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Bellamy’s never been much of a drinker.
A couple beers on the weekend, sure. But vodka cranberries, jungle juice, rum and cokes, shots and whatever the hell else most college students pour down their throats to compensate for the fact that their parents are no longer watching their every move? No thanks.
Not to mention he couldn’t. Between his grad student classes, and the classes he was a TA for, and his job at the campus bookstore, not to mention checking on his baby sister Octavia, who’d just started at Arkadia University as a freshman and was more than happy to partake in the usual drinking habits of a college student, Bellamy had enough on his plate without adding a hangover.
So he didn’t usually drink.
But tonight was an exception.
First, his girlfriend Echo broke up with him. The reason for which was him not being “as passionate about their relationship as he was about the Roman Empire.” A direct quote which had led his roommate Miller to burst out laughing.
“Sorry,” he’d said, after seeing Bellamy’s glare, “But you have to admit she’s not wrong.”
“So what if I’m not passionate?” Bellamy retorted, “Passion doesn’t make a relationship. Hard work does, and mutual respect, and communication. I was a great boyfriend! I remembered her birthday and our anniversary. I never cheated. I always told her she looked good.”
“Exactly you were super boring,” their third roommate, John Murphy, chimed in, “Girls hate that.”
“Yeah that’s why you and Emori are doing so well,” Bellamy said, “Because of the constant passionate fighting and breaking up you do every weekend.”
John grinned, “Not because of the fighting, because of the make-up sex. Speaking of which, I’m working with her at the Dropship tonight. You should come by and drink your boring sorrows away.”
Bellamy usually turned these offers down, despite the free alcohol Murphy would slide their way when he was bartending, but he had just been dumped, and he wasn’t working the next day, so he agreed.
Mistake number one, as it was what he saw when he got to the bar that made him really drink.
The Dropship was your typical college watering hole with way too many underaged drinkers since anyone under 21 that didn’t have a fake ID had a friend that did or knew someone who worked there.
Bellamy’s own delinquent friends filled a booth in the back. He’d gone to college later than most, taking a couple years off to work and get legal rights over Octavia, so most of his college friends enjoyed relying on him to buy them alcohol, even if he didn’t partake, but Bellamy didn’t mind. He’d rather buy them beer than have Jasper and Monty die from alcohol poisoning from whatever concoction they cooked up in their dorm room.
But now he was in his first year of grad school and most of his friends were finally legal and already drinking when he arrived.
Of course that didn’t stop them from acting like their underaged counterparts.
“Bellamy!” Jasper shouted, waving Bellamy over and nearly knocking over Miller’s beer in the process, “Holy shit! You’re out past 9!”
“Ha ha,” Bellamy said dryly as he joined the table.
“What brings you out so late?” Jasper climbed over the booth to engulf Bellamy in a hug and flag down their waitress, Murphy’s on-again off-again girlfriend Emori, over for another drink.
“Echo broke up with him,” Miller supplied.
“You guys were still dating?” Monty wrinkled his nose, “I feel like I haven’t seen you guys together in weeks.”
“Exactly,” Miller nodded.
Bellamy didn’t bother to protest this time. And he might have made it out of the night unscathed, if when Emori brought him over a beer he hadn’t looked over her shoulder.
But he did, and there at the other end of the bar was Octavia, his definitely-not-21 baby sister, sitting on the lap of some guy that had to be at least Bellamy’s age if not older, laughing and drinking a beer. Mistake number two.
“What the fuck,” he growled.
The group, including Emori, turned to see what he was looking at.
“Uh-oh,” Monty said.
“Bellamy,” Miller tried to grab his arm, but Bellamy pulled out easily from his grip and marched right over.
Which had led to screaming match in the middle of a bar with his sister, nearly a physical fight with the guy she’d been sitting on, and a beer in the face, which had stunned Bellamy enough that Octavia and her supposed new boyfriend left without him being able to do anything about it.
So when Murphy, who’d been watching from behind the bar, sympathetically pushed a shot of something brown towards him, Bellamy had downed it without a second thought.
And then Jasper had bought him another, and someone else had handed him another, and another and eventually he lost count of the drinks that ended up in his hand.
And before he knew it Bellamy Blake was drunk for the first time since high school.
“Holy shit,” he said to himself. Unable to help himself, Bellamy giggled. He was wedged in the corner of the booth now, Monty and Miller on the other side flirting with each other and Jasper talking a mile a minute to Emori and her fellow waitress Maya.
“You okay, Bell?” Miller asked.
Monty raised a brow, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him make that noise before.”
Emori gave him a glimpse over. “You should probably move Jasper,” she advised.
“Why?”
“Dude’s about to have to hurl, in three, two-”
“No I’m-” The sudden arrival of the taste of the burrito he’d eaten for dinner in his mouth disagreed and Jasper moved just in time for Bellamy to race out of the booth and into the bathroom.
The puke in the toilet bowl swam in his vision and Bellamy stuck his arms out against the small stall to steady himself.
“Fuck,” he mumbled, flushing the remains of his dinner, “fuck.”
He was so drunk. Too drunk. And he felt awful. He’d been dumped, Octavia had been felt up by some stranger in public and was mad at him and now he was wasted in a shitty college bar.
Bellamy sighed and leaned against the stall. It was covered in graffiti and if he hadn’t been so drunk, he was sure he’d definitely be thinking about the graffiti found in ancient ruins and how it was a comment on the persistence of human behavior.
But he was, so he just stared at the wall until the darkest writing caught his eye and he read it over and over instead.
For a good time call Clarke: 867-5309
For a good time call. For a good time.
Bellamy was having a terrible time. He wanted to have a good time.
Fumbling around, he managed to pull out his phone from his pocket and unlock it. Dialing the number took a few tries, not to mention there was no area code-when was this written, 1987?-so he guessed it was a local number and put Arkadia’s code, but finally he got it to ring.
“Hello?” A woman answered and for a moment Bellamy forgot who he was calling, until he looked at the wall again.
“Is this Clarke?”
“Yes, who is this?” The voice on the other end sounded suspicious. Not like a good time.
“For a good time call?” Bellamy narrowed his eyes at the lying graffiti and hiccupped into the phone. He needed another drink.
“Ugh,” Suspicion turned to anger, “Listen buddy, I don’t know where you got this number, but tell whoever gave it to you to knock it off. If I get one more drunk rambling phone call or voicemail-”
Bellamy tried to listen to the girl, he really did, but nausea hit him hard again and he started to vomit.
“Oh my god,” he heard Clarke on the other end and some combination of her voice and his throwing up, brought Bellamy to his senses.
“Jesus,” he said when he’d finished, flushing again, “Shit, shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m fucking doing. I’m really sorry.”
Clarke was silent for a minute and Bellamy though she might have hung up, but then she said. “Are you okay?”
“Um,” Bellamy shook his head, then remembered she couldn’t see him and said, “No I’m really fucking drunk.”
Clarke, to his surprise laughed, “Uh yeah I can tell that much. I mean how do you feel? I really don’t want you to die of alcohol poisoning and my number to be the last one you called.”
“Okay,” he said, “Sorry, I don’t think I’m gonna die.”
“Is there anyone there with you?”
“Not in the bathroom,” he said, swinging open the stall door to check.
Clarke laughed again. “Where are you?”
“The bathroom.”
“The bathroom where?”
“The Dropship.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“How all you drunk idiots keep getting my number,” she said, “My ex must have wrote it on the wall.”
“He did,” Bellamy confirmed, tracing the numbers with his finger, “For a good time call Clarke. Sorry.”
“Ugh,” she said, “That asshole.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Clarke said, “What’s your name?”
“Bellamy.”
“Bellamy, stop apologizing” she repeated, her voice now sweet like she was talking to a child, “Are you at the bar with anyone?”
“Yeah,” he replied, “My friends.”
“Could you give the phone to one of them? Just so I can confirm you’re okay?”
Bellamy didn’t want to. He wanted to keep talking to Clarke. She had a silvery voice that made him want to listen to whatever she said. She could be reading the phonebook and he’d want to keep listening. It made him forget Echo and Octavia and this entire mess of a day.
“Bellamy?”
“Yeah, okay.” He stumbled out of the stall and back into the bar. His friends had moved from the booth to the pool table where Jasper and Miller were currently playing while Monty watched. He spotted Bellamy first.
“Are you alright?” Monty asked.
Bellamy huffed. He was getting very tired of that question. “I’m fine. Can you tell Clarke I’m not gonna die?”
“Who’s Clarke?”
Bellamy ignored him. “Clarke I’m gonna put you on speaker phone.”
“Ok, Bellamy,” She said, amusement in her voice.
He took the phone from his ear and squinted at it, taking a minute for his eyes to adjust to the screen before finding the speaker button.
“Clarke?”
“I’m here, Bellamy.”
“Ok this is my friend Monty, Monty tell Clarke I’m not going to die.”
He handed the phone over as Monty shook his head. “He seems okay. Drunker than I’ve ever seen him, but not choke on his own vomit and die drunk.”
“Wait, is this Monty Green?” Monty and Bellamy exchanged a confused look.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Monty Green from Organic Chemistry with Professor Jackson?”
Realization dawned on Monty’s face. “Oh shit, Clarke Griffin?”
“Yeah!”
“No way! How on earth did Bellamy get your number?”
“I found it on the bathroom wall,” Bellamy explained.
Clarke chuckled, “I ran into my asshole ex there a few weeks ago while I was on a date. I think he must have written it there as some revenge. I’ve been getting texts, calls and voicemails like this for a while.”
Bellamy winced. “Sorry I didn’t realize. He sounds like a jerk though.”
“He is,” Clarke said, “Though I have to say, none of the callers have been as apologetic and nice about it as Bellamy.”
Bellamy tried to ignore the warm feeling in his stomach at her compliment.
“Even if he did vomit on the phone.”
The nice feeling dropped back to dread.
Monty cracked up. “Well it was nice talking to you Clarke, we should hang out sometime soon.”
“Definitely. Can you make sure Bellamy gets home safe?”
“I will.” Monty handed the phone back to Bellamy and hurried back over to Miller and Jasper, probably to spread the word of his embarrassment.
Bellamy turned off the speaker and sat down at the bar, motioning for Murphy to bring him another drink. “Thanks for that. Pretty sure I’ll never hear the end of this one.”
“No problem,” Clarke said, “It was the least I could do since you woke me up at midnight.”
“True.”
Murphy arrived with water and although Bellamy wanted to argue, he decided to take the hint and try to sober up.
“Organic Chemistry, huh? You must be pretty smart.”
“Well I’m pre-med so it’s kind of a requirement.”
“Oh that’s awesome.” Bellamy hesitated he knew he should let Clarke get off the phone and back to sleep, but he couldn’t help himself. Still, he waited a moment to give her the chance to hang up.
But to his delight she instead asked, “How about you?”
They talked on the phone for the rest of the night. Bellamy talked about getting his Master’s in education, and his goal of teaching high school history. Clarke explained her rocky college path between pre-med and art and he gave her the whole story of how he’d ended up so drunk in the first place.
But finally, two hours later, the bar was empty and Murphy was giving them his patented get-out-stare.
“We should go dude,” Miller said, clapping him on the back.
Clarke must have heard on the other end, because she said, “Oh shit, it’s late, I should probably go to sleep.”
“Yeah,” Bellamy said, cursing Miller in his head, “Thanks, um, for helping me out tonight.”
“No problem,” Clarke said, “Anytime. You have my number now after all.”
“I do,” Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, “And next time I’m here I’ll make sure to bring a pen to deface your number.”
She laughed, “My hero.”
The sound put a smile on his face, “Have a good night Clarke.”
“Good night Bellamy.”
And reluctantly, he ended the call.
--
The next morning Bellamy woke with a terrible hangover and the feeling of regret.
He did manage to suck up his pride enough to send an apology text to Octavia, but in doing so, spotted the 2 hour call he’d had with Clarke Griffin which only furthered his shame.
“What kind of idiot babbles to a stranger for two hours after getting her number off of a bathroom wall?” he bemoaned at breakfast.
Miller shrugged, “I think it’s cute. Like the beginning of a romantic comedy.”
“Drunkenly calling a stranger and vomiting on the phone isn’t the beginning of a love story Miller,” Bellamy rolled his eyes, “It’s the reason behind a restraining order.”
“I don’t know,” Miller said, “She stayed with you on the phone all night, didn’t she?”
She did, but Bellamy didn’t want to get his hopes up. So he didn’t save her number, or try to text or call her that week.
But he was unable to help himself from grabbed a sharpie when Miller invited him along to the Dropship again the next weekend. He was just returning a favor, he told himself. She’d made sure he was okay, he could stop her barrage of drunken calls.
Monty was already sitting at the bar when they got there talking to a tan girl with long dark hair. “I think that’s one of his engineering friends,” Miller said.
“You go ahead,” Bellamy said, “I’ve got to run to the bathroom.”
The men’s room seemed empty when he walked in, but when he opened his vomiting stall, to Bellamy’s surprise there was already someone in there.
A blonde girl was hunched over the toilet with a pen right over where Clark’s number was.
“Oh shit!” She jumped as the stall door swung open and at the sound of her voice Bellamy realized who she was immediately.
“Clarke.”
Her brow furrowed than lifted with recognition. “Bellamy.” She grinned at the Sharpie in his hand. “You came to protect my honor.”
He nodded towards her pen, “You got here first.”
Clarke shrugged, “Monty invited me and my friend Raven to get drinks here and I figured, well, I knew after the call I got last weekend no other guy was going to be able to compete. I wanted to save them all the trouble.”
Bellamy flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. “Well while I hate to deprive anyone else of such a good time,” he offered her the Sharpie, “Sounds like a good idea to me.”