Bellarke One Shots Book 2

89) Regardless of warnings the future doesn't scare me at all

Archive of our own
By: Chash
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Clarke really wishes she could get a fucking drink. Not that she's generally one of those people who drinks her problems away--she's purely a recreational/social drinker--but if any occasion has ever called for some liquid therapy, it's this one.

"So, can I sit at the bar if I order food and juice?" she asks the bartender. "I just want to be near the alcohol."

The bartender gives her an understanding smile. She's lovely, long, dark hair and clear eyes, a few freckles scattered on her cheeks like paint splatter. Clarke likes her without any good reason, just on instinct. It's a nice feeling, after the day she's had. "Sure. What food and what juice?"

"Chicken quesadillas and cranberry juice?"

"Coming right up." She puts the order in at the back and pours the drink, sliding it across the bar. "How long have you been sober?"

Clarke sighs and takes a long drink, pretending there's vodka in it. "Since I found out I'm pregnant."

The bartender winces in sympathy. "Oh."

She laughs. "Is it that obvious I'm not excited?"

"You did come in here and say you wanted to be close to the booze."

"I did." She runs her hand through her hair. "Can I still tell you my sob story if I'm not drinking, or is it awkward if I don't have being drunk as an excuse for oversharing?"

"You are welcome to talk about whatever you want as long as you leave a good tip," she says, flashing Clarke an impish grin. Under other circumstances, she might be trying to hit on her, but--not now. "It's Tuesday, it's not like anything is happening."

"So, I'm at med school," she says, running her finger through the condensation on her glass. "I just finished my second year. It's been my mom's plan for me forever. She's one of those parents who had my entire life figured out before I could walk. Best private schools, Yale, med school, and then, once I was a successful doctor, an appropriate spouse and two-point-five kids. And I was--I mean, that sounds pretty okay, right?"

"Sure, I guess."

Clarke lets out a soft snort of laughter. "I mean, it wasn't--I didn't hate it or anything. But I was kind of having my doubts. I was still doing it, though. I didn't have many other ideas. It was just--that's who I am, right?"

"Apparently. I don't really know you."

"Okay, yeah, well. It's who I've always been." She pokes at the ice in her drink with her straw. "So last year I started dating this guy, even though it was way too early in my life plan for a serious relationship. I liked him. He was fun and he--he made me feel like there was more than just school and work and hookups. I'd had a rough couple years, and I hadn't felt like that in a while. And then I found out I was pregnant and I told him."

"And he bolted?" the bartender asks, making a face like she's smelling something rotten. Then she ducks back and grabs Clarke's quesadillas, which is appreciated. They're gooey and warm and smell amazing, and she eats half the plate before she responds.

"No, he told me I was the other woman." The bartender's eyebrows shoot up and Clarke sighs. "Yeah. Apparently he has a long-distance girlfriend and they're not exclusive, so he was sleeping with me. And he said all these--not the right things, but things that sounded good. Like he had been falling for me and already wanted to be with me instead of her even before he found out about the baby, and it would be tough but he was going to do the right thing and be a father. But I just wasn't interested, you know? Maybe I'm being--harsh, I don't know. I shouldn't have assumed we were exclusive, maybe, but he should have told me up-front that there was someone else."