Bloodlines

Bacon And Eggs

The distinct smell of bacon and eggs wafting under my nose was what woke me early that morning. My aching muscles indicated that I'd barely slept a wink, which was no surprise to me considering I slept in such close vicinity to a killer. That sleeps with a gun beneath his pillow like a child with a teddy.

Grumbling from sheer exhaustion, I roll over to my side to see my roommate behind the breakfast bar with a frying pan. He notices me staring, gives me a boyish wink and turns back to continue what he was doing. What an incredibly confusing, messed-up human being.

I haul myself up to a sitting position and proceed to rub the sleep from my tired eyes. Clarke may as well be dancing around the kitchen; he seems to be in such a chirpy mood today. The illuminated digits from the alarm clock on the tv catch my eye, and I gawk. 6 am! Who eats breakfast at 6 am? Who's even functioning at 6 am?

An arm extends out in front of me and I jerk at the sudden appearance. Clarke places a plate of toast, eggs and bacon down on the table, situated next to the couch where I slept. My stomach grumbles loudly and my mouth waters, almost able to taste the food on my lips.

I lift my chin, stubbornly shoving aside my hunger pains. No way was I planning on eating anything this man made for me. Who knows what's in it? It could be cyanide for all I know.

I use my finger to push the plate regrettably away from me. The light scraping on the glass table alerts Clarke, who saunters back over to slide the plate back to me.

"Bonne Appetit."

"Wrong language, asshole," I growl, and my stomach eagerly joins the competition, "I'm not eating it," I refuse, crossing my arms over my chest.

Clarke raises an eyebrow at me before giving me a hard stare over the top of the breakfast table, "you haven't eaten for days, Octavia. And you're going to need your energy. Now eat."

Snarling at him, I give him the middle finger, to which he chuckles lightly.

"Go get dressed, then. There are clothes in the bathroom, you can shower later," he orders pointing to a door at the far end of the room.

"Whatever," I mumble to myself, standing to follow his finger.

Just as Clarke had said, hung over the side of a standalone bathtub was an array of garments. I dressed briskly, questioning my reflection in the slim mirror behind the door. A short-sleeved, pink Lycra top clung to me like a second skin, accentuating my chest, paired together with dark grey shorts, that revealed way too much skin, and incredibly snug-fitting trainers.

Clearly, a man had chosen this outfit.

I'm going to feel uncomfortable walking around wearing this. It's a million miles away from what I'd normally wear.

With a heavy sigh, I storm out of the bathroom. Clarke is waiting for me outside the room. For a minute, I have a mental battle with my brain, and woefully losing, my eyes flick over to soak in his appearance.

Clarke wears a khaki green hoody along with jet black shorts. It seems odd to see him in such casual clothing. I stare as his eyes glide slowly over my body, stopping to linger on my legs. Blushing furiously, I splutter adding a cough to get his attention, and his eyes focus on my face once more.

"I'm not a freaking zoo animal, " I growl.

A smile spreads across his lips at my comment, "Sure. Let's go."

I follow Clarke through various tunnels and hallways before we reach a large open room. A gym hall. My eyes narrow as I take in the various complicated-looking machines, and equipment.