Before You Go

when you hurt under the surface like troubled water running cold

A/N - A flashback to when Bellamy found out Abby hit Clarke...

TRIGGER WARNING: mention of mild abuse implied mild eating disorder

comments make me happy ;)

Her dad left without a word when she was 10, and Abby (Bellamy refuses to refer to her as Clarke's mom. She doesn't deserve that title in his mind) had spent years convincing Clarke it was her fault. Bellamy's pretty sure she still blames herself. After Jake left, Abby just got worse. In 7th grade there was a while where Clarke stopped eating, and after bugging her for weeks, Bellamy finally discovered it was because Abby had been giving her shit about her weight. Clarke had to beg him not to go yell at Abby and promise to start eating again. Bellamy kept an eye on her for a long time after that, making sure Octavia did too. Bellamy hates Abby, plain and simple. In addition to causing some serious self-image issues for Clarke, Abby never even cared that she was hurting her.

Bellamy worried a little less after Clarke moved in and he could keep an eye on her all the time. Abby didn't even put up a fight. He can remember the day he decided he had to get her out of that house. It's burned forever into his memory.

Clarke and Octavia were 14, finishing up 8th grade. They had come home from school one day, Clarke already planning on spending the night, as she did most days. Bellamy had made them dinner and then they all settled in for a movie, curled up on the couch. They were watching 10 Things I Hate About You, one of Clarke's favorites. Then Bellamy had accidentally split his glass of water on Clarke's head as she rested against his chest. Instead of laughing it off and calling him a dumbass like she normally did, Clarke's face had gone slack.

"Oh no," she muttered, hushed. Then she leapt up and bolted for the bathroom. Bellamy and Octavia exchanged a worried glance before running after her as the door slammed shut. Bellamy knocked at the door.

"Clarke? Clarke are you ok?" he had asked, concern creeping into his voice. "Clarke open the door, please."

"No, I'm fine just go away," Clarke insisted. Bellamy heard her rifling through drawers and frowned at Octavia.

"Clarkey whatcha lookin for?" Octavia called through the door. Clarke sighed.

"I just- ugh nothing," she replied. Octavia's eyebrows drew together.

"C'mon what do you need?" Octavia tried again. Bellamy heard a defeated sigh from Clarke as she gave in.

"Uh my mascara is running I need some makeup remover." She was clearly lying, and Octavia knew exactly how to catch her.

"Oh there's some in the top right drawer," Octavia bluffed, hoping Clarke wouldn't check.

"No, no it's empty," Clarke lied. "Can you just grab me your makeup bag?" Octavia looked at Bellamy, concern and desperation clouding her usually sparkling blue eyes, and shook her head. He nodded for her to head upstairs and after a brief silent argument, she listened, telling Clarke she was going to get her makeup.

"Clarke," Bellamy had called again, his voice low and rough with concern. "Clarke, either you tell me what's wrong or I swear to god I'll break down this door."

"Bellamy," Clarke whispered, her voice small and cracking. She was crying. "Please, just let it go. I'm fine, I promise."

"Ok," Bellamy said. He heard her sigh in relief. "I'm knocking the door down so step back."

"Bellamy I mean it!" she cried. "Just fuck off!" Something was seriously wrong, she never swore at him.

"And I mean it when I say I will rip this door off it's goddamn hinges, Clarke!" Bellamy had yelled back. For a few tense seconds, he worried she would actually make him do it. Then, the lock clicked and the door inched open, Clarke peeking out at him. Her eyes were red, sparkling with unshed tears. He set a hand on the door, forcing the door further open. And then his heart shattered into a million pieces. There, on Clarke's cheek, was a red-purple bruise outline of a hand. Someone had slapped her. His Princess, his precious girl. And someone had hit her. Bellamy felt tears spring to his eyes, but he held them back, determined not to cry in front of her. He knelt in front of Clarke, gently reaching up and brushing the pad of his thumb over the mark. She winced and in that instant, his sadness turned to rage. Cold, hard rage.