I'm totally improvising this whole thing; I hope you like it. If anyone hasn't noticed, I kind of like the drama of a non-fantasy/dystopian. Highschool angst! Woo. Plus I love mean Bellamy. Mean Bellamy is fun. Please review!
The week came and went faster than I would've liked, the highlights being the time I spent with Finn, studying in my room or me watching Youtube procedures as he went over blueprints on his computer. Some couples spent their time kissing. We spent our time pouring over schoolwork with our feet entwined. It was a pretty good week, but when Friday finally came, I found myself on edge and nervous.
I wasn't exactly looking forward to the dinner with Octavia and her foster family. It made me actually question things I usually didn't question much, such as my clothing. I even put on my good jeans and a scarce, white shirt Thalia informed me was a blouse.
It had come with a plethora of questions, primarily why I was concerning myself with a freshman I didn't even really know, but I'd just shrugged and told her it was no big deal even though my shirt-questioning contradicted it.
So when school let out that afternoon and I'd finished my schoolwork along with some recreational studying, I dawned the sh—blouse—and headed to my car.
It was a cobalt-blue Nissan Versa, given to me by my Mom after . . . well, after. It didn't fit well in the highschool car lots; full of beat-up trucks and family hand-me-downs, and maybe it was a little self-sabotaging in the big way that it didn't help my nickname lose credibility.
But it was still just a car.
Octavia had texted me the address earlier and I followed it to the best of my abilities, onto Harford Road and up a steep hillside dotted with trees. The sky was already a deep purple, coloring the faraway mountains in wisps of faint peach and orange. It would've been beautiful if I allowed myself the time to appreciate it but I was too focused on not getting lost.
Somehow I found my way there, having only needed to backtrack once. But it took me a second to accept that it was the same place as it read on the text.
It was a homey house, if big houses could still be considered homey. And I knew big; I lived in a 3,000 sq. ft. house my family had bought nearly a decade ago. This was probably a little bigger than that, but there seemed to be some small quality to its stone-inlaid foundation. Maybe it had to do with the fact that three people resided in it instead of two.
I parked against their wide yard, decorated with tall pines and even the white-picket fence. I took a deep breath before killing the engine and stepping out into the chilly evening air. I instantly wished I brought a bigger coat than Thalia's jean jacket, but she'd insisted. My worn hoodies apparently didn't meet her coat standards, nor did it matter to her that hers was a size too small for me.
I walked up the drive and up the steps to the front door, painted the color of wood to match the house's trimming. It was beautiful and instantly worsened my anxiety. I felt like my bra was closed one clasp too tight. Or maybe that was the jacket.
I rang the doorbell.
Muffled sounds came from the other side and I waited, standing cumbersomely straight with my hands clasped together.
The door swung open, revealing Octavia. Her brown hair was pulled into a loose tail and she wore the comfortable clothing I wished I had on. My blouse was too thin and the jacket was too small. All in all, I was regretting ever listening to Thalia.
Octavia smiled at me. "Hey! Come on in. I like your shirt."
I stepped inside, into what looked almost like a foyer. A large staircase extended upwards besides a vaulted hallway, pretty and clean and . . . full of voices echoing from the next room.
I looked around, trying to think up some nice comment. "White house," I settled on. It was true the walls were white, but they were also covered in photos. Photos of what I presumed was family. But there was also one of Octavia and farther down, someone who looked like a miniature version of . . .
"Is that Bellamy?" I asked her, peering down at the picture. The curly hair was unmistakable, as were the dark eyes. The smile seemed almost comical, especially since I knew he'd grow into a man that didn't wear it often.
Octavia nodded, brown tail swishing behind her. "Yup. Actually, Clarke, I wanted to talk to you about that."
"About what?"
"About Bellamy. He's"-
But she didn't have the time to finish, as I walked down the rest of the hall that led into the kitchen. There was a redheaded woman setting the table and an older man lounging on the couch, his brown hair dusted grey. And by the pantry lining the walls was the boy from the picture in the flesh.
Bellamy didn't seem to notice me until I was in the room and for a second, that easy expression of that child was clear in his features. But then his eyes settled on me and that look vanished.
Octavia rolled back on her heels. "My brother's kind of . . . here."
I inhaled slowly and gave a small nod of acknowledgement, nothing like the anxiety that suddenly wrapped around my chest. Or the annoyance. Or the blatant displeasure. No, I kept myself poised and not anything like I was feeling.
Mercifully, Mrs. Roffan stepped in then, offering me a warm smile and motioning me farther into the kitchen. "It's nice to meet you, Clarke," she said. "We're glad you could join us."
I wished the feeling could've been mutual but I didn't want to lie and just nodded. "Thank you for having me."
She gestured for me to take a seat at the high ebony table and I obeyed, just as the man in the living room stood from the couch. He was middle-aged with a lanky build, laugh lines fanning out from his eyes. "Hello, Clarke." His voice was much deeper than his frame suggested and I shook his hand. "Good to have you."
I thanked him too and tried to relax in my chair, but it was hard to do when Bellamy took the seat almost directly opposing me.
That newcomer awkwardness settled over the room as Octavia seated herself beside me and Mrs. Roffan started setting out the dinner; chicken casserole and a big bowl of salad, with a basket of bread rolls all placed in the center of the table. Coils of steam wafted from the basket and I momentarily forgot about the tension. I was a sucker when it came to bread.
Portions of the casserole were distributed and though I could've eaten twice as much as I was given, I wasn't going to ask for more. It was actually kind of nice, sitting at a full table for once. It had been nearly two weeks since I'd sat and had a full meal with my mom without her pager going off.
"Thank you, Mrs. Roffan," I said as she handed me back my plate.
"Oh, please, call me Maureen."
I wasn't going to do that, but I smiled anyway, swiping up one of the rolls.
"So, Clarke. Octavia tells us you're quite the student," she gushed, looking up at me as she served herself some of the salad.
I teased the casserole with my fork, hoping my discomfort didn't show. "Grades are really important to me," I answered simply.
"Bellamy gets excellent grades himself," she added, beaming over at him like any proud mother would. If it weren't for her red hair and green eyes that belied any chance of shared genes, I would've forgotten she was a foster mom and not his biological mom.
Bellamy didn't jump at the praise. In fact, he seemed as uncomfortable as I did getting any at all. Strange. The last thing I would've expected to find was common ground with Bellamy Blake.
"And your parents?" Mr. Roffan asked. "What do they do?"
Your parents. I swallowed a bite of casserole. "My Mom works at the hospital downtown."
"Really? Nurse or doctor?"
"Neurosurgeon," I said. "She was the one who got me interested in medicine."
"So you want to follow in her footsteps," Mrs. Roffan said with a look that told me she was impressed.
I twirled the fork in my hand. "Almost. I want to go into pediatrics."
The Roffans exchanged a look of approval with each other. "That's great. So you must like kids then?"
"I . . . like kids a fair amount," I agreed, but seeing the odd expression that crossed their features, I felt an obligation to explain further. "I want to help people," I told them. "I want to give them a chance. No one should go through the kind of pain of . . . losing someone close to you. But I think I want to help kids more because . . . Well," I shrugged. "Kids shouldn't be sick."
Mrs. Roffan smiled sweetly at me, like my words were touching. "Your parents must be proud."
Again with your parents. I managed a small smirk.
"And your father?"
My hand stilled on the fork. I knew this question was coming. It always came. I looked between Mr. and Mrs. Roffan, keeping my voice neutral. No matter how many times I said it, it still felt like the first.
"My Dad passed away. Last year."
There was that uncomfortable silence followed by the sympathetic looks. The entire table simpered and I felt like that person at a school bash who cut the music. Then came the condolences.
"I'm so sorry," Mrs. Roffan said. "How terrible."
I was used to that adjective. I'd received lots of terrible's and awful's and tragic's. I would've thought I'd be accustomed to hearing it all, since I knew I'd be hearing them for the rest of my life. But some things just didn't have the luxury of growing old.
"You didn't tell me that," Octavia mumbled, staring down sadly into her plate. From the corner of my eye, I saw Bellamy watching me. He was the only one at the table who didn't glance away.
"Yeah," I told them all. "It was . . . " Terrible, awful, tragic.
"Our Dad's in prison," Octavia said, so suddenly I nearly dropped my fork. It was quickly followed by Bellamy's admonishment. "O."
"Sentenced to ten years for drug dealing, assault, and resisting arrest," She continued like she hadn't heard him.
"Octavia, stop."
"Mom died giving birth to me. Bellamy pretty much raised me since then."
"Octavia!" Bellamy's shout ricocheted around the room and Octavia finally complied, pursing her lips together.
"Bellamy, you don't need to shout at her like that," Mr. Roffan said, and I saw Bellamy's hands tighten around his own utensils, like he hated being told how he could be around his own sister. "Especially not in front of Octavia's guest."
In my peripheral vision, I saw Bellamy's eyes narrow at me, like my presence was to blame for his outburst.
"Sorry, Clarke," Mr. Roffan said, casting me a look of apology. "Would you care for another roll?"
********
I was relieved when dinner finally drew to a close. I'd only been there an hour or two, but it felt much longer. The Roffan's offered me to stay for a movie and I struggled to keep the panic out of my voice as I hastily declined. They were nice people, but the lack of appeal wasn't due to them. It was due to Bellamy, watching me like he wanted nothing more than for me to remove myself from this household.
I actually preferred him as the smirking party-goer. Since that day, I'd still caught that smirk, but that Saturday had been the last time it was directed at me.
"Bell, be a responsible adult and walk her out," Mrs. Roffan's birdlike voice tweeted after I'd finished helping her put away the dishes. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't necessary, but when she shot him a warning look, I decided it best not to butt in.
Bellamy, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, looked put-off by the thought, but pushed off and sauntered towards me. He brushed past me and to the entrance hall. He yanked the door open.
I hugged Octavia a bit awkwardly and thanked the Roffan's before following after him. Chilly air blasted over me and I couldn't get my coat on fast enough.
I expected for Bellamy to just turn right around and go back inside; maybe wait a few seconds to make it seem like he actually walked me to my car. But he didn't.
He stopped so suddenly, I nearly crashed into his back. He whirled on me. "I don't want you around my sister," he hissed, voice full of animosity. "She doesn't need you, okay?"
I felt my face blank, my coat sliding off my shoulders. "I never said she"—
He held up his hand. "I don't give a crap what you said. I just want you to back off. I'm her brother. I'm her family. I'm what she needs. Not you."
It was so out of the blue, so preposterous, that for a second, I just stared up at him. But then some inner resolution solidified in me and I held my ground. "No."
"No?"
"No," I repeated. "Because as you so astutely pointed out, I'm not here for you. I'm here for Octavia, because she so desperately wants things to go well so she can stayfor you. So that she can be with you." I let out an exasperated breath, looking up at him incredulously. "Do you think I wanted to come tonight? To sit in front of people I didn't know and talk about my dead dad?"
I tossed up my hands, suddenly having the absurd desire to cry. I kept it in, though. Like always. "But I came anyway, because I felt bad for her, just as I felt bad for you. Ifeel bad for you."
"I don't want your pity," Bellamy snapped, the sound like the crack of a whip. "And I don't want you pitying her. That's what people like you do. You don't see people, you see poor people. Unfortunate people. Broken people."
I gawped at him. "Wh-? You want me to act like you haven't had a crappy life? You have, I know you have, but the thing you fail to realize is mine hasn't exactly been easy either."
At this, he scoffed. "Because of what exactly?" he asked, stepping forward. "Because the little Princess lost her Daddy?" A branding would've been kinder, but he didn't stop. He was like a fire, strengthening with every spark. "I lost more. And until you've been where I've been, you don't get to say that to me."
My lip shook. Traitorous tears burned behind my eyes, but I forced myself to keep looking at him. "I see, because only your pain counts. But I guess you're right," I deadpanned. "I could've had it worse. I could've become someone like you. Someone who's gone through so much of their own crap, that they can't manage a shred of compassion for anyone else."
I gritted my teeth, so hard my jaw ached. "If you don't want me near Octavia, tell her that. But I won't ignore her. I won't be that person. I won't be you."
I didn't stick around to hear what else he had to say. I didn't stick around to see that glare of his or the hatred that was undoubtedly kindling in those eyes.
The tears were coming and they were coming fast and I turned my back to him, walking quickly down the rest of the driveway. I didn't let myself actually cry until I was in my car, enveloped in the safety of the shadows.