archenemy | clexa

twenty two

Lexa wakes up the next morning nearly simutaenously as Clarke, due to routine and the noises outside. To Lexa's horror, she's closer to Clarke than she ever wants to be. They're laying on opposite sides of the bed still, but Clarke is facing her, and Lexa's expressions immediately twist into a scowl when she looks into tired blue.

Before she can turn away though, Clarke, as though she couldn't be more bored, says with a voice raspy of sleep, "You have sleepy stuff there."

"What?"

Clarke reaches out and Lexa tenses when the soft pad of Clarke's fingertip reaches up to her nose and brushes away some of the 'sleepy stuff'. "Fuck off," Lexa snaps, only mildly hateful but enough for Clarke to glare at her.

"I was trying to help you."

"I just woke up, please spare me the trouble so early the morning."

"Fine. Just know that you look like something I drew with my left hand after waking up."

"Will you go back to battle today?" Lexa ignores her and Clarke sits up to lean against the headboard.

"Yeah, on a horse," Clarke answers shortly, and isn't surprised to find Lexa opposing the idea.

"Please don't."

"Why?"

"Higher survival chances."

"Fuck you. Maybe I should go to Azgeda instead and see what they have to offer me in this war, after all I'm not really involved in your drama. Imagine that, you wouldn't last a day. Heard that side's pretty nice, quite convincing, I would actually be treated like a princess over there- maybe I should reconsider, because I can't stand being in this tent with you."

"Oh yeah? Well then fuck off and the problem's solved for both of us." Lexa sounds angrier now, her throat tight with words she wants to yell at this stupid, pretentious Goddess.

Lexa wonders if Clarke can read minds. She thinks 'fuck you, fuck you, fuck you' several times extra clearly in case Clarke can. Clarke seems unbothered. Instead of reacting, she says, "I would never do something for you voluntarily."

-

Lexa hates herself. She does, anyway, but more so that day.

Somehow, she slips deeper into an ocean of quicksand everyday that's so full of problems, she's pushed further and further to the brink of desperation at an alarming pace.

She's not supposed to be affected by war at all. She's not supposed to see the blood-soaked grass, the cut off bodyparts, the stiff corpses, and give any of it a second thought. Usually, she never does.

That day, just that day, she's so close to it though, so close to the screams and the smell of blood and decay, so close to a mess that's getting out of control, that she seems unable to keep it out of her subconscious mind.

She hates herself for that. She hates herself for it, but not nearly as much as for the causes this leads to.

Clarke talked about Azgeda, about switching sides, so positively that morning that Lexa's remarks have been sharper and more hateful after coming back from battle. She doesn't want to hear the exact thoughts Costia must have had. She doesn't want to know anything about the stupid Azgedan Prince whom Costia is with now, the way she's treated 'better', the political opportunities- all that might be appealing to Clarke too.

So, Lexa's been an asshole. She's crossed some lines with one foot on the wrong side. Clarke deserves it, Lexa isn't sorry.

She's not sorry, but she's ashamed. She's ashamed because these images of a particularly cruel day are burned in her head now and they creep into her dreams.