I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Though it was early December, I had the fan on, and watched the blades cut through the air, its rhythm matching the pace of my thoughts.
My mother was seeing someone.
I didn't want it to be true. Didn't want to have to picture her in the arms of a man who was not my father lodged in my head, but I couldn't shake it loose. Somehow, the idea of her being involved with someone else had never occurred to me. As far as I was concerned, Dad had been her soulmate. They had been like Thalia's parents in that respect; Dad never forgot their anniversary or her birthday. And then there were random days when he'd come home with a bouquet of flowers, just because. A nothing present. And she'd kiss him for it, long and languid until I'd make a choking noise and they either broke apart laughing or ignored me altogether.
I squeezed the pillow I was clutching tighter to my chest.
I wished I could take those choking noises back now, and give them their few extra moments. Their time had been limited. Their kisses numbered.
I couldn't bear thinking of someone else standing in my dad's place. It was wrong, like a red sky or a barking cat. I couldn't get my mind around it. I was grasping at water and trying to hold on.
Thoughts I didn't want to think flipped through my mind like a Juke box. I wondered how long she'd been seeing him, I wondered if he bought her flowers for nothing occasions. And selfishly, I wondered how many times she was with him and not at work, as I sat at an otherwise empty table, eating day-old leftovers by myself.
Every question hurt. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. Instead, I buried my face into my pillow and screamed.
*********
I had questions, but I didn't want the answers to them. If I ignored it, I could almost pretend that I hadn't heard the phone call. Maybe I was wrong; it was only a misunderstanding. Logically, it was possible. But I'd heard it in her voice. Lighter, happier. I knew, because it was how she used to speak to dad.
I tried to banish the queries from my mind, but when mom got up early the following morning, dark thoughts crept into my mind. Would she be going straight to work? Or would she be making a stop along the way? What about after her shift? During her break?
I resisted the urge to scream again.
I'd woken up unbearably early, but was running late to school, feeling foggy-headed and glassy-eyed. The day had only just begun and already I wanted it over.
I wanted to skip class, but I didn't want to stay in this house, left in the endless cycle of painful wonderings, so I grabbed my bag. But when I passed my Mom's bedroom door, I stopped. I stared at it. The need to know ran through me like that liquor, dulling my senses and making stupid actions seem very plausible.
I shook my head to myself. I used to think I would never be a snoop and nearly left for school right then.
But I also used to think my mom wasn't a liar.
I went into her room.
Other than a few clothes that littered the floor, it was clean. Traces of antiseptic and hospital clung to the air. Her bed was made, sheets wrinkled in haste.
It was stupid, but I half-expected to see a pair of men's shoes lying around. My dad had been an environmental scientist and always wore sneakers. What kind of shoes did the man my mom was seeing wear?
I didn't know what I was looking for but I headed for her drawers. Guilt pummeled me as I opened them one by one, but the ache in my heart overpowered it as I rummaged through meaningless things; socks and jewelry I'd never seen her wear, old cards still tucked inside their ripped envelopes. Nothing. I suddenly felt ashamed, but not enough to regret looking. Not enough to stifle my rising anger.
When I reached school, I had no choice but to miss first period. I knew what that would mean and I walked to Principal Jaha's office, disheartened. My feet felt weighted an my throat was raw from my earlier pillow-shouting.
Principal Jaha was sitting at his desk with his legs propped up on its file-ridden surface. He held a Rubik's cube in his hand. Sides red and blue were complete.
He looked up from behind his frameless glasses. When he saw that it was me, he sat forward. "Clarke," he said. "I was just about to phone your mother."
I bristled when he brought her up. "I'm sorry I missed first period."
"Do you have a reason? Or are you skipping classes now, too?"
I winced internally. "Sorry, I had a rough night," I repeated. "I'll take detention." I felt like a kid asking for her punishment, but if it meant not going home I didn't mind a prolonged stay.
Jaha dropped his legs and set the cube on the desk. "Clarke, I never thought I'd have to say this, but I'm becoming concerned with your weekly progress reports."
I gnawed on my bottom lip.
"We have a school counselor, if you're interested in"—
"No," I interrupted, and quickly pedaled back. "I mean, I appreciate the offer. But I'm already seeing someone about it." One shrink was enough.
Jaha's expression relaxed. "Oh." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Good. I'm relieved you have someone to talk to about your current situation."
Situation. Struggles. Why did no one just say it as it was? Like any of the above words somehow softened the mention. I particularly despised his word current, as if there were more situations to come.
He sighed. "Considering your perfect record, I've been lax under the circumstances-"
Circumstances.
-"But I cannot continue this throughout the remainder of the school year. Your grades need to improve, or, I'm afraid, it will inhibit your chances of getting accepted into one of the ideal pre-med programs."
Didn't anyone understand? I had no use for an acceptance. Not anymore. But I just gave a meager nod.
"And as much as I hate saying it, I will be forced to give you an hour's worth of detention for arriving late."
I nodded again. "Okay." It was what I'd expected.
"You may go now."
I turned to the door.
"Oh, Clarke?"
I looked back to him.
He picked up the Rubik's cube and tossed it to me. My hands caught it before it could hit the floor.
"Something to occupy your time with."
**********
I rested my back against my locker, waiting out the last few minutes for the bell to toll. My bag dangled from my elbow and a pain throbbed over my left temple. I still held the cube and I worked it out of boredom, trying keep my mind from wandering back to those questions. I knew how it worked, but that didn't mean I knew how to complete one. I managed two rows of the white before I lost my patience for it, and wound up tossing it in my bag just as the bell went off.
Students flooded the halls and I joined in. I hoped I wouldn't run into Thalia. It was hard to imagine our argument had only happened yesterday, and though it wasn't pressing, it still grated on me if I thought about it. And my energy was already on its last reserves; I couldn't survive a repeat.
Someone grabbed my hand and I gasped as a jolt ran through me. Bellamy stood at my side, fingers gripping my wrist. His brown eyes appeared darker than usual, narrowed with either anger or anxiety, I couldn't tell.
I glanced between his hold and him. "You know, there are other ways of getting people's attention. I suggest a simple, 'hey'."
"If you see Octavia," he said, cutting straight through my words. "tell her to come find me."
My energy levels spiked with alarm. "Did something happen?"
"Yes-no" he shook his head, russet curls falling low over his brows. "No, I just . . . just tell her, okay?"
I nodded, uneasy. "Sure."
He squeezed my wrist for a moment longer, like he didn't quite want to let go yet. Then he dropped his hold and quickly stalked away.
He hadn't even hesitated to say thank you this time.
*********
I'd hoped the day would start to speed up the longer it went on, but it didn't. On the contrary, it seemed to slow, until I couldn't recall at what point yesterday had become Tuesday. During lunch, I didn't eat, but spent my time keeping my eyes out for Octavia and being beaten by a multicolored square. I managed another row of white but at the expense of a section of the finished blue.
Oh well.
When detention finally rolled around, I trudged down the halls, my bag swinging weakly from my shoulder. After this, I decided, I would go home and crawl straight into bed. I'd binge-watch Friends. I would not go back into mom's room to dig up answers that weren't there, to questions I wished I would stop asking.
I rounded the corner and was only a few doors away when I caught a flash of brown hair. I looked over to find Octavia close by, and she wasn't alone.
An older man stood across from her, in a withered black coat and frayed jeans. He scratched at the side of his head nervously, cutting glances from side to side like he was uncomfortable. He was nearly a head taller than her, but there was something slight about him, in the way his shoulders drooped and his chin dipped towards his throat.
I'd never seen him before, but he looked familiar. And the longer he stood next to Octavia, I understood why. She shared the curve of his nose and his bright, blue eyes, but they looked darker in contrast to his cropped brown hair. I saw Bellamy's facial structure and his same, pigmented cheekbones.
I knew who it was, but the image I'd created of this man was much darker. I could picture him standing before a young boy, a belt in one hand, a cigar in the other.
Cold fear drew its hand up my spine.
This was the villain in Bellamy's story. And he had come back.