Chapter Text
October 2015
It was just one of those days.
It was a rushing hour at the café, and Clarke couldn’t even catch a breath, going from table to table. Her boss wasn’t in a good mood either – but he rarely was anyway – which only caused her more stress. She’d barely slept the night before, loud music coming from the apartment next door keeping her awake until four in the morning.
She arrived late for work, which earned her a warning from her boss and two hours spent cleaning the toilets and wiping the floor.
Clarke was now barely standing on her feet, a headache clouding her thoughts. Her hands clenched around the tray as Cage, her boss, walked past her:
“Hurry up, Griffin! Table 6!”
Clarke took a long, deep breath.
She felt like Emily in The Devil Wears Prada, on the verge of a mental breakdown.
“I love my job, I love my job…” she mumbled desperately.
Her job was a necessity. It was the only way she could convince her mom to let her pursue a degree in Art. ‘You want to become an artist? Fine, but you’re gonna have to work for it’. Her mother was still helping her pay for part of her studies, which somehow only made it worse. Clarke couldn’t afford to lose her job, because it would mean failing.
And failing wasn’t an option.
A couple was seated at table 6, in a corner of the room. A black-haired guy with a cocky smile on his face and a seemingly upset brunette.
As Clarke got closer, she realized they were arguing. Or rather, the girl was aggressively whispering to the guy while he rolled his eyes and sighed as if she was making a scene.
“… tell me, Bellamy. I don’t like you hiding things from me!” Clarke heard the girl hiss.
“You’re just being paranoid,” he snapped back, annoyed.
“If you’d just tell me who this Bree girl is, I – “
The girl interrupted herself, sensing Clarke’s sudden appearance as she reached their table, and immediately turned her face away from her. Clarke realized after a second that the girl was hiding her tears.
She cleared her throat, pretending she didn’t notice.
“Hello! Would you like – “
“A Coke,” the Bell-something-guy cut her off, not even sparing her a glance.
Clarke clenched her jaw. If she wasn’t so exhausted and if he wasn’t acting like a jerk, she might have found him attractive.
But as of this moment, she only found him profoundly irritating.
She took a deep breath.
It’s fine. It’s fine.
“And you…?” she asked the girl, who seemed both frustrated and embarrassed.
An awkward silence settled as Clarke waited for an answer; the brunette was too busy glowering at her boyfriend.
“A – uh… hot chocolate,” she finally told Clarke after a minute, her eyes not leaving the pretentious guy’s face. “Thank you.”
Clarke nodded, walking away.
The argument started again the second she turned her back on them.
Whatever. It was none of her business.
Clarke wished she could take her time. She wished it took an hour to open up a bottle of Coke and prepare hot chocolate.
But it didn’t. It was over within five minutes, which meant she had to bring the order to the clients, wait as they paid, and start again.
Again, and again, and again.
For four more hours.
She wasn’t sure she would survive it.
When she came back, the girl wasn’t whispering anymore. She seemed almost hysterical, her high-pitched voice trembling with fury.
“… like I’m a fucking idiot. I know you’re lying! I know you’re fucking someone else – “
“Roma, you need to calm down,” her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend roared, his fist clenching on the table.
Damn. Clarke wondered what had been said within five minutes that made the girl so angry. She made sure not to show any interest as she put the hot chocolate in front of her – but it wouldn’t have made a difference if she had, because neither of them even looked at her. They ignored her completely.
Her fingers had barely closed around the bottle of Coke when the girl suddenly got up.
“Fuck you!” she barked at her boyfriend, already walking past Clarke as a few heads turned their way.
For a second, Clarke was stunned.
What the fuck.
The guy immediately got up to follow her.
Clarke snapped out of her trance.
“Hey!” she caught his arm, her other hand still holding the bottle of coke. “You need to pay for this.”
Time was money. She’s just wasted her time on these two, and she needed the fucking money.
“Fuck off!” he hissed, jerking away from her.
But she wouldn’t let go.
“No! You need to pay.”
“I don’t fucking care.”
“Well, I do! The fuck do you think you are?” Clarke grunted.
She was losing patience already.
Adrenaline was invading her body; her heartbeat was accelerating.
She suddenly felt very awake.
Dark eyes stared back at her.
“Fuck off, bitch.”
It all happened very quickly.
Her brain stopped functioning for a second. Her hands moved on their own.
When she regained consciousness and realized what she had done, it was too late.
He was covered in soda. Dripping from its face, going down his chest and his legs, staining his clothes and forming a small flake on the floor.
The bottle in Clarke’s hand was almost empty.
She’d just thrown its content at her client.
Both of them stood frozen, gaping at each other. His eyes were full of fury.
Clarke was terrified. Not because of him.
But because she was going to be fired.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She was suddenly very aware of how silent the room had become.
And there, only a few meters away, stood her boss. Glaring at her, as if he wished he could kill her on the spot.
“Shit,” she cursed.
“You fucking – “, started the black-haired guy she’d just humiliated.
(But he deserved it.)
“Griffin!” bellowed Cage.
She was dead.
Not physically, but her soul had left her body.
She closed her eyes, wishing she could bury herself hundreds of feet underground and be forgotten by the whole world.
She couldn’t concentrate on the words escaping her boss’ mouth. Nothing made sense.
She threw a soda at a client. In front of dozens of people and her boss, who was probably cursing her.
Someone, please, kill her right there and then. It would feel so much better than going through the shame she felt at this moment. Maybe one of the two men glaring at her could do the job. They’d probably be happy to do it.
Cage seemed to be apologizing to the other guy, giving him paper towels and offering him free drinks, but it didn’t do anything to appease him. Instead, he stormed out of the café, the door shutting with force behind him.
Clarke swallowed with difficulty as Cage focused his attention back on her.
She didn’t need to listen to what he had to say.
She already knew.
“You’re fired,” he told her almost quietly, but his voice was shaking with rage.
Clarke nodded.
And she left.
She left, despite Cage calling after her, probably to berate her for what she did.
The fresh air hit her like a slap in the face, as if a force was bringing her back to reality.
She'd just lost her job.
She was unemployed.
She’d failed.
After shock and realization, there came a sudden desperation.
She thought of all the time she would have to spend applying for new jobs she hated just as much as this one, pretending she was having the time of her life when calling her mom, and trying to forget the burning shame she felt because of what she just did.
She closed her eyes, on the verge of tears.
Someone swore loudly a few meters away. She instinctively looked to her left, where the voice came from.
Someone was shaking their arms, as if to get rid of something clinging to them, while cursing every person who had ever walked this earth.
It was getting dark outside, so it took her a few seconds to realize it was The Guy.
The Bell-something-guy she'd just thrown a coke to.
She stood there, frozen, hoping he wouldn't see her.
And then something snapped in her head, and she thought: fuck it.
She deserved better. She was already in deep shit anyway.
She was running toward him before she could stop herself.
"HEY!" she yelled.
The guy didn't react. He didn't even look around him to see who could be yelling in the street. He simply didn't seem to care.
"HEY!" she yelled again, much closer to him this time.
Her hand caught his wet and stinky arm, but he was already turning around to face her. His eyes widened for half a second – the time it took him to recognize her. Half of his white t-shirt was sticking to his skin, and part of his hair was still wet. A drop of soda was rolling down his temple.
He immediately pulled away from her.
“You again?” he sneered. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”
"I NEEDED THAT JOB!" she exploded.
He let out a disbelieving, mean laugh.
"How is that my fucking prob-"
"You should've paid me!" she kept going, and her voice and her body were shaking. "I needed that job! I needed…"
She was getting out of breath, overwhelmed by her emotions. Contrary to her, the guy in front of her looked calm.
But his eyes were blades. He, too, was on the edge of exploding.
"Maybe," he said quietly, insisting on every syllable, “you should've thought about it before you threw a soda at me."
She gasped.
"I asked you - I wouldn't have done that if… if you…"
She was at a loss for words.
She hated that man.
She hated him.
She groaned, clenching her fists. She pointed a finger at him as she took a step closer, hoping he could see how much she despised him in her eyes.
"If you'd just paid me, none of this would've happened," she told him, her voice trembling with the intensity of her emotion. "You're a fucking asshole. You know, I've known you for fifteen minutes, and I already hate you. You think you can just act like whatever the hell you want and think it will have no consequence. Well, good for you if none of this matters. After all, who cares if that random girl needs money? That's none of your problem, right?"
Tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks as she was talking, and she furiously wiped them away.
She didn't give him time to respond. He didn’t seem like he was about to, anyway. His lips were pressed in a thin line.
"I'm sorry I did this, okay? But you know what? You deserved it. And you shouldn't treat your girlfriend like this," she added after a pause.
She turned her back on him, feeling completely drained of energy. She didn't care about what he had to say. She didn't want to hear about how much of a stupid bitch she was.
She wanted to go home, collapse on her bed, and cry until she forgot her own name.
"Do you need a new job?"
She stopped. Frowned.
Did he just talk to her?
She turned around just slightly. Just enough to see him staring intently at her.
"What?"
"Do you need a job?" he repeated.
For a moment, she just stood there, staring back at him.
Was he framing her?
Or maybe she was hallucinating. Was she high? Nothing made sense.
As she observed him, she noticed the way his jaw clenched and the way he averted her eyes. She also noticed – and she hated herself for that – the way his shirt was stinking on his torso. Damn, this guy is built like a god, she thought for a second. But it wasn’t relevant. He was an asshole. And he was still angry at her.
But he also looked… guilty?
"Of course I need a new job," she finally answered.
He winced, as if hesitating.
"What do you say I find you a new job, and you do something for me in return?" he offered, his voice tense.
She could tell he wasn't particularly pleased by his own offer. And yet, he made it anyway.
Maybe she'd said something that struck him.
She bit her lip, thinking.
A new job. A way to make amends.
Damn, she really needed a job.
And, well. She didn’t have anything to lose.
"What kind of something?" she asked.
“Hi, I’m Bree,” Clarke introduced herself, extending her hand.
Roma stared at her with mistrust, her eyes narrowing.
Fuck, Clarke thought. Roma must have recognized her. She knew Bellamy’s stupid plan wouldn’t work. I’m gonna throw another soda at him, she thought.
“Hi,” Roma finally answered coldly.
They awkwardly shook hands as Clarke tried not to sigh with relief. Roma didn’t recognize her, cool.
Or if she did, she was a frighteningly good actress.
They sat in front of each other in silence.
The silence lasted way too long.
Clarke cleared her throat.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
“Thank you for meeting me,” Clarke said, forcing a smile.
This is wrong, she thought. This is so goddamn wrong.
But these were desperate times.
They were, ironically, meeting at a café. Not the one Clarke used to work in, obviously. She wasn’t suicidal.
And poor, innocent Roma had no idea they’d already met a week earlier and that she’d made a deal with her boyfriend in exchange for a new job.
It turned out Bellamy didn’t really care about Clarke being fired. She just happened to look like Bree, the girl he was cheating on his girlfriend with – because of course he was. Well, they didn’t look that much alike in reality. But since Bree’s Instagram was private, Roma spent her time investigating Bellamy’s life through her Facebook. The only two pictures of Bree she had access to were too blurry to distinguish her face, which only left her long blond hair. That was enough for Bellamy Blake to consider Clarke some kind of twin to his secret lover.
So here she was, pretending to be someone else, feeling both relieved and guilty that Roma didn’t remember her.
She was a terrible, immoral person. But she needed the damn job.
“Did you wan- ", Clarke started.
“I’m gonna go straight to the point,” Roma cut her off, joining her hands on the table between them.
Clarke froze.
“Okay…”
“Are you fucking my boyfriend?”
Clarke stared at her for a few seconds. It was so straight-forward, she almost burst out laughing. But from the look in Roma’s eyes, she knew her life depended on it.
Clarke sighed.
“If I were fucking him, do you think I would be talking with you right now?”
Roma snorted.
“I’ve seen worse.”
Clarke bit her lip.
‘Good point’, she thought.
“Listen, I came here because Bellamy asked me to,” she told her, and for once, it wasn’t a lie. “He wants you to stop worrying about… me. And him. There’s nothing going on.”
She wasn’t sure she sounded convincing. The only words that came to her mind were Bellamy’s, the ones he’d told her to repeat. She felt like a fairly bad actress, trying to remember all of her lines.
“And why should I believe you?” Roma responded, still cold as ice.
“Because… he cares about you,” Clarke could hear Bellamy’s voice inside her head, telling her what to say. She wanted to shut him up, but she had to keep going. “He’s doing this for you.”
‘I’ll rot in hell’, she thought. She wondered if a new job was worth an eternity of misery. In this world, yes it was.
Roma looked down. Her hands, frozen only a second ago, moved. Her fingers tapped nervously on the table.
Clarke’s words had impacted her.
“He has a weird way of showing it,” she only replied, her voice just slightly shaking.
And Clarke knew.
Roma was hoping.
She was in love with Bellamy, and she was hoping Clarke was telling the truth.
It couldn’t have been worse. Before meeting her, Clarke prayed for Roma to believe her. Now that she did, Clarke wished she’d started a scandal instead. Poor girl.
Clarke cleared her throat, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling settling in her chest.
“Maybe he doesn’t really know how to.”
Roma winced.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been telling myself...”
Clarke was waiting for a but. It never came.
She didn’t know what to say anymore.
After a silence that seemed to last forever – during which she hesitated between telling Roma the truth and getting a new job – Clarke cleared her throat.
“You know, he doesn’t like… seeing you like this. He knows it’s hurting you. That’s why he asked me to meet you.”
She’d fallen for the dark side.
In her defense, she wasn’t lying. Technically.
Roma stared back at her, her eyes softer than earlier but still mistrustful.
“Maybe I trust him. Maybe I don’t trust you.”
“That would be fair,” Clarke shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do to prove I’m telling the truth.”
“Exactly. But if you’re not… then what are you gaining from this?”
A job, Clarke thought. But she was starting to seriously regret doing this.
“Listen,” she sighed, “there is not one fiber of my being that wants to date your boyfriend. We’re just… friends.” Clarke did her best not to wince at the last word. “I can’t force you to believe me. That’s not why I’m here. I’m telling you this because Bellamy wants you to trust him. If you do, then that’s great. I’ve done my part. If you don’t, then it has nothing to do with me.”
“And how am I supposed to know who to believe? Maybe you’re just playing with me.”
Clarke thought for a moment.
“Just trust your instinct, Roma.”
It turned out Roma had a very bad instinct.
“Congrats,” Bellamy greeted Clarke as she approached him. “She believed you. She promised to stop obsessing over Bree.”
Clarke stopped in her tracks and glared at him. It wasn’t supposed to be good news.
“So, she trusts you now?”
“Yeah,” he answered, a cocky smile on his lips.
If only she could slap him in the face. Unfortunately, she’d have to wait until he respected part of his deal and gave her a new, hopefully decent job.
As she stood in front of him, shivering in the cold morning air, she wondered why the hell she even trusted that guy. She barely knew him. He might as well be a drug dealer and she wouldn’t know.
“That’s not something to be proud of,” she mumbled.
“And throwing a soda at someone is?”
When that someone is you, it is, yeah, she thought.
“So, I’ve done my part of the deal,” she said instead, ignoring him.
Bellamy snorted and turned away from her, his brown curls flying around his face as a gust of wind rammed into them.
“Follow me,” he ordered, already walking away.
Clarke struggled to keep the pace as he led her through the streets, turning a few corners and not even looking back to check if she was still there.
At some point, she wondered if he wasn’t purposely taking longer roads just to piss her off.
She was mentally cursing him when he suddenly stopped and turned around. His brown eyes were fixated on her face as she caught up with him.
“Here we are,” he announced.
She waited. Bellamy didn’t move, still staring at her.
She waited a few more seconds. He kept staring.
“Okay…?” Clarke mumbles, losing patience.
She stared right back at him, hoping it would unsettle him. It didn’t. The moment stretched, and Clarke once again had to face the fact that – damn. He really was good-looking.
No, God, fuck him and his stupid looks, she thought.
Then finally, finally, Bellamy’s eyes left her face as he put his hand on the door handle. He was about to enter when he snapped at her:
“Maybe try to smile for once.”
And he opened the door without looking back. Asshole. Clarke clenched her fists so hard she was shaking. She hated him.
She had to take a few seconds before she was able to follow him into the restaurant. She couldn’t mess it all up just because Bellamy fucking Blake was unbearable.
She took a deep breath and went in.
It smelled good. It smelled like… pizza.
The whole restaurant was decorated in warm colors. Red, yellow, orange. Wooden tables and chairs. Black-and-white photographs hanging on the walls. It looked like an old Italian restaurant from the 1960s.
In the back of the room stood a bar. Bellamy was already seated on a stool, greeting two men behind the counter. One must’ve been around her age; the other was older. They looked like father and son.
As she got closer, Clarke remembered Bellamy’s unpleasant words. ‘Maybe try to smile for once.’ She hated to admit it, but smiling would probably help her make a good impression. So she did.
Maybe more than necessary.
“Clarke,” Bellamy called, “this is Nathan Miller and his dad, David.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” she immediately responded, hoping it sounded genuine.
“Welcome, Clarke,” said the father – David, Clarke remembered. “So, Bellamy’s been telling us you were looking for a job?”
“I am.”
“Well, we’re looking for a new waitress. I’d say that’s a good start.”
“Yeah… I hope so.”
“You already worked as a waitress, that’s right?”
Clarke bit her lip. That wasn’t an experience she wanted to talk about.
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Bellamy’s told us about it.”
Clarke froze. She glanced at Bellamy, suddenly feeling anxious. You better not have told them about the incident, she silently threatened him.
“What did he say about it, exactly?” she dared ask, focusing her attention back on the two men in front of her.
Miller – the son – burst out laughing.
“That you’re a fucking superhero.”
“Nathan,” David scolded him.
“She threw a soda at Bellamy. She owns my eternal respect.”
“Shut up,” Bellamy grumbled.
Clarke’s eyes were wide open. She was speechless.
“You think I’m a superhero – because I threw a soda at him?”
Nathan shrugged, a sly smile on the corner of his lips.
“He probably deserved it. Didn’t he?”
Clarke blinked. She was not expecting the conversation to go down this route.
“Yeah, he did,” she said after a hesitation.
“I knew it.”
“Oh, come on, what do you know?” Bellamy rolled his eyes.
“That you can be a real asshole when you want to.”
“Nathan, enough,” David intervened. “We’re not employing her to throw sodas at clients. Even if it’s Bellamy.”
Nathan laughed. Clarke couldn’t help but smile. A real, amused smile.
“Hey! I’m your most loyal client,” Bellamy complained.
“Because you’re my son’s best friend.”
“And? I’m still paying.”
“You come here to hit on people all night, not to eat. Anyway, Clarke,” David continued. “Sorry for this mess. I hope we didn’t scare you.”
“Oh, not at all. On the contrary. You seem like very friendly people.”
She felt Bellamy’s dark eyes burning her. He was probably cursing her in his head.
“I like her,” Nathan said.
“I bet you do,” Bellamy mumbled.
Nathan only smiled wider.
“Well then,” David joined his hands on the counter, looking at Clarke, “when do we start?”
“Is he always like this?” Clarke sighed behind the bar.
Miller took his eyes off the drink he was preparing and looked over at her. Bellamy was overtly flirting with a red-headed girl at a table. It was disgusting to watch.
“Yep.”
“Ugh.”
Miller shrugged. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t know about that.”
It had been two weeks since she’d started as a waitress in Arkadia Pizza. It was going surprisingly well; the Millers were very nice to her, and Murphy – who’d been working in the restaurant for a couple of years – ignored her most of the time, which, from what she understood, meant he tolerated her. And it was already a lot.
But while she was grateful Bellamy had kept his word and given her a new job, she couldn’t help but feel constantly irritated with him.
The way he walked in every day like he owned the place. The way he talked, as if what the others had to say didn’t matter. The way he stared around the room, observing, judging, and assessing every woman before he picked one or two to seduce.
He came in to play his and Murphy’s favorite game: breaking his record on ‘How long does it take to convince a random girl to go on a date with Bellamy Blake?’.
Every. Day.
To say Clarke despised him was a euphemism. She couldn’t understand how David Miller could let this happen in his own restaurant and say nothing.
But she also noticed how deeply Bellamy respected David. He never behaved the same when he was around. Nathan had told her he and Bellamy had been friends ever since elementary school and that Bellamy never knew his dad. If she had to guess, she would say David was the father figure Bellamy and his sister had been missing their entire lives. At least, that would explain a few things.
But still, Clarke didn’t like it.
Murphy startled her when he loudly placed an empty plate on the counter beside her. He snorted, staring at Bellamy’s table.
“I think he’s getting there.”
Meaning, getting a new date.
“But he’s nowhere near his record,” Murphy went on, unbothered.
He took his phone out of his back pocket. A timer was on – 17 minutes and 53, 54, 55… seconds.
Clarke pursed her lips, ignoring her impulsive desire to snap at him.
“And what is his record?” she asked instead, forcing a fake smile on her face.
Murphy didn’t hesitate: “4 minutes and 36 seconds.”
“Damn.” It was even worse than she thought.
“David was furious. Girl didn’t even have the time to order anything,” Murphy smirked.
“Wow, I’m so impressed,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes.
Murphy ignored her and went back to work, checking his timer one last time before putting his phone back in his pocket. By the looks of it, Bellamy was about to end the game very soon. The girl in front of him was nodding shyly and staring at him with loving eyes.
“Does he have no respect for his girlfriend?” Clarke couldn’t help but groan.
She knew how ironic it was for her to ask that. But at least she felt guilty about what she did to Roma. Bellamy didn’t care one bit.
Miller sighed by her side.
“Bellamy doesn’t even know what it’s like. Roma is barely his girlfriend; she’s just a girl he kept around longer than the others.”
“But she loves him.”
Miller winced. “She isn’t the first, and she unfortunately won’t be the last.”
“How do you accept all of this? Does it not make you angry?” Clarke couldn’t help but push, scandalized by what she was hearing.
Miller frowned and turned away, and for a second, she thought she went too far – but he didn’t seem mad.
At the same time, Bellamy was finally leaving the girl’s table, a smirk on his face.
Miller slowly shook his head, disapproving.
“It does. It’s the only thing we always argue on.”
November 2015
“What do you want?” she asked Bellamy dryly.
She watched him as he arched his eyebrow. For once, he hadn’t taken a seat at an empty table, eating a slice of pizza, waiting for a pretty girl to come in. He’d settled on a stool by the counter and silently watched her work as she made drinks for clients. She ignored him for ten minutes before she gave in.
“Am I not a client? Shouldn’t you have asked me that earlier?”
“You’re not a client,” Clarke answered coolly. “You can go behind the bar and serve yourself. You’ve done it before.”
“Maybe this time I wanted to be served by you.”
Clarke bit the inside of her cheeks, cursing him in her head. She could see in his amused brown eyes he was trying to get a reaction out of her – and she would not give him that.
“Don’t you have another girl you can annoy today?”
Bellamy winced, pulling a falsely disappointed face.
“Ah! Unfortunately, there’s not a beauty in sight. I guess you’ll do.”
And he smirked.
She hated that fucking, stupid, despicable smirk. She wanted to slap it off his face each time she saw him. The fact that he looked stupidly sexy doing it made it a hundred times worse.
Today was worse than ever. Not only had he decided to irritate her, he’d also decided to hit on her. Because he knew how much she hated it. He knew it because Clarke had made sure he did for weeks, glaring at him each time they locked eyes. Since she couldn’t say what she thought of him out loud – mostly because she didn’t want to start another argument that would lead to her dismissal – she at least hoped he sensed how much she couldn’t stand him.
And oh boy, did he surely sense it.
“Again, what do you want?”
Bellamy liked to play with her, tease her, and see how much she could take. He brought his hand to his chin, raising his eyes to the sky, making a whole show while he pretended to think of an answer.
Clarke clenched her jaw to prevent the very long, exasperated sigh she was holding in from coming out.
“Hmm, I wonder… What about a coke?” he said, a seemingly innocent smile spreading on his lips.
Of course, his smile was nothing but innocent.
Clarke didn’t let his taunt get to her. She remained as cold as ever.
“Would you rather have it in a can or in your face?”
Bellamy’s smile grew wider.
“I recommend the second option,” she went on.
“You wouldn’t dare. This job is too important to you. And I wouldn’t find you a new one this time.”
Clarke pursed her lips, frustrated. He was right.
“True. But even if you did have another job for me, I would never manipulate another girl for you. I’d rather be homeless.”
Guilt was a slap in her face every time she saw him hit on a new girl, remembering Roma’s desperation for Bellamy’s love. Something she would never have, but Clarke made her believe she could.
She liked to think that, had she known how much of a player Bellamy was, she’d never would’ve accepted to pass for Bree. But the truth was, she’d been so desperate for a new job that she might as well have had.
It sometimes kept her awake at night. She imagined herself finding Roma and telling her the truth. But she also knew she’d mingled in their relationship enough already. It wasn’t her place, and she didn’t want to be part of this anymore.
Clarke was expecting a snappy comment from Bellamy as a response, but he sighed instead, seemingly fed up.
“Listen, I was not cheating on Roma with Bree. You didn’t lie to her, if that makes you feel any better.”
Clarke narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
“Don’t care. It’s the truth. Bree was just another girl I met here.”
Clarke was picking his coke from the fridge as he talked, rolling her eyes when he couldn’t see her face, then putting the bottle in front of him.
“So, you went on a date with her,” she concluded.
Bellamy snorted, uncapped the bottle of Coke, and brought it to his lips. Clarke looked away, feeling weirdly uncomfortable keeping her eyes on him.
“I don’t go on dates with most of those girls,” he answered after a few gulps. “Either I fuck them or I don’t see them ever again. Bree was just a bit… insistent.”
It was Clarke’s time to snort.
“So, you do cheat on Roma, just not with Bree?”
He didn’t answer, drinking more of his soda. His silence said it all.
“What a great man you are.”
That made him stop for a second. And for once, the look he gave her wasn’t smug, playful, or mocking. His face didn’t show any emotion, but there was a hint of something in his eyes that Clarke couldn’t decipher.
“I never pretended to be one.”
It was an especially quiet day, which was not a good thing for Clarke.
The Miller’s restaurant didn’t need to find new clients – it had been established for years and had built a reputation long ago. Clarke had never seen it empty since she started working there.
But on this Thursday noon, only three tables were full, and they were all occupied by old, regular clients.
And Bellamy, of course. Bellamy was always there. Smirking at her above an unknown girl’s shoulder, watching her as she walked around the room, calling after her, so she would get his order instead of Murphy or Miller.
He made his presence known at all times, and she hated the fact that, despite her best efforts, she couldn’t ignore him.
He enjoyed it even more, knowing it made her mad. She tried to look unaffected, but each time she ended up clenching her fists or pursing her lips, he always noticed. She could see it in the smile slightly growing in the corner of his lips, as if to tell her: I won.
So, he came back the next day, and the one after that, and all the other days of the week, with the same objective – driving her crazy.
Which was why the lack of clients made Clarke anxious. There was no pretty girl in sight, not enough distraction for Bellamy to occupy himself with. Which meant he would be focusing on annoying her.
The thought alone gave her a headache, and he hadn’t even started.
She was finishing cleaning a table, straightening up after a quick wipe, when he made himself known, almost running into her.
Her first instinct was to apologize, thinking it was a client.
Then she recognized his scent, a warm perfume she’d gotten familiar with after many days spent in the same room as him – a mix of coffee, aftershave, and something spicier Clarke couldn’t define.
She didn’t even look up before she recoiled. “Oh. It’s you.”
His eyebrows rose above his amused eyes.
“You seem disappointed.”
“Disappointed, but not surprised. Only you can be so invasive.”
She tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front of her. Clarke swallowed an exasperated sigh.
He was here to play.
“My god. Don’t you have something else to do? A job, maybe?”
“I do, actually,” he replied, a smile spreading on his lips. “I work at night.”
“I see. Only at night?”
“Only at night.”
Well, that explained how he found the time to pass by every damn day. And why he would sometimes show up at one p.m. with messy hair, tired eyes, and a wrinkled shirt. He looked like he’d just come out of bed, because he actually did.
“Is your job to annoy people at night, too?”
His laugh startled her. It was loud and brief, but it was mostly unexpected. She wanted to piss him off, not entertain him.
She really needed to find another way to make him lose interest in her. Snarky remarks didn’t seem to work on him and only made it worse.
“Are you truly incapable of having a civilized conversation with me?” he asked, crossing his arms, a smug expression on his face.
“You are incapable of having any kind of conversation that doesn’t revolve around you getting laid. So, no.”
She tried to move past him once again, but he stopped her. Once again.
She couldn’t hold back her sigh any longer.
“Why does it bother you so much?” he inquired.
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
“Why does it bother you so much what I do with my free time?”
He seemed genuinely curious, as if she were a funny, intriguing enigma he was trying to solve.
She glared at him.
“Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“Why don’t you answer me?”
“Why don’t you go bother someone else?” she snapped.
And there it was. That damn smirk.
The smirk she was expecting. It was bound to appear on this stupid face of his at some point.
She did not, however, expect what he did next.
He slowly leaned towards her, his brown eyes fixated on hers, his face getting closer and closer to hers. Her body froze, her brain short-circuited, and for just a split second, her gaze went down his face and stopped on his lips.
She immediately looked away, tensing, ignoring the incomprehensible way her body had reacted to their proximity. Even for just a moment.
She hated him. She hated him.
Just as she was about to step back, he whispered:
“Because I’m having too much fun with you.”
She didn’t have the time to think of a snappy comeback, not even to push him away. The main door of the restaurant opened with force.
All the heads turned towards the person storming in the quiet room.
Bellamy reacted first, before Clarke even had time to recognize her.
“Roma?”
Roma?
Her long brown hair was all over the place. She seemed in a frenzy. She didn’t immediately spot them, but she abruptly turned around when she heard Bellamy’s voice. That’s when Clarke saw her red, swollen face smeared with tears.
She charged towards them, her steps fast and heavy, her glare burning with rage.
It all happened very fast.
Bellamy walked to her, his hands reaching to catch her by the arms. But she smashed into him instead, pushed him away abruptly, and made her way to Clarke.
She didn’t see the brunette’s rising hand before she felt the impact.
SLAP!
Clarke didn’t have the time to register anything; suddenly her head was turned at a weird angle, and a searing pain was spreading on her left cheek.
The sound of the slap had resonated in the large room, so much so that everyone remained silent for a second. Clarke brought her hand to her face in shock. Uncontrollable tears gathered in her eyes.
Then it exploded again.
Roma was bawling, shrieking, and hitting Bellamy’s chest with her fists as she threw every insult she could think of at Clarke, who remained frozen.
“YOU BITCH! FUCKING CUNT! YOU FUCKING LYING WHORE! YOU TRICKED ME, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!”
She could hear Bellamy trying to calm her down, raising his voice, but Roma was unstoppable.
“THERE’S NOTHING BETWEEN YOU TWO, UH? ARE YOU PROUD OF YOURSELF, FUCKING BITCH? ARE YOU PROUD OF YOU FUCKING MY MAN BEHIND MY BACK?”
“ROMA!” Bellamy yelled, bringing her attention to him.
Clarke could see, from the corner of her eye, that Roma was clenching Bellamy’s t-shirt as he held her firmly. She seemed to suddenly recall he was there, and her face contorted with pain, a loud cry escaping her lips.
"I saw your texts,” she went on in a weak voice. “How could you do this, Bell? How could you do this to me?”
“Ro—”
“I gave you everything. I did everything to be a good girlfriend. I love you. I love you! And you slept with HER! WITH THIS WHORE! WITH BREE!”
Oh.
Clarke fully turned her head towards them, her eyes landing on Bellamy’s face as realization dawned on her. Maybe he sensed her stare, or maybe deep, deep down, a hint of guilt arose inside of him. Either way, his eyes met hers.
And for a split second, Clarke saw remorse.
Not for Roma. For her.
For the lies he’d told her, too.
‘Listen, I was not cheating on Roma with Bree. You didn’t lie to her, if that makes you feel any better.’
Clarke had not expected anything from him. Not sympathy, not respect, and certainly not the truth. And yet, it felt like a betrayal. A mortifying one.
She should’ve seen it coming. The fact that she even believed him was completely unreasonable. She should’ve known he was just a selfish, lying bastard.
She hated herself for ever agreeing to make a deal with him. Now she was paying the price of his mistakes and, consequently, hers too.
She didn’t hear what Roma was now barking at him. She didn’t listen to Bellamy’s plea and false apologies. She only felt a reassuring hand on her arm as Miller stepped between her and the couple, silently asking her to follow him.
At that moment, Roma busted out of the restaurant, weeping. Bellamy stood there, his hands clutching his hair. It was the first time Clarke had ever seen him so distraught.
He looked around, and when he found Miller by Clarke’s side, he stepped towards them.
“Man, I’m so sorry for th—”
“You’re a dick, you know that?” Miller cut him off coldly.
Bellamy was stunned by his best friend’s words. He clenched his jaw, his face closing off. His eyes wandered between Miller and Clarke, as if he were hesitating over the next thing he should do. But then he clenched his jaw and walked away, making his way to the door.
He left without a word.