you can call me babe for the weekend

december thirty-first

Clarke has always had steady hands. Her mother was a world renowned surgeon, and Clarke was guaranteed to inherit that. But tonight her hands trembled. She was terrified and on her fourth cup of coffee. This was by far the craziest thing she's ever done or ever heard of doing. She was insane for even considering to do this, and she was well aware. As a matter of fact, she couldn't quite believe it herself.

The taxi dropped her off and left minutes ago, and yet she remained frozen in her place. She made it this far. What's ten more steps?

"You're going to that party tonight, right?" Raven asked over FaceTime. Clarke had a New Year's Eve party at the art gallery to attend, but she wasn't feeling it. Raven looked at her, as if her eyes stared deep into her soul.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but to play devil's advocate, you hurt him this weekend just as bad as he hurt you back then. You are both so in love with each other it's ridiculous, but you two are either the most stupid or the most stubborn ass people I've ever known. I know. I know you don't want to hear it, and I know you're hurting. I saw how happy you two were before it all blew up - then and now. Not everyone gets something like that."

"Raven-"

"Call him or get over him, but stop sulking and letting your life waste away from moping. I love you, and I know it's harsh. But you need to hear it."

"I gotta go."

Clarke wasn't even sure what possessed her to even do this. She's not sure when she really even decided to do any of this. All she knew was she was tired of running and tired of it all.

The blonde anxiously paced up and down the small driveway. Since her flight this morning, Clarke had been thinking of what she could possibly say, but thousands of miles and several hours later, she still had nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

This was ridiculous, and she wanted to turn back and run home so many times since she walked out her apartment door. She'd made it this far, she thinks. What's ten more steps? She stooped to pick up her purse that she'd dropped and tucked a piece of her short pink streaked hair behind her ear.

"Excuse me," a voice called out, and Clarke turned to face it's direction. "This is private prop— Clarke?"

"Hi," she sheepishly waved. Octavia Blake stepped down from the porch and made her way to Clarke in what could almost be considered a march.

"Did you really think you could waltz back into Arcadia like you didn't ghost every single one of us?"

"Octavia, I—"

"And to find out from Raven? You we're supposed to be my best friend, Clarke."

"O, I can explain."

"I don't want to hear it. I want you to leave. Go back to wherever the hell you were and leave my brother alone. I refuse to pick up the pieces again like I did when you left."

"Octavia."

The voice came from the house, stern and booming over them before and essentially, drowning out Clarke's plea with Octavia. They both looked in its direction, and there he was, standing on the small porch of his home. Clarke could see the sadness in his eyes from where she stood. She knows she's to blame it. Can he see it too? She wonders. Does he know he's the reason for mine?

"Big brother." Of course, the fiery brunette protested. Bellamy used to swear it was embedded into Octavia Blake's DNA to disagree or push back against anything he would say. Clarke hifting her feet on the cold, cracked concrete of Bellamy's ribbon driveway. The grass in the middle was wilted and frozen.