Chapter 8
A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the wait, I was super busy, I didn't even have the time to write this chapter :/ But now it's here and I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for all the comments and kudos, I feel really blessed that so many of you like this story :)
As always, shoutout to my friend Will who always edits these chapters.
You really think you’d be braver, but you’re shaking so hard, you can’t even sit still. You walk around your room for what seems like the hundredth time, trying to distract yourself from all of these thoughts. Time seems to have slowed down; you count the seconds until you see her. Breathe in, breathe out. Why are you so afraid? It’s only Clarke. It’s only the person whose heart you probably broke, it’s only her. It’s only the person that carries yours, no big deal. There’s a knock on the door and you feel like there’s a lump in your throat, breathing becomes even more difficult, your stomach turns and you feel dizzy. It all seems so surreal; you can’t help but think that it’s all a dream. Though your bandaged wrist pulses with real pain and you figure out that it’s now or never. You need to tell her so many things; you need to be honest, starting with that night because you know that Clarke still has so many unanswered questions. You take a deep breath and open the heavy wooden door. Clarke stands there, hair in a messy bun, light blue button up shirt and skinny black jeans. Your breath hitches because she looks so beautiful, so gorgeous, ethereal even. But the dark circles under her eyes and general tiredness indicate a lot of stress and many sleepless nights. You feel terrible because you know you’re one of the causes of that, not to mention other things that Clarke has been dealing with that you don’t know. She walks straight through you until she’s standing in the middle of the room, never saying a word. Her every move spits anger and you close your eyes for a second before closing the door and turning to face her. You take a deep breath again. Now or never, huh?
“You wanted to see me?” Clarke breaks the silence first and crosses her hands on her chest.
“Yes,” you whisper and gulp carefully. You’ve prepared tons of speeches; your mind came up with thousands of reasons, explanations. But as you’re standing in the middle of the room, which for some reason suddenly feels unfamiliar, your mind goes absolutely blank. You look at this beautiful girl who means the world to you and pray that haven’t fucked up too bad.
“Lexa?” The harshness in Clarke’s voice is gone as you look straight into those blue eyes of hers. You don’t understand what’s going on because our body moves on its own accord, you don’t command it anymore. It feels light, weightless and you don’t seem to control your feet.
You lunge into Clarke as if it’s the last time you’ll get to do it. Your hands embrace her so tight that you think you’re going to accidentally crush her. Your hands around her neck bring her closer to you and you bury your face in the bare space between her neck and shoulder. You wait for Clarke to push you away, to say coldly that it’s not how to deal with things, but the words never come, you never hear them. After a few seconds, her hands find their way on your skinny waist, under your shirt and embrace you tightly. Your body starts shaking uncontrollably, but Clarke just rubs your back gently, never letting go.
“I’m so sorry,” your tears stain her shirt. “I’m so sorry, Clarke,” you sob.
“Shhh… We’ll figure this out, alright? We’ll talk it out,” she kisses your temple softly.
“You probably hate me. How could you not? I’ve been terrible, I’ve hurt you so bad…” you whisper into the soft skin of her neck and breathe in her scent, her perfume, her everything.
“You did… You really did,” she agrees and your heart aches.
“Clarke…” you repeat her name like a prayer. “Clarke…” you can’t stop shaking.
You cry and cry until her shirt is soaked in your tears, but the blonde doesn’t say anything. Clarke doesn’t back away, doesn’t try to wriggle out of your grasp, she just holds you. You have no idea how long you stand like that until your grip finally loosens and you manage to take a step back from her. It takes some more time to look her in the eye again and when you do, you see only the light in them.
Maybe you haven’t fucked up to the point of no return. Maybe there’s still hope. Maybe not.
*****
“Have you eaten?” Clarke asks carefully, sitting in front of your little round table.
“I have,” you answer shyly and look down at your feet. “Do you want some coffee?” You offer her and take a step towards the sink.
“I’d love to,” she says and relaxes into the chair while you fuss over the said coffee.
You make the drink in silence, knowing that something is building up, growing, scared for the consequences, scared for the end result. You know you have to tell her, it’s not the time to keep secrets, not anymore. You want to, you need to be as honest with Clarke as possible, it’s the only way to salvage this relationship. If there’s still anything to salvage.
“I wanted to die,” you say as you set the cups of fresh coffee on the table and then take a seat yourself, trying not to act too nervous.
“I know, you’ve…You’ve told me,” the blonde stutters and reaches out for the cup. “I still can’t believe you tried to kill yourself,” Clarke exhales and shakes her head.
“But I didn’t try to kill myself!” You try to explain to her while taking a sip of the bitter liquid. “I didn’t do any of that on purpose, as in trying to kill myself directly,” you say carefully.
“But…” Clarke tries, confusion evident in her face, but you interrupt her by holding out your hand in from of yourself.
“Wait, Clarke. Please let me finish,” she nods. “Not eating, not sleeping, even cutting myself, it’s like my natural state, the self-destruction state, it wasn’t abnormal to me. I got really drunk then, I accidentally cut into the nerve of my wrist. My mind couldn’t comprehend what was going on, it was lagging so much. My mind was somewhere beyond this,” you avoid her gaze as you try your best to recall what happened and how you’ve felt that time.
“And the painkillers?” She asks. “What about them?” Clarke tilts her head to the side a bit.
“I had a headache, and because I was drunk, I couldn’t understand what I was doing,” you know how ridiculous this sounds, you’re not sure you’d believe something like this yourself. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself, but let’s say I wasn’t doing anything to stop it. Even when I felt that I don’t feel good, I didn’t stop, I just pushed myself even further,” you feel bare even if you’re fully clothed. You tried so hard to ignore that you were so full of apathy when you almost died.
“Was it because you didn’t care about yourself?” Clarke stares at the half-empty cup.
“Yes,” you answer ashamed. “Because I fucked up, because everything was too much. I am a coward in a way… No, not in a way, I am a coward; I’d rather drown than stand up and face anything that’s thrown my way. I run away,” you shake your head.
Clarke’s fingers grip the cup tighter, but her other hand, a bit hesitantly, reaches out for yours. She covers it with her warm one and you sit in silence for a while. You could pretend everything is fine; you could both ignore everything that happened, but that’s not a way to deal with shit. You both need to acknowledge what you did wrong and stand up to it. You’re trying to at least. You want to finally resolve everything like an adult, even if it’s something scary, uncomfortable. You need to take responsibility for your actions and stop trying to hide behind everyone’s backs.
“You are not a coward. You’re just not good at dealing with shit, I’m not good at dealing with it either,” her thumb rubs the top of your hand softly, cautiously.
“That doesn’t excuse my behavior,” you hear yourself say. “That doesn’t excuse anything,” you close your eyes.
“No,” she says a bit coldly. “No, it doesn’t,” she retracts her hand and you miss it right away, you miss the warmth it emits.
“Things won’t get easier, it won’t be easy,” you say to her, to yourself, trying to convince the both of you.
Things were never easy, huh? As long as you remember, things were never easy, not for the two of you. Maybe it was in the beginning when you didn’t know better, but later everything went downhill. You try to remember when was the exact moment that everything went to shit, but you can’t seem to remember. Two very complex personalities trying to survive in this world and not drown the other. You and Clarke tried your best to overcome personal challenges and help the other, but still, you both crashed and burn. Will you be able to get back up? To learn from the past?
“I need time,” Clarke says quite abruptly as she stands up. “I need time to think, Lexa.”
“I know,” you say casually as if you’ve foreseen what she’d say. “I’ll wait for whatever you decide,” you stand up as well and accompany her to the door.
The smile on her face is small, sad, but it’s a smile nevertheless and even when she leaves, your chest doesn’t feel as tight as it used to.
*****
You go to the hospital to see your psychiatrist once a week, just like you promised. You contemplated ignoring it, not going to see him a couple of times, but then you realized that you need to put some effort in getting better. But the thing is - you’re not sure you feel better. Sometimes, you feel numb from all of the meds you’ve been taking, numb to everything around you. Sometimes, you feel overly emotional. And only sometimes you feel alright, like you’re not being strangled by the world. While riding the bus, you think about your psychiatrist and how he seems alright. He’s trying to help you even though you question some of his methods sometimes. But it’s only natural. Sometimes, he annoys you and you think that you’d rather ignore meeting him for a couple of times. You know that it’s his job; also, making you question things is a part of the healing process. The most difficult part is to express what you feel in words, you’re not that used to it. Of course, there was Clarke, and you talked to her about most of the things that bothered you, but it still seems so difficult to just outright say why and how you’re hurting. You have to say exactly how you feel and why you feel it, and sometimes, it would be so much easier to just sit in silence. Most of the time, the silence describes the way you feel best, but you need to remember that you need to play by the rules.
“How is your relationship with Clarke?” He asks after about a half hour talk. “Last time you’ve told me that you didn’t break up,” he recalls as he rummages through the pages of the clipboard.
“It’s only been a few days, I’m being patient,” you sink into the cool leather armchair. “And no, we didn’t break up. I want to try and fix our relationship. If it’s possible of course,” you say.
“Are you ready for whatever outcome?” The psychiatrist takes off his glasses for a moment and looks straight at you.
“No,” you say simply. “I’m not. I try not to overthink it,” your explanation falls flat the moment it leaves your mouth.
“What I am worrying about, Lexa, is what your reaction may be if she rejects you,” he puts the glasses back on. “I worry about how you’ll deal with the news either way,” his voice concerned.
“You’re afraid I’ll do something drastic,” you realize what he’s trying to say.
Why wouldn’t you? You’ve cut yourself, starved, didn’t sleep and in most of their minds – tried to kill yourself. So yes, why wouldn’t you do something radical again? What probably annoys you the most is how they think that you only work in extremes. You’ve noticed their concerned looks when something bad happens, how your mother would glance at you occasionally, hoping you’re not cutting yourself again, but having no way of knowing it for sure. Your dad asks how you are feeling about a dozen times a day and you know that he means well and cares, but it annoys you. Raven and Octavia would ask you something very casual, but still fear for how you’d answer, trying their best to understand how you feel and should they feel cautious about your answers and mood swings. How can you get better if people keep tiptoeing around you?
“Yes,” he nods in agreement. “I fear for your safety,” the psychiatrist says bluntly.
“I am not that desperate to cut myself after every bad thing,” you roll your eyes at him.
“But this isn’t a casual, everyday thing either, Lexa. You care for her, you care for this relationship and how everything will pan out,” you look down because you know what he means.
“I don’t know how I’ll react, even if I brace myself for the worst, I don’t know for sure how it will go,” you say honestly. “Even if you know what’s coming, you can never prepare for it,” you try your best to find the words to describe it.
“That’s… Incredibly mature of you to say, Lexa,” he genuinely looks surprised. “But I want you to give me a call if you feel bad, if things go bad, etc. Do you understand?” He asks you.
“Yes,” you nod in agreement.
“How have you been feeling in general? Do you feel better? What are you thinking the most about these days?” He barrages you with questions, a pen in his hand.
“I’ve been feeling alright,” you answer. “But I don’t know if I feel better. It’s a weird feeling actually,” you stop talking for a second and take a deep breath.
“Can you try to describe it, Lexa?” He adjusts in his seat and waits for you to explain what you really mean.
“It’s like I’m in space and the time there does not exist. And I don’t know when will the time start flowing again,” you stop and think for a second. “I feel like it’s a pause before something, like time has frozen. I’m really bad at explaining things,” you laugh a bit and glance at the shelves full of books.
“Maybe you feel like this because you’re waiting for Clarke?” He suggests. “Maybe before you get her answer you can’t concentrate on other things?” This makes a lot of sense.
“I think so,” you nod. “I think this might be the case,” your voice is surprised because he just put the things you’ve been feeling into words.
“It’s alright, Lexa,” you see him smile. “You’ll figure everything out, you need just a bit more time,” he writes something down.
“I hope so,” you smile a bit as well and get up to leave the office.
You hope you will. You hope you’ll manage to face the world once the clock starts ticking again.
*****
It’s been a week and no word from Clarke. You start getting paranoid a bit, thinking she might never want to see you again. But no, you know Clarke; you know she wouldn’t leave it like this. So you patiently wait for any news. You try to brace yourself, but you remember your own words and realize you can’t get ready for her words, no matter what she says. A week passes and a new semester starts. You can’t believe it, but you feel better now that the lectures have started. Who would have thought that you’d feel better by going to classes and seeing more people than usual? Maybe this has to do something with spending less time alone with your thoughts; you don’t have as much time to overthink things. Besides, doing homework, going to classes is a great distraction. You need to get back on track and try your best. For yourself.
You hear the door open and close silently one night. You feel someone get in the bed with you. You smile when you feel hands wrap around your waist and you fall asleep peacefully.
*****
You lie in bed with Clarke, today’s lectures absolutely forgotten, sweet bliss while rolling around in the white sheets. Clarke’s lips are near your ear, whispering all kinds of sweet things that your sleepy mind can’t yet comprehend. Her hands wander and caress the skin of your waist, where your shirt has ridden up. You stare at the ceiling and keep thinking – what now? What happens now? What does it all mean? You still haven’t talked that much.
“I missed you when I couldn’t sleep. I missed you all the time to be honest. I missed your voice, your smile, your sad eyes. I missed your hair, the scent of your shampoo, the perfume you dab in the crux of your neck,” you both lie in bed as Clarke decides to recite all of the things she missed about you. “I missed your cold hands and long legs, the warmth of you sleeping next to me,” she whispers into your ear and you shiver at the affectionate tone of her husky voice.
“Clarke, I’m…” you turn to face her, but she doesn’t let you with half of her lying on you, so you continue staring at the ceiling.
“I missed your laugh, your sense of humor,” she doesn’t stop. “I missed your wits, your smart mouth. I missed how excited you get when you see flowers, how disheveled you look right after waking up. Just like now,” she giggles a bit and your lazy smile gets wider.
“Clarke…” you close your eyes, give into the warmth that is her. You find her hand on your waist and you lace your hands together, doing so while smiling.
“I missed your moans, how your back would arch when you were close. I missed your expressions at your release, how your mouth would be agape, your erratic breathing,” she says and you feel too close to the sun, burning, yearning. You finally manage to turn on your side and face her.
Clarke’s blonde locks are messy and her eyes are still somewhat sleepy. You can’t help but think that she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen and nothing could change that. Your right hand caresses her soft cheek and you tuck a strand of blond wild hair behind her ear. You kiss her. Once, twice, another peck. You kiss her nose, her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids.
“I missed you too,” you arch into her lips to kiss her again, this time – more deeply.
*****
You thought everything would be fine. And it was, wasn’t it? But no, no. Progress is an illusion as you stand in the bathroom with a sharp razor blade in your hand. Do things ever get better? Or are we always stuck in a dysfunctional cycle we can’t avoid? Shit gets better, shit gets worse. The razor hasn’t yet touched your skin, but you feel the burning need of it to do so. Clarke is just a few feet away, she’s in your room, listening to music and making dinner. The thing is, you don’t even understand what prompted this, you were fine one second, and the next you just feel that the whole world fell apart again. You can’t understand how something like this can happen. Clarke didn’t tell you anything bad, nothing bad happened today, you didn’t even think about anything negative, and still. Yet here you are, clutching the razor blade and trying not to make a sound that would indicate that you’re doing something wrong. Your left sleeve of the sweater is rolled up and you stare into the mirror. You remember that night, the darkness within you, the loneliness, the pain. It even seems that you taste the alcohol and the painkillers, you feel like you’ll throw up any minute. You glance at your bandaged wrist; you remember the stitches, the blood, the hurt. You remember Clarke’s terrified face and you realize that you don’t want her to experience something like this ever again. With the razor blade still in hand, you carefully unlock the bathroom door. The second that the blonde sees you, her face turns pale and she puts down the spices that were in her hands.
“Clarke…” you mutter quietly. “Clarke, help,” you say as the hand that holds the razor blade doesn’t feel like yours anymore, it seems that it doesn’t move even if you want to.
“Lexa, put the blade down,” Clarke says calmly. “It’s ok, don’t worry, everything is fine. Just put it down,” she tries her best not to panic even if her eyes are wide.
“I…” you try to say something, but can’t seem to formulate a normal and coherent sentence.
“Lexa,” the blonde repeats. “Put. The blade. Down,” Clarke says slowly.
You look at your hands and you notice that they’re shaking. Your left hand goes numb. Your eyes are wide open in panic because you feel like you’ve turned to stone – you can’t move. What will Clarke think of all of this? That you wanted to harm yourself in secret again? That something happened and prompted this? Your mind races and it seems like centuries have passed.
“Do you want to talk about it? Let’s talk about,” she snaps you out of this as Clarke gently takes a step closer.
“Take it away from me, Clarke,” you manage to say as you freeze again. “Take it,” your hands shake even more, you don’t feel your left hand.
Clarke warily comes closer and takes your hand, then carefully takes the razor as to not cut you accidentally. She then goes back to the bathroom to put it away, if not to toss it in the garbage bin. You stand rooted in one spot still unable to move. After a few minutes, you feel her embrace you from behind, gluing her body to yours. The second she does, you feel lighter, better and it seems that you can move and talk again.
“Thank you,” you whisper and Clarke nuzzles into your long and wavy hair. “I don’t know what came over me,” you put your hands on top of hers, gingerly rocking you both back and forth.
“Do you want to talk about it? Did something happen? Was it something I said?” Clarke’s voice is concerned, but you just shake your head slightly.
“I don’t know, Clarke,” you say honestly. “I don’t know what came over me. But nothing bad happened, I swear. And it’s not because of you. I really don’t know what came over me,” you exhale heavily.
“It’s ok,” she carefully kisses the back of your neck through your hair. “It’s ok,” she whispers again.
You turn around to hug her and she holds you tightly. You breathe in her scent and in time you calm down.
*****
“Clarke, do you believe I can get better?” You ask her one day suddenly.
“What prompted this question?” She yawns as she stops reading a book in bed.
“I mean, do you honestly believe it?” You continue eating the breakfast you’ve made. “Do you really think I can get better just like that?” You take a bite of the buttered toast.
“I don’t think you can get better just like that, it takes some time,” Clarke puts the book on her chest and thinks. “I think it takes a lot of effort too. I think it takes a lot of effort from you, and from the people that surround you,” the blonde yawns again.
“I see,” you sip on the orange juice. “But how do I not ruin others?” You ask her.
“What do you mean, Lexa?” Clarke stretches a bit and then sits up to see you better.
“Do you know that saying? What was it again?” You try to remember. “Be careful when trying to fix a broken person, you may cutyourself on their shattered pieces?” You quote.
“You’re not broken,” Clarke says without even turning her head.
“I think I am,” you shift in the chair. “I think I am,” you repeat again.
“You’re being too hard on yourself, Lexa,” Clarke carefully puts down the book on the bed and comes closer. “I think you need to think less about how things can go, and let them go their own way,” the blonde sits on your lap as her hands find their way around your neck.
“I know, but I can’t,” you brush a few locks away from her face. “My mind is always racing, thinking, coming up with strategies,” you shift again so your leg doesn’t go numb.
“We will find a way,” Clarke kisses you and you get lost in her kiss. “You’ll be ok,” she gets up, takes your hand leads you to bed.
*****
“How are you doing? I hope everything is alright?” Raven asks, and you know that she sincerely cares; it’s not just her trying to pretend she wants to help and be a better friend for you.
“It is,” you say as you sit down at the table. “More or less, I guess,” you laugh.
Raven came by in the morning, before lectures for a cup of coffee. Clarke was already gone by the time Raven came to your room. It felt strange; you’re somewhat used to seeing Raven somewhere else, in her dorm room, in the coffee shop, at the university. But you’re glad she took the time to come over.
“How is Clarke?” Raven takes a sip. “How are you guys communicating? I hope you’re not keeping stuff from each other again, are you?” She looks at you expectantly.
“I think we’re good,” you put some sugar in your cup. “Where’s Octavia by the way? Haven’t seen her in a while,” you knit your brows together.
“She went to see her brother Bellamy a few days ago, she’ll only return today,” Raven explains.
“Ah, I see,” you say. “I wondered why I haven’t seen her anywhere,” you roll your eyes.
“Yeah, that’s one twisted child. Not to mention that she’s missing out the lectures, which I know, she’ll later ask for me to explain. But whatever. Do you think you’ll be alright with Clarke? Things haven’t been easy for the two of you,” Raven asks hopefully.
“I don’t know, I’m not sure I can answer something like this,” you stir the coffee and take a sip. You really don’t know, it’s not a question you can answer right away.
“Reasonable. But I know you will be, you both have each other,” she smiles at you. “You’ll be fine,” Raven takes another sip.
“How is Finn?” You ask her. You haven’t seen Raven in a while too, so you want to know what is going on in your friend’s life as well.
“He’s great, I spent quite a lot of time at his hometown during the winter break,” she says. “Octavia has spent a lot of time at Lincoln’s too, though he lives closer. Our room is a mess, I don’t know how we didn’t get thrown out of the dorm,” Raven starts laughing.
“I honestly don’t remember the last time I stopped by your dorm room,” you try to recall the mess that Raven’s been talking about.
“Oooh, we need to fix that right away. We can make a movie night, what do you think?” The girl gets excited. “The four of us, some popcorn, some soda or beer. I think we need to spend some time together,” Raven states as she puts the empty cup down on the table.
“I think it would be awesome,” you agree. “Maybe some time next week?” You suggest.
*****
The movie night goes better than you could have ever hoped for. You make some popcorn, Clarke buys some snacks, and you both go to the dorms that are in another building, not that far from yours. Your mouth flies agape when you see how clean it is (Raven and Octavia probably worked their asses off for this) and you all just hug and laugh. The last time the four of you had so much fun together was ages ago, before shit went down. Clarke gives you a bottle of beer and as you kiss her cheek, Octavia makes a disgusted face, then laughs loudly. You all watch some terrible movies and later fall asleep on the floor.
You all wake up with a terrible headache that doesn’t go away until the next day.
*****
“I’m sad we don’t have any lectures together this semester,” Clarke frowns.
“Well I’m glad, you’d distract me,” she rolls her eyes at you and you just shrug.
“What?” You laugh. “I’d just stare at you and not pay attention to the classes,” you tell her as she crosses her arms on her chest. You slightly kick her under the sheets.
“You never pay attention either way, genius,” she pretends to be angry and turns her head away. “But you always do better than like all of the class. It’s not fair,” she knits her eyebrows and purses her lips, which just makes you laugh even more.
“You’re not stupid either, Clarke,” you nudge her a bit. “For a blonde that is,” you laugh again and she lunges into you.
“You don’t mean that, say that you don’t mean that or you’ll sleep on the ground,” Clarke starts tickling you and rolls over so she can pin you down with her weight, but you avert her.
“Why are you always threatening me in my room and especially in my bed, Griffin?” You try to dodge her fingers as you both fall on the ground with a thud, though Clarke doesn’t stop tickling you.
“Because you say the meanest things,” she finally pins you down to the ground.
“You don’t mean that, you love me,” you say and stop wriggling, realizing just what you’ve said.
Clarke stops as well, though your hands are pinned to each side of your face and Clarke’s hovering above you. Her face softens after a few seconds and your heart starts beating again when you see her smile widen.
“I do, I do love you,” she playfully nudges your nose with hers.
“I… I love you too, Clarke,” you feel her grip lighten and you grab the collar of her shirt to smash your lips together.
*****
Soon. You just know it, soon something bad will happen and you’ll have to find a way out of it. Also, you know that Clarke will soon open up about how she has been feeling since the day you allegedly tried to kill yourself. You know it, you know it’s brewing and you patiently wait for all of it. But what she says one day is not what you expected.
“My dad’s health got worse,” Clarke says suddenly and your knees go weak in seconds.
“When? Is he ok?” You ask the blonde carefully, a lump forming in your throat, your body shaking. Is he alright? Did something happen? Why did his condition worsen?
“A week ago. And he’s alright for now,” Clarke says casually and you give her a look of disbelief.
“A week ago? I thought we’re not keeping any secrets anymore!” Your voice is loud and clear and Clarke just closes her eyes for a bit. If this goes on again then you both really have no chance.
“I’m not keeping anything from you, I promise,” the blonde whispers, her head in her palms. “It was when you took the razor blade again. Telling you this at that moment would have been nonsense. It would have been very insensitive of me,” Clarke says angrily in defense as she shakes her head violently.
“There will never be the right time, Clarke,” you shake your head too, disappointed. “Stop putting me above yourself and your feelings. I thought we’ve already discussed this,” you feel like you’ve just been dragged at least a hundred of steps back. You can’t believe this.
Silence falls heavily and neither of you say anything for a couple of minutes. You think about how progress is just an illusion again. Will it be just like this from now on? I didn’t tell you because you did that, I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t the right time and so on?
“I’m sorry, I promise this was the last time. I swear,” she says and moves towards you, eyes full of hope. “Please don’t get angry,” Clarke whispers into your ear as she hugs you tightly.
You think how it’s difficult to get better right away. It always takes a lot of time. You can’t demand for things to get better at once, you can’t get better at once yourself. You also can’t demand for Clarke to change her ways right away, it’s not realistic. You need time, the both of you, to adjust, to manage to work it through, to learn. Your mind eases up a bit.
“It’s alright,” you caress her hair. “It’s alright,” you whisper into her ear.
Is it really? Or do you both just keep deceiving yourselves?