Just Surviving (#Clexa)

A Stray Bullet

Don't cry, guys xx

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Clarke POV

Although I definitely would have preferred to lay with Lexa until the end of days, it's eventually time for me to leave. After a third time sleeping with her, I'm already beginning to recognize the danger of how addictive she is, and how hard it's going to be to be away from her. Even now, with her face nuzzling into my neck and her fingers running through my hair, I'm finding it hard to pull myself away and get out of bed.

Lexa watches with disappointment as I detach myself and scoot over to the edge of the mattress to collect my clothes. I reckon I've said the best goodbye I could have in such a short amount of time.

I feel her hand reach out to brush my spine as I pull on my pants, and she mutters, 'I could send guards with you, and you could stay for longer.'

Sighing, I shake my head. 'Octavia's waiting. And I need her faith in me.'

Lexa draws her hand away and sits up as well, holding the bed sheets to her body. As I pull my shirt on and stand, she watches me grimly with a familiarly distant expression on her face. She's already beginning to close up – with me, she let her fears and desires flow free; now, her wound stitches itself to protect her.

I crawl back into the bed to give her one last kiss, unable to help myself, burying my fingers in her hair. 'Be careful when I'm gone,' I whisper against her cheek. 'Promise me?'

'If you promise me the same, then yes.'

I nod, though it's obvious that neither of us really have control over what might happen over the next few weeks. Pulling away gently, I stand up again and take one last good look at her beauty in the fading light.

'This isn't goodbye,' I say softly.

Lexa smiles. 'No, it's not.'

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I return to my room as quickly as possible to collect my things, already knowing that I'm late and Octavia might have left without me. My mind is still on Lexa as I close the door and head over to the bed, remembering my proximity with her – and then I see something just a little bit off.

In the centre of my room, passed out and bound to a chair, is a boy I'd never thought I'd see again.

With horror, I run over to crouch beside him, checking his face. 'Murphy?' 

As I begin struggling with the chains binding him, I hear Titus's voice from behind me: 'He's alive.'

My movements stop. The bald man looks calm yet grave, and I know instantly that this was his doing.

'What did you do to my friend?' I ask warily.

'Your friend was caught stealing from people on their way to the Polis market.'

Murphy shifts, letting out a sigh, and I twist quickly to help him remove his gag. 'Hey, you're okay,' I whisper. His whole face is bruised and bloody, and I can tell he was tortured before being brought up here. Surely Titus brought him to my room for a reason.

'Please don't do that,' Titus warns. I glance over at him and freeze in shock as I see the weapon in his hand – it's a gun. A gun that he surely has no idea how to use.

With no other choice, I rise slowly to my feet, lifting my hands in a gesture of surrender. 'Titus, what is this about?'

'I'm sorry it had to come to this, Clarke.' He walks closer, and now I can see the anxiety in his eyes. 'Truly, I am.'