3:02am

Chapter Four - TURNING PAGE

Chapter Four – TURNING PAGE

Whoooooshhhhh, whoooooshhhhh, whoooooshhhh, whoooooshhhh, whoooooshhhh, whoooooshhhh..

The ceiling fan above her moved in a ghostly motion, it's whoooooshhhh whoooooshhhh sound filled the room as Clarke awoke to sweet humming coming through the open sash window. The longer she listened the more she recognised the song and the further across her cheeks the smile crept, Lexa had a way to make her feel complete just by being herself. Clarke never had to worry that she wasn't all her mother had wanted her to be when she was in Lexa's arms, she could forget... well, that was until she fell asleep, and the nightmares crawled across her skin, touched her soul and nails scraped across her throat. Clarke shuddered, easing the bedsheets from her naked torso she rolled over and slipping off the bed, stood walking carefully over to the chest of drawers at the other side of the room; the breeze billowed through the soft draped fabric curtains catching in the wind and seamlessly floating back to their original place before being picked up again and mellowly wafted back towards the middle of the room, a continuous flowing motion that complimented the ceiling fan, the ajar window and Lexa's soft humming that still sifted through the airy open plan room.

It gave Clarke a pleasant feeling of freedom. It had been a while since she had felt that, totally completely and utterly free, here they were in the middle of an island somewhere off the coast of Indonesia, a little uninhabited island owned by Lexa's family for centuries, the little hut she now stood in was the only one on the mass of land coveted by white sands and palm trees brimming with coconuts. The water a shimmering turquoise rippling invitingly some 10 metres away from where Lexa stood; Clarke could see her now, her long delicate fingers moved smoothly through her long brown hair, pulling it back as water cascaded from the outdoor shower head over her shoulders, the smell of peppermint coconut oil shampoo wafted through the room and peaked her senses.

Clarke watched her for a moment, eyes respectfully gazing over her smooth curves, the way her waist created a soft wave down to her buttocks that then skimmed her abdomen, the water kissing her mound of Venus before it greeted her thighs and disappeared from view. She took in the long deep scar that made it's way from her breastbone right down to her navel, it's light bumpy texture stood out under the coolness of the shower but was scarcely noticeable when her skin was warm to the touch. Clarke had scars, some were visible, some were psychological – those that were visible weren't very pretty, some were deep, they didn't tan and they were obvious to the naked eye. It was these that she was most ashamed of, these that Lexa would kiss softly every time they held each other in an embrace, these that she would caress with her fingers, a feeling that made Clarke shiver with a mixture of tenderness and excitement. Never once had Lexa made her feel like she was damaged goods, that she was anything less than beautiful, she had whispered that all her scars were mere footsteps along a rocky road that made up the most poignant moments of her life, and that without them she was just a shell, she had taken Clarke's hand and guided by her own run her fingers down each protruding mass of broken skin declaring her body as a canvas that has just started it's journey to become a masterpiece. She had never asked about Lexa's scar, but had guessed it was from surgery, when they had slept side by side the second night after they had first met, Clarke had rested her head against Lexa's chest and fallen asleep to the sound of her heart murmur. It's what made them both as fragile as the other and yet both as complete as they could possibly be when they were together.

Clarke closed the drawer and slipped a white lace kaftan over her head, adjusting the ties around her waist before grabbing the bikini bottoms and shimmied them up her backside. Barefoot the sand was warm, a little too warm but her soles were finally used to it. She could barely remember how long they had been in this beautiful secluded place now; time was non existent here; there was no morning, no afternoon, no good-nights, or need to be up for anything other than when they felt like it. They caught their own food, cooked it, boiled sea water to drink, basked in the sun during the glowing sunsets, laid out in the sand till the fireflies rose up from the trees and danced and laughed till the moon came up. And when they slept, it was intertwined, it was perfect.