Chapter Text
The walk with Charlotte left him with quite a few new feelings-most of them not very good. When he walked through his door to see Octavia’s smile welcoming him home from her spot on the couch, the wave of guilt that crashed over him almost took him out and he walked over to slump down next to her. Her smile dimmed a little as she looked him over and her eyes seemed to immediately pause on the red marks on his hand.
“You good, bro?” She asked slowly, staring at the scratches. None of Charlotte’s nails had broken skin, so she was probably trying to determine what he could’ve done to achieve the odd pattering of raised markings.
“I have to tell you something.” Bellamy blurted out. His sister was more than used to his abruptness and she was hardly ever surprised by his forceful word-vomit, anymore, so she just gave a slow nod.
“Is it about where you were?”
“It is. Charlotte stopped by and I felt bad about not letting her in the apartment.” Her eyes flashed at Charlotte’s name, but she didn’t immediately jump on him. Instead she narrowed her eyes at his hand and nodded for him to continue. “So, I said I’d go for a walk with her. I wasn’t going to hide it from you, but she was there, listening to our conversation and she’d been acting weird”-
“I’m not mad at you, Bell.” Reaching out, Octavia gently rested her hand over his, stopping his nervous fidgeting. “I know you. And I know she was probably doing her damndest to make you feel bad for her. Did she do that to you?”
“Yeah, she wanted to hold my hand. It doesn’t hurt or anything.”
She still looked upset as she heaved a great sigh and leaned back. “You said she was acting weird?”
“I’m not really sure how to describe it. She was just very on edge and kind of aggressive?” God, he felt like a jackass. And then he noticed his sister’s attire and felt like an even bigger jackass. “You going somewhere or did you just get dressed up for school today?” Her long hair was braided up into an artfully messy bun and she was wearing one of her few dresses. She was also wearing eye makeup, which didn’t happen hardly ever .
Shrugging, she gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Since we’re sharing tonight, I’ve got to tell you something.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Lincoln. We’ve been casually dating for a few months, but I really like him, Bell. I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”
Now, Bellamy might be overprotective and sometimes an unintentional asshole (her first boyfriend was the exception-he’d deserved every veiled threat thrown his way), but the look on her face was something he hadn’t seen before. (He was also trying not to be a suffocating, older sibling). “Well, I’m happy for you. He must be a really good guy if he’s put up with you this long.” He joked, knocking his shoulder into hers. Don’t ask to meet him, don’t ask to meet him .
“Gee, thanks.” She snarked, throwing her shoulder against his in retaliation and rolling her eyes. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, some comedy show with a laughing track playing on the tv. Octavia cleared her throat, glancing at him. “So. Did you, uh, want to maybe meet him?”
Fuck yeah . “Do you want me to meet him?” He asked, turning to look at her.
“Well, not tonight, since we have reservations somewhere, but...yeah. I think I would.” Her eyes snapped back to his, narrowing as she stabbed him in the side with her finger. “But! You will be nice! And not threaten him! Or give him the talk !” The end of each sentence was punctuated with a finger stab and he was suddenly very grateful she’d never been the type to let her nails grow out.
“Fine!” He yelped out a laugh, grabbing at her hands. “Fine, yeah, I’ll be nice to him, O.”
“You promise?”
“Promise.” And he genuinely meant it. Their relationship had grown quite a lot recently, but it was still evolving. He was used to treating her like his responsibility and the process of switching from a parental role, to that of a sibling, was an adjustment. Briefly, he thought about what he’d found out at the party and if he should bring it up. Talking about it with someone would probably help, but it wasn’t technically Octavia’s problem. Her biological father hadn’t been in their lives for a long time and that situation had been stressful enough.
Plus, he wasn’t sure. Not a hundred percent, though pretty close to it. Bellamy thought about Wells, imagined his face and tried to compare their features. He could have a brother. Well, a half-brother, but he didn’t give a shit about that. It’d been just him and Octavia since his mother had died, what would it be like to have a brother?
You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Who’s to say he wants to be in your fucked up family?
Maybe he wouldn’t. Wells was a good guy, goodness just seemed to radiate out of his pores, but how would he feel if he knew about Bellamy? They were close to the same age, had Jaha been married to Wells’ mother at the time? I need to think about this more. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his friend.
He was still thinking about it when Octavia left twenty minutes later for her date and he was no closer to an answer by the time she came back after dinner and a movie.
~
She’d never had to go running two nights in a row before, but Abby had been calling all day and leaving scathing voicemails. By the end of the day, Clarke’s gums and nail beds were throbbing and her body was a livewire of energy threatening to overtake her. So, after her last class of the day, she loaded up her books and drove straight to her spot in the park. It hadn’t rained in a few weeks so the air was cold and dry, the animals she could hear cautious and quiet in the dying light.
It was nearing dark, so she left her jacket in the car, locking the doors behind her and tucking the keys away in the bush she usually hid them in. A few birds in the trees above chirped noisily and Clarke found herself staring up into the branches, attempting to breathe calmly in through her nose and out of her mouth. It took a lot to break her control, but the last few weeks were wearing on her. The new-wrong wolf, Bellamy’s terrible luck, her father’s anniversary, her mother . It took a lot to loosen her control. And there had been a lot.
Releasing a heavy sigh, she unbuttoned her jeans and started to drag them down her thighs, her mind volleying between her mother and Bellamy. Her mind usually went to Bellamy. Even with all the time they’d recently had together, she wanted more and her gaze turned hot and her vision sharpened as she looked off into the distance, to where she knew he was. At this rate, she’d have to see him soon-before her wolf rebelled anymore than it was already threatening to do.
Tugging her sweatshirt up over her head, she nearly smiled at the thought. Standing barefoot in just her bra and underwear, she was reaching around her back to unhook the piece of clothing when a sound caught her attention.
Clarke froze, not breathing as she focused on the night sounds, writing off the ones she knew-birds, squirrels, mice. There. A soft step. The gentle crush of dry, frosted grass under someone’s feet. She whirled around, searching, eyes roving until she found it. A person was crouched down a few yards away behind her car. Watching her. She could sense them there hiding .
“Who’s there?” She demanded harshly, walking back towards the car, unbothered by her near-nakedness.
There was a surprised huff of air and the sounds of someone mildly scrambling, like they were getting ready to run away. A familiar scent carried on the breeze-sterile, with the hint of something expensive and floral-and Clarke could see a blonde head trying to duck back further out of sight. She knew.
“Mom?” She snarled. Abby Griffin stood up from her hiding spot, realizing she’d been caught, but her face didn’t show any sort of remorse or guilt for spying on her daughter. No, her face was cold stone cut into a mask of pride as she stood defiantly and walked out from behind the car. Hands on her hips like she had the right . Like Clarke was once again a wicked little child, a literal monster of disappointment. “What are you doing out here?” She was trying to be calm. Fuck , she’d never been interrupted before a shift before.
“I think the better question is what you’re doing out here, young lady.” Her mother retorted, swinging her perfect braid over her shoulder. Clarke walked closer, her nostrils flaring in anger and Abby flinched. A small movement, barely noticeable in the fading light, but Clarke saw it and froze a few feet away.
“Mom?” She said again, her fingers and toes going cold with realization. Abby didn’t respond, but the thin line of her mouth tightened and the lines at the corners of her eyes stood out and why hadn’t Clarke noticed how old her mother was getting? How unhappy and worn down she looked when she wasn’t snapping and biting at whoever tried to get close? “How?” The cold was spreading, up her arms and legs.
Her mother’s shoulders sagged, briefly, before straightening back as she seemed to reach a decision. “I saw you.” She whispered and her eyes narrowed. “I saw you and your father .”
“When?” Clarke croaked, the reality of her secret falling down around her, the cold spreading up her back, through her belly and leaving a sick feeling.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” Her mother snarled, the words heavy with pain and anger. “Were you or your father ever going to tell me the truth?”
Clarke didn’t answer. She didn’t know if her father ever planned to tell Abby the truth and thanks to that day in the woods, she never would. She hadn’t planned to. Her mother’s constant ire and disappointment ensured that Clarke didn’t have much trust in her and anytime she found herself thinking differently, she’d think of her father bleeding out in the dirt. And remember the sound of an echoing gunshot and the quick pitter-patter of a scared deer that had never been the intended target.
No one had known their secret. No one but the trees that they chased each other in and the gentle stream that they drank from, her father’s chickering laughter through too-sharp teeth as his big paw splashed her. That thought had circled around in her head for years. The shots had never come close to the deer and no one knew their secret and the cold was in her chest, now. Spreading an icy fire.
Abby choked on a cry and Clarke knew. Her claws were split open and her eyes were liquid fire in her skull and her bitch mother knew their secret . “What did you do?” She demanded, the words sharp and garbled as her mouth struggled to form words around her too-sharp teeth and there would be no laughter this time. No more father and no more laughter and her voice was inhuman, like someone dragging beer bottles over a paved road.
“Clarke!” Her mother cried in a voice weak with fear, soaked in it as she tried to put the car in between herself and her daughter. “Clarke, please, I did what I had to for your future!”
She was cold. Everything was cold and anger and fear and hurt . “For my future?” She yelled, but it was closer to a howl. And there was no deer or sunlight coming through the branches, or father, but it felt like she was right there all over again. Laying next to him and feeling that brutal, bitter pain of loneliness hit her just like the bullet that took him from her. “You did this for nobody but yourself, you selfish, jealous bitch.” Clarke growled and she wasn’t sure how much of it her mother could understand now, but the look of shame and stark terror made that cold feeling inside her thrum with pleasure.
Her teeth gnashed together, the need to bite and tear dripping from her gums and she goes down onto all fours, reveling in her mother’s scream of wild emotion as the woman turned to run. Even not fully changed, Clarke was on her in seconds, yanking her down onto the ground, into the dirt. And father had always said she was fast. The fastest. He’d been so proud.
Flipping Abby over, Clarke climbed on top of her, her dirty blonde hair hanging like a curtain in stressed snarls. Abby’s face was pale and wet with tears, her breath hiccuping out of her, and Clarke had never noticed how unhappy and old her mother looked. How long had she looked that way? How long had she been unhappy and worn down and Clarke had never wanted to see it? Had never wanted to ask her mother why she was so mean and cold.
“Please, Clarke, oh please don’t hurt me.”
Clarke wasn’t sure if it was her choice anymore. A line of drool dripped down onto her mother’s thin collar bone and she followed close behind it with her teeth, just dragging them noncommittally along the paper-thin skin. “You shouldn't have come here.” She said in resignation, the weight of her gravel-voice sinking down in between them like a judgment. A death sentence. Her father’s long-dead voice was in her head telling her that they didn’t kill people, that they weren’t monsters, but the real monster that’d killed him was right here in front of her. Begging for her life as Clarke’s claws sank into the earth and the beast bayed for blood.
There was a familiar ping from where her phone lay in her discarded jeans and she froze, mouth open around a delicate column of throat.
Her father was dead. Dead and gone and her mother was a self-righteous human monster. And she wanted to do this. Wanted to sink her teeth in and feel the fight and hate and unhappiness leave her mother’s frail body. She deserves this!
Maybe. But Clarke didn’t deserve what it would do to her.
She fell back off of her mother, panting as her muscles strained and her beast yowled. Abby lay still, sobbing. “Stay away from me.” Clarke said to her as she went over to pick her phone up and look at the screen.
How are you? You’re coming to Jasper’s this weekend, right?
Bellamy had texted just in time, but the energy was still burning, thriving, and this time when her beast sang for Bellamy’s lovely curls and honey-smoke scent, she didn’t tell it no. Instead she slung off what was left of her bra and panties and skin and left her mother sobbing alone and scared in the dirt.