Lost Love Found [ #Wattys2015 ] {Bellarke}

The Repercussions of Love

Clarke's POV

Clarke blinked open her eyes. And for a blissful, peaceful, utterly restful moment, she believed that she was home. She believed that she was in her own bed, back on the Ark, during a time when her life was normal and her family was whole.

Smiling, Clarke stretched out across the covers and flipped onto her stomach, burying her face in the plush pillows. She was immediately met with a warm, earthy scent - a scent that did not belong to her. It was a comforting smell, full of familiarity and home. Clarke buried herself in it, inhaling deeply.

Her eyes shot back open. She dashed up in bed, the covers falling around her hips.

She looked over and found that Bellamy wasn't asleep next to her. He wasn't in the room at all. Clarke began to panic. Throwing the comforter back, she jumped out of bed and ran a quick hand through her tousled hair. Images from last night came flooding back, causing her blood pressure to spike.

Bellamy's nightmare, Bellamy's shouting. Clarke wrapping herself around him in attempt to calm him - to bring him back into reality. She remembered his hands, his hands running down beneath her shirt. She remembered his lips against her shoulder. She remembered causing him to shiver with pleasure with nothing but a simple brush of her hand.

Clarke remembered that she liked the feeling of him touching her, stroking her - that she liked touching him.

She chastised herself. Bellamy wasn't even coherent last night, he wasn't thinking straight. His nightmare had left him in a confused and disjointed state. Him touching her - it meant nothing. The proof was in his immediate departure, the accusation in his eyes when he realized who he was with.

She pushed the images away hard and fast. Thinking of Bellamy in that way - it would only bring her pain and deepen her attachment to him. And in this world, too many attachments meant only one thing - heartbreak.

Clarke strode out of the room quickly, barreling her way past the wooden chair and through the doorway. Stumbling out of the room, she rushed to turn on the lamps, to light the candles. In some ways, the darkness frightened Clarke even more than death. It was the abyssal nothingness of it all that scared her, the feeling of being completely alone, isolated.

When she turned around, ready to race into the kitchen, she saw Bellamy leaning up against the counter, staring at her with glazed eyes. Clarke held back a scream and almost tripped over backwards.

"Bellamy? What the hell!" She gasped, sticking an arm out, using the cement wall as a support.

He raised a canister to his mouth and took a long, deep swallow of whatever liquid it contained. Bellamy looked ghostly in the dim light, his eyes haunted. Clarke noticed his hands shaking as he gripped the metal can.

"Morning, Princess." He slurred.

"Bellamy," Clarke repeated, pushing herself off the wall and walking towards him. "What happened last night, where -"

Bellamy grinned, but it was a grin that Clarke did not recognize. It was a smile devoid of all life, full of pain and anguish.

"Nightmares about them, the Mountain Men." Bellamy's voice was raspy, low and soft and so uncharacteristic that it broke her heart. Clarke approached him slowly and only when he wasn't looking. She wanted to tell him that he wasn't alone, that she shared the same terrible dreams, the same fears, but something held her back, a memory recalled from last night.

"And if you must know, I ransacked the kitchens and found bottle after bottle of whisky," he added a little more loudly. "And you want to know the best part about it, Clarke?"