from the ashes (she will rise) ➸ octaven

chapter 8

Octavia completely tunes out the quiet voices in the hallway. The sound of Indra taping bags over the broken window to keep the rain out, the scrape of glass against the floor as Clarke tries to clean up the shattered remains of Lexa's lamp, the squeaking sound of Raven's brace as she moves to and fro -- Octavia shuts it all out. She just sits on the edge of her bed, feet tucked underneath her, watching the flicker of the lightning outside her window.

Glancing back to her door, she inches over to the window, clenching her jaw as she heaves it open. A gust of wind hits her face, whistling through the room. She shivers.

The thing about storms is that Octavia's never been scared of them. As a kid, she only used it as an excuse to crawl into bed with her mother, hugging her hands around her neck, burying her head into her shoulder, inhaling the smell of her coconut shampoo and the faintest hint of oil paint from her hours in the studio. She'd make her tell her the story about the sky, how thunder was just the stars bumping into each other, how lightning was nothing but stardust being sent down to the Earth. She would press her palms against the window, watching the storm as it rolled in. And in the morning she'd drag her brother outside, searching for any stardust the lightning may have left behind.

But now that she's older, the magic is lost. It died with her mother, she supposes. Storms aren't stardust to her anymore. They're wind and rain, anger and desperation, lashing out against the dry Earth. Storms are exhaustion, rooted deep in the sky, making her bones ache. Yet they still don't scare her. They're magnetizing, pulling her in closer. What's she got to be afraid of? Octavia figures she's already become the eye of the hurricane.

And so, somehow, she finds herself crawling onto the roof, wind whipping her hair around her face as she scoots to lean against the side of the house. All around her, trees sway back and forth, their leaves hanging on for dear life. Rain, riding the strong wind, pelts against her bare legs, soaking through her clothes and weighing down her hair. But here, in the chaos of it all, she finds that she feels much less anxious than she had trapped in her bedroom.

She could climb down right now. The lattice that runs from the garden up the side of the house could easily hold her weight. But she doesn't run. Partly because she doesn't know where she would go, and partly because she's beginning to feel tied to this place. This isn't a conscious action on her part. Raven, the only person she's ever opened up to, seems to hold a part of her now. By confiding in this girl, Octavia feels as if she's handed a part of herself over. Leaving Raven would be like leaving herself behind. As if suddenly, she isn't the storm anymore, she can't come and go as she pleases. Now, she's the ocean, still raging and flowing, but always pulled back in with the tide when the waves crash to shore. Raven's got a hold on her, in the same way the moon turns the tides.

But also, literally, Raven's got a hold on her.

"What the hell are you doing?" Raven hisses. She's leaning out of the window, looking to where Octavia sits, a foot or so away from her. Something flashes in her eyes -- something that involuntarily sends chills down Octavia's spine. And suddenly, Raven's hand is tight around her forearm, her nails practically digging into her skin. Her voice is cold. "Don't you dare."

Octavia opens her mouth to question the girl, but by then Raven is already yanking her closer, grabbing her by the shoulders once she's within reach and practically pulling her through the window. Octavia struggles to find her footing and ends up stumbling forward once she's inside, groaning and rubbing her shoulder after she hits the ground.

"What the hell was that for?" she looks at Raven in confusion. The other girl slams the window shut so forcefully that Octavia's surprised they didn't break two windows that night. Silence follows. Raven's eyes find hers once more, and again, Octavia's met with something she can't decipher. It's practically radiating off of the girl.