Because of You

Unexpected

Okay, Guys. This is a thirty page chapter for you all. I could've split it into two parts, but I didn't want to. I hope you like it.

I would admit, perhaps a bit begrudgingly, that my wise choices weren't as prevalent as they once had been. I wondered what past, level-headed Clarke would say to this Clarke, who currently stood in front of Bellamy's door, knuckles raised to its surface. The number 15 winked back at me.

She would, undoubtedly, compose a list of cons this decision would ultimately reap. And if that failed to dissuade me, there was always physically beating me with a textbook to get the message across.

I felt like a stalker. A pathetic stalker who was out of places to crash, that she had resorted to texting a fourteen-year-old to ask for her brother's home address. In a non-creepy way, of course.

Octavia had inquired, with multiple question marks, as to why his address was necessary. And I'd lied, telling her it was because he'd forgotten something at school. I nearly said my car, but stopped myself just in time, knowing that would only prompt more questions.

So not only did that make me a stalker, it also made me a lying stalker.

It seemed my self-respect was seeing new peaks today.

I blew out a long breath, glancing between the door to the hall. A very childish thought came to me, one that involved the method of ding-dong-ditch to see if he was even home.

I quickly shook that thought from my mind. I was here. And as long as I was, I might as well try. All he could do was say no. In multiple volumes.

I forced my knuckles to make contact with the door. Once. It was barely audible and I tried again, a little louder.

A few seconds passed and again, I thought about running. But I stood my ground, even when footsteps sounded and the door was pulled open.

Bellamy appeared before me, plain shirt and jeans that looked like he'd owned for a very long time. Grey socks, that I saw, with an ember of envy, matched. I didn't know why men were more prone to match their socks than women. Or, maybe that was just me.

Behind him, I could smell the vague traces of some kind of pasta emanating from the kitchen. I wondered if he was as particular with food as he was with his coffee.

"Clarke?" he asked, face scrunched together like he was looking at a particularly difficult math question.

For some reason, it had felt less surreal up until this point. Now it was like I was watching this happen to someone else.

"Hey," I said, a little sheepishly.

Bellamy's dark eyes bored into mine, wide and questioning. His eyebrows furrowed and he blinked. "What . . . what are you doing here? How'd you even-?"

"Octavia," I said.

His eyes went a little wider. "Why would you-? Wait, did something happen with Octavia?" Alarm crowded his eyes.

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. My hands around my phone tightened so hard, the plastic bit into my skin. "No, nothing happened. I uh, asked her for it. For . . . me."

That was a lame explanation, but I had no energy for eloquence. I didn't even have enough energy to look sufficiently embarrassed.

Now that Bellamy was reassured his sister was fine, the confusion returned to his features, filling up every inch of it. "So then why are you here?" There was a hint of accusation in his voice.

I pursed my lips and glanced down the hall. That park bench idea was starting to look more and more appealing.

I forced my eyes back to his. "I um, sort of need a place to stay. For tonight." Then I would face my mom. I'd face it all.