Postcard Princess

Ch. 20

Clarke changed into shorts and an old shirt. With her old sneakers on, she walked across the street, slowing as she thought of Bellamy. He was right to call her a runaway, she knew she was. But, it stung a little to hear someone else say it.

Running to friend's houses, the cemetery, any surrounding city. For years and years it was what she did. Would she always just be a runaway?

She unlocked the door, emotions crushing her chest. But, she held it together as she walked around the house. She opened all of the windows and doors, allowing a small amount of fresh air to come in.

Her shoes left footprints as she unlocked the door to her father's study. Anither round of guilt came on as she thought about the knob. She had no right to go out a buy a new one that locked, to lock her mother out of the office, but she had done it out of anger when she had seen Marcus in there. It was still wrong.

Sliding her fingers across the clock on his desk, her fingers were covered in dust. The glass now visible, though.

Hearing car doors, she made her way to the driveway, surprised. Her mother had hired three different cleaning services and a junk truck.

"Okay," she said awkwardly. "Basically, the house hasn't been touched in a very long time today so dust is the biggest problem. The garage is open, so everything in the house but furniture needs to be brought there after cleaning so I can sort through it. And, thank you."

Twelve women entered her house, bags and bags of cleaning supplies. Raven arrived shortly after, helping Clarke sort though clothes, books, and random things that were left.

All books were returned to her father's study except the one she saved for Octavia. The junk trunk was almost full of a few furniture pieces and a ton of junk. Especially clothes.

As the sun set, the house was spotless and finally empty again. She had sent Raven away earlier, telling her she needed food and a shower. She made one last walk through, her hands sliding over the wooden desk, her finger slipping into the dent she had put in the desk from trying to shove toys in her father's face.

She feared be would be angry, but he had smiled. "Now it has character." He had told her.

Sniffling, Clarke closed all the doors and windows, locking up before she went back to Bellamy's house. Covered in sweat and dust, she made a straight shot for the shower, putting the book for O on the kitchen table.