Bellarke One Shots Book 2

59) Misdial

Clarke awoke with a shake, something buzzing obnoxiously beneath her. As she fumbled for her phone, a pain pulsing in her brain, Clarke cursed Raven and her need to celebrate her new job with an obscene amount of alcohol. Clarke's hand felt the hard block of cell phone, and she yanked it up to the side of her face.

"Raven, you better have not-"

"Not Raven," came a voice, cutting Clarke off with a cheery yet sardonic tone. Clarke recoiled from the phone, holding it out in front of her to realize that the device in her hand was certainly not hers.

"Oh, hi," Clarke stumbled in reply. "...Sorry?"

"You're fine," the voice commented. "I'd just like to know how and why you have my son's phone."

"I am currently trying to figure that out myself," Clarke sheepishly replied. It was incredibly embarrassing, Clarke recognized, and she could feel her cheeks heat up. Even though she didn't feel like her memories were that spotty from the night before, she couldn't remember whose phone she could possibly have.

"Well, could you hand it to him?" she questioned. Clarke sputtered over the phone, her cheeks now practically radiating off heat from the embarrassment. This women thought she had slept with her son, admitted she couldn't remember him, and then had somehow stolen his phone.

"Ma'am, I didn't sleep with your son, I mean, we probably accidentally swapped phones at the bar last night? I promise I didn't just steal it, because it's become increasingly apparent my phone is no where in sight."

"Calm down, sweetie," chuckled the voice. "I promise I'm not judging you. I'm saying more about Bellamy's character than your own. He's supposed to be helping me assemble a new station for my sewing machine today but I can't find him for the life of me."

"Would you like my number? If we swapped phones he probably has mine and you could call him," Clarke suggested.

"That's so smart," she responded along with a small laugh. "I'm Aurora, by the way, please don't call me ma'am ever again."

"Noted," Clarke answered. "I"m Clarke. Should I come drop off the phone? I have a free day, it really wouldn't be a problem."

"You're an angel," she assured. "I'll try to track down my son. My address in my contact on the phone, it's all up to date."

"Perfect," Clarke answered. "See you soon."

After taking a shower and clearing away the fog from her head, Clarke felt significantly better. She probably spent too much time contemplating what exactly to wear for a stranger, but Aurora seemed nice and Clarke didn't want to appear like a hoodlum (she cringed at the use of the word, Raven really was right when she said she needed to get out more).

It was almost noon by the time Clarke slipped into the driveway. The house was idyllic in a quaint sort of way, in a well-lived aesthetic. It was the sort of house her mother would never want to live in simply because it was clear there would be clutter, remnants of a life. Clarke felt slightly nervous at the prospect of entry.

The doorbell was startling but cheery as it echoed through the home. Clarke distantly heard a clatter and then a yell of some indecipherable word as footsteps approached.

"You're here," Aurora welcomed, shooting her a kind smile. Clarke had a hard time telling exactly how old she was simply because she was one of those women who looked so well-preserved with her youthful energy and smooth skin. Aurora moved to the side of the door and motioned for her to enter; Clarke moved with trepidation but returned the pleasant look she shot her way.

"Here's the phone," Clarke answered, holding the iphone out to her. Since realizing it was not her phone, Clarke had received two texts from a guy named Miller, one from Octavia #thebestsisterintheworld (she assumed the contact name had not been a personal choice), and a voicemail left from Harper. It was weird to hold such a personal object for so long, to see insight into someone's life when you knew nothing about them. Clarke was ready to get rid of the thing.