fragile | clexa

chapter forty

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Lexa's head was throbbing in a dull ache. Her heart was pounding so heavily in her chest, she was quite sure it would give out sooner or later.

It was a man, lying just next to the bed with his throat sliced open. Blood still trickled out of the wound. Where was Clarke? Weren't her people back in Polis onto that slavery network?

It took effort for a single thought to put itself together in Lexa's mind, but when it did, her mind suddenly started working thrice its normal capacity.

If the blood was still fresh, then whoever had taken Clarke couldn't be so far, could they? Lexa rushed outside again. Guards were already coming her way, a whole group of them and the next minute already they were sent out to search the area, to keep TonDC closed off at any gate and search the whole town.

Once that was done, Lexa stumbled back into her tent. She needed water. She needed clean hands. Her feet carried her into the bathroom heavily, her heart still beating too fast.

It took her embarrassing long to see the figure hunched in the very corner of the bathroom, face hidden, knees pulled up to their chest and the whole skinny body shaking silently.

Clarke. Unmistakably, that blond hair had to be Clarke's.

"Clarke," Lexa breathed and her hand automatically put her half-finished glass of water on the edge of the sink. "Clarke."

Clarke started shaking more, pushed herself further into the tent wall. "Clarke?" Lexa asked softly. "I'm coming closer, okay?"

She didn't get any response. Slowly, Lexa approached and kneeled next to Clarke on the floor. "I'm here Clarke. Can you do me a favor and look at me?"

Clarke shook her head. Maybe she didn't shake her head and was just trembling, because the sign of denial was so subtle that Lexa wasn't sure she was reading it right.

"We have to see if you're hurt and get you help," Lexa tried but it was just another attempt ending in failure. Lexa repeated, but Clarke didn't seem to listen. In the middle of Lexa's sentence, an ugly sob escaped her that must've been meant as words.

"What did you say?"

"It wasn't me," Clarke hiccuped and carefully, taking it as a sign, Lexa put her hand on Clarke's back. The blonde jumped a little, shook somewhat more and then just melted into Lexa's arm. "It wasn't me," she repeated, her face still buried against her knees.

"It's okay," Lexa tried to comfort and gently rocked Clarke back and forth. It usually helped when Clarke had panic attacks. "It's okay. Guards are on their way to clean everything up and catch whoever was behind whatever happened. When we're out of this room, there won't be a trace."

"It wasn't me," Clarke cried again and again, without listening to what Lexa was whispering into her hair. The cycle of 'it wasn't me' was only interrupted after about five minutes. "He stumbled. I swear it Lexa he stumbled! I didn't do it. He- Lexa- Lexa he fell and cut himself. It wasn't me."

"I know it wasn't you. And if it had been, that would've been okay. It's called self-defe-"

"But it wasn't me! It wasn't me."

"It wasn't you. I know. You're okay. Nothing's going to happen to you. This isn't your fault."

Clarke turned her head so that it was buried in Lexa's chest, her body moving in a way that it was half in Lexa's lap and half on the floor. She quietly sobbed something into Lexa's shirt. Lexa didn't dare to ask her to repeat it.

In fact, she was quite sure Clarke couldn't have repeated it even if she had asked because the girl fell back into a rhythm of 'it wasn't me' again and didn't even seem to hear Lexa's comforting replies. Her body was stiff, her eyes shut close tightly and somewhen Clarke had her hands clasped over her ears and was only sobbing the same three words over and over again.