weak, disgusting.
Again, you stop paying attention to the world around you, pretending it doesn’t exist.
Winter is in full swing here, the holidays are coming fast. You dread every second of it.
*****
There’s a knock on the door in the middle of the night. Your sleepy mind does not fully comprehend what’s what when you open the door and your face scrunches from the lighted hallway.
“I don’t want to fight. I want to apologize,” you hear a familiar voice say. “I’m sorry I said those things.”
You open the door for her to come in. The both of you stand in the middle of the dark room, and it takes a while for you to see her features in the dark clearly. You say nothing, just wait for Clarke to say what she wants and you’ll take it from there. She nervously adjusts the sleeves of her black hoodie.
“You were right, Lexa,” you hear a sob escape her mouth. “I don’t deal with my problems; I just bury them in myself. I am a hypocrite. I didn’t want to tell you how I felt most of the time because I was afraid for your well-being. I didn’t want to add up to your problems.”
Add up to your problems. Wait. Add up to your problems? You think how nothing makes sense anymore. Absolutely nothing.
“How dare you say this?” You ask her calmly. “How dare you say that my problems are more important than yours?” You shake your head.
“Lexa?” Clarke asks cautiously, waiting for you to continue.
“You keep everything inside, locked away from me, you let it build and bubble over the edges. Then you lash out at me and tell me my methods are bad?” You ask her. “Then, you have the audacity to say you don’t want to add up to my problems, but still expect me to somehow know what’s going on without ever telling me? What the fuck, Clarke?”
“I, I just wanted…” Clarke stutters, lost for words.
“I would have supported you. Whatever you said, whatever you did, I would have put my problems aside and be there for you, always. Yes, I’m fragile, not as strong as you, but I knew I could confide in you, be honest with you, believe in you. It’s a shame you didn’t feel the same way about me,” your dead eyes stare at her lifeless, empty ones.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” she looks away. “I didn’t want to trigger anything. I didn’t want to make it all about me.”
“You’ve upset me even more by not trusting me,” you reply as you go past her and to the door. You hold it open, not saying a word.
You notice the trail of tears on her cheeks, but you’re stubborn, too stubborn and too hurt by this. You watch Clarke leave again.
Sometimes, when someone won’t let you in for too long, you eventually stop knocking.
*****
Raven and Octavia try their best to be the peacekeepers, but you tell them that it’s not their business and they shouldn’t be affected by what’s going on between you and Clarke.
“But you’re fighting,” Octavia says as the three of you spend your time in the cozy coffee shop near campus. They dragged you out, almost carried you out, even though you said that you didn’t want to see anyone. But also you needed a break from the same four walls that you were stuck in.
“It’s not like Lincoln and you do not fight,” you take a gulp of the hot coffee and turn to her.
“We do but it’s ten times simpler than this mess,” she waves her hand at you. “Raven, help me out here,” she pleads, adjusting the laces of her combat boots.
“Well, the both of them have super complex personalities,” Raven interjects. “I’m not judging you, you’re both terrible,” Raven says as you shoot her a deadly glare.
“You know what’s not cool? Clarke not opening up to you. You know what’s not cool as well?” Octavia continues. “You relying on Clarke to save you.”
“Octavia,” Raven gives her a warning look.
“No, Raven, let me say this,” Octavia explains. “I understand that Clarke means a lot to you and that it’s been easier ever since the two of you got together. But she’s not a coping mechanism, Lexa,” Octavia shakes her head slightly.
“Of course she isn’t!” You say loudly, your voice mixed with disbelief that they could ever think that.
“But you’re treating her like she is,” Octavia takes a gulp. “It’s like you’re trying to balance her and everything that’s going on with your parents. It doesn’t work that way, she can make mistakes, be in a bad mood. I’m terrible at this, but you know what I mean,” she points to Raven and then takes a sip of her bitter black coffee.
“I do,” Raven answers seriously and grips the warm mug with her two hands. “Lexa, you don’t need Clarke to save you. Same with Clarke.”
“It’s not about that. We’re not some damsels in distress, it’s about trust. She made me feel like it’s all about me, like she doesn’t matter, but she does. She doesn’t tell me anything even if I ask! I try to be there for her, but I just feel useless!” You smash your fist on the table and Octavia jumps up slightly.
“It sucks. I get it,” Raven says. “I don’t even know how to help.”
“I’m not a psychic, I can’t read her mind. I try to be there for her, but she doesn’t let me. She probably thinks that if she upsets me with her problems, I’ll just jump off of a building ten seconds later. I’m her girlfriend and she doesn’t even tell me what’s wrong.”
“Give her time? Clarke has always been like this,” Octavia says. “She has always kept her problems to herself,” she puts the empty mug back on the coffee shop table.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” you stare at the coffee. It’s always me,” you murmur quietly.
“Clarke is only human, Lexa,” Raven says. “Don’t forget that,” the three of you fall into heavy silence.
*****
It’s Friday night and you spend your time in bed. It’s been about a week since you fought. You feel weird to say the least. You don’t want for Clarke to hold herself back on your behalf but at the same time, you’re broken and lost and hurt and.... You understand what Raven and Octavia tried to tell you and they’re right at some point, you can’t rely on another person to solve your problems. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be there for them. You want to be there for Clarke, you want to, but there’s a wall between you in this matter, and it seems that nothing you do helps you get closer to her. Have you not told her that you have her back? Have you not said you will be there for her? You lie in bed and think, and think, and think how this can be solved, but you truly have no idea.
At 4 AM you realize that you don’t deserve her, at all. That it’s the reason she’s holding back. That it’s because you’re weak, because you jump from one extreme to the other. All of this, what’s been happening with Clarke, comes back to you. You are the root of the problem and roots need to be weeded out.
*****
You called Clarke, told her you needed to talk to her, she told you to come by. You feel spaced out, like nothing’s real anymore, like it’s happening to someone else, not you. You feel disassociated. The quiet of her room doesn’t help either.
“What are you talking about?” Clarke seems very confused. “I don’t understand. Lexa?”
“I’m unworthy of you. I wish I was,” you explain in a monotone voice. “You deserve better, and it’s really difficult for me to say this, but I’m just pulling you down. I wish I was stronger, I wish I could have taken the pain away from you,” you look at her, your eyes empty, and you just feel like you’ve gone mad, like nothing matters anymore. Maybe it doesn’t.
“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not pulling me down,” Clarke’s eyes are full of tears once more as she tries to caress your face. “Lexa, don’t do this.”
“Clarke, you don’t understand,” you voice breaks and it takes moments to pull yourself back together.
“Are you breaking up with me?” She asks. “Is this how it ends?”
“No. I just, I don’t, I feel…” you can’t find the right words. “I think we need a time out, I don’t know… I don’t know what’s happening anymore,” you try to explain in vain.
“Lexa, you don’t need to,” she tries, but you interrupt her.
“Clarke,” you shake your head. “I’m broken. I rely on you too much to make things better, while I do nothing. I’m just terrible. I mean, I have to be, right? Because why would this be happening then? I’m trash. I’m weak, and I don’t want you to think that it’s you. It’s all me, all the time,” you start shaking.
“You are not terrible,” she takes a step closer. “People wait lifetimes to meet someone like you,” she whispers in your ear as her hands hold you tightly, not wanting to let go.
You stand like that for a while. Maybe if you ignore the problem, it will go away? Maybe if you close your eyes, you’ll forget. But things never go that way. You feel like you’re falling, like the last remnants of you as a person are being deleted. You no longer feel right in your own skin.
“You’ll just leave either way, inevitably. You’ll walk away too, sooner or later. Just like all of them. In time, I know this will happen,” you say to Clarke. “Just like all of the people I ever cared for, like my friends who’ve left me,” you can’t seem to stop shaking.
You’ve been down this road before. You've been the one that endures when your friends leave and people fuck off, and you're left alone to pick up the pieces, getting damaged even more, barely able to glue the pieces of what’s left back together. You don’t want to ever walk that path again. Not with her, not with Clarke. She deserves so much more than you can give, even if she did hurt you.
“I’m not like any of them,” she says, her voice strong, even though there are tears staining her cheeks.
“You’ll leave. I know you will. Or you’ll start hating me,” your arms tremble and you can’t seem to scrub the blood off of your hands. “And I don’t want that, I don’t want that…”
“No, I won’t,” Clarke pleads; more tears appear in her eyes as you carefully pull away from her. “Lexa, I need you, you need me. Don’t do this.”
“I don’t believe you,” you say as you walk away.
You can hear Clarke’s tears hit the floor, the sound repeating over and over in your head.