heda | clexa

chapter thirty

When Lexa was ten years old and Anya died, Titus took her in and she was told that it was the best day of her life. 

They showed her Anya’s body, but it was so defaced that it was beyond recognition. They never shared the crime Anya had committed with Lexa, but they made sure she knew it was Lexa’s fault. Her mother died upon giving birth, because no one could bear giving birth to the monster that’s Lexa. Her sister died, because no one could have survived taking care of Lexa for ten whole years. 

At least not before she was made a servant of God, not before she was tamed by Titus. 

Her only chance of survival without killing all those around her? Staying close to God, staying close to Titus, and staying close to the Heda, who had been so generous as to allow her to live at all. 

So Anya’s death day was made her new birthday, and she was supposed to kneel before the Heda and Titus and a dozen other men in gratitude every day. She did. In the morning, at noon, and at night, she was brought to the Heda’s throne room, and she kneeled. 

She remembered her sister’s dead body, and she kneeled in gratitude. She remembered her childhood and the way it was ripped from her hands, and she kneeled in gratitude. She remembered the sticky lollipops and their treehouse, and how it was replaced by long shifts and bad sleep, and she kneeled in gratitude. 

In hindsight, however, she isn’t sure she should have. Almost ten years later, she isn’t sure if the decade with God was better than the decade without him at all. 

What did he ever do for her? Why should she worship him when he pushes her further and further towards her own ruin? 

Clarke is still sitting, hands on her axes, and she’s watching Lexa curse her own God. She’s glad they went far enough away from camp, because Lexa is yelling now, and Clarke is sure none of these words should be overheard by anyone.

“I wanted to be good!” she yells, eyes full of rage and grief and everything Lexa must have swallowed down her entire life. “Making me devilish by default wasn’t fair! I did everything for you, and I’m still condemned to hell in the end anyway? That’s not fucking fair! I know I do a lot wrong, but maybe I wouldn’t have to if you had left Anya alive! You didn’t get to kill her, because she might not have been your type of perfect person, but she was my type of perfect person! If she was alive, I would have never had to start with that damn stadium! And I get it if you wanted to punish me for that, but you didn’t get to punish him!”

For the first time in her long, long rant, Lexa starts breaking down. Her voice cracks and tears are back on her cheeks. To her credit, she has actually stayed on her knees the entire time, but now, it seems like she’s collapsing anyway. “You didn’t get to punish him. It was cruel. He didn’t deserve to be used for my lesson. He didn’t deserve that. If I ever get to see you, I’m going to tear you apart, God! Do you hear me? I’m going to tear you apart until you apologize! For being supposed to be such a good God, you’re terrible!”

Clarke gets up from her tree stump and carefully approaches Lexa, who is now a sobbing mess in the grass. “Lexa? Let’s get you home. Back to the tent, okay?”

“He didn’t get to kill my baby,” Lexa sobs.

“I know.”

“I would have died a hundred times over, but he didn’t get to kill my baby.”

“Lexa, love. Please, let me take you home.”

She fights Clarke’s grip weakly and she keeps talking, keeps accusing her God endlessly, for Anya and Madi and Nikki and then for the girls on stage, and the girls in the tower, and the maid who was punished for spilling tea.