I was under strict instruction to meet Octavia in front of Macy's, through the text messages she'd sent me after my apology. Unfortunately for myself, no one bothered to specify which Macy's, so I ended up twenty minutes late and running recklessly through the place. Worse than that, when I finally did locate Octavia behind a rack of clothing, I drew up short at the sight of Bellamy standing at her side.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath, plastering what I hoped was a decent smile to my face.

Octavia's eyes found mine and she beamed, an excited hop jumping into her feet. "Thank goodness you're here. I thought you . . ." bailed, I mentally added with a twinge of guilt.

I shook my head. "Nope. Just got lost. I'm not a mall regular." I looked over at her brother. "I see you brought . . . Bellamy." There was no kind way to point it out.

She turned dubious. "I told him he didn't have to come."

I nodded, trying my best to look respectful. "So why—?"

"Supervision," Bellamy said simply, standing in that usual, intimidating way of his; hands fisted in his leather jacket, head high, heat in his eyes.

"'Supervision'?" I repeated. "I can supervise Octavia just fine."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I know. I'm supervising you."

I stared at him for a moment and couldn't keep the small laugh that slipped past my lips. But when he didn't partake in my humor, my smile dropped. "Are you serious?"

His eyebrows quirked up. "Does this look like I'm joking?"

I exchanged a glance with Octavia, who was pursing her lips uncomfortably. I didn't miss the apology she mouthed at me when she was sure Bellamy couldn't see.

***********

"I was thinking of something blue," Octavia told me as she rifled through a long row of gowns. I cringed at the cleavage and flashiness of most of them, feeling an infinitesimal shred of sympathy for Bellamy. But then I remembered his supervision claim and promptly lost that feeling.

"How about this one?" asked Octavia, holding up a short, azure dress.

I nodded. "Looks nice."

"You said that on the last four."

I shrugged. At least I hadn't lied; all of her choices did look nice, for dresses. So far, we'd been in the junior section of the store for about an hour and I'd gone from the supervised adult, to the supervised clothing rack, hitching up the bottom of the gowns to make sure the cloth didn't drag. It was becoming hard to appreciate any of them.

Octavia, oblivious to my struggles, continued to sift through more, but I forced myself to give her the benefit. This was her first dance. At a new school. Most girls would be like her.

"Did you have a Freshman Formal?" She asked me, as she took off a longer gown by the hanger.

My arms were starting to cramp from holding them out but I gritted my teeth, casting a wary glance at Bellamy, who was seated by the changing rooms with his head resting against the wall and his eyes closed. It was weird seeing him without his trademark smirk or glare. Unsettling to see him appear somewhat . . . normal.

But then again, what was normal?

I looked back to Octavia, moving with her as she scouted the last isle. "Yup," I said, as she came up empty-handed. She started for the changing rooms and I breathed a sigh of relief. Like some Blood Hound, Bellamy stirred and looked over at us as we passed through the door.

"What'd you wear?" Octavia grilled.

"Nothing."

She gave me a wide-eyed look and I mentally kicked myself. I glanced back at Bellamy who was giving me a very disapproving look, that glare back in its rightful place. "No," I said quickly, "not . . . not nothing. I didn't go. I stayed at home."

The horror in Octavia's eyes didn't leave and I didn't have to look to know Bellamy was still glaring at my back. "Why?" she admonished.

An itch was starting at my nose, but my hands were so buried, I couldn't reach it. "I'm not a big . . . party person."

A dry laugh sounded from behind me and I looked over at Bellamy again, at the smile carved from sheer mockery on his freckled face. "Do you have something you'd like to add?" I asked him.

Bellamy cleared his throat, leaning his head back once more. "Nope."

"What about your prom?"

"No."

"Not even with F"—She abruptly cut herself off, smashing her lips together, but it hadn't been soon enough and something painful bloomed across my chest. It was a pain I got whenever my dad was mentioned, but now it was Finn, too, like both were bleeding into each other, unable to be singled out.

The reminder was a cold draft, unexpected and unwelcomed.

"Sorry," Octavia said.

I cleared my throat. "C'mon, I want to see how these look," I said, keeping my voice light as I extended her the mountain of dresses. Being a foot shorter than me, she practically disappeared beneath it.

She stumbled to one of the rooms and stuffed the gowns inside. Then she jetted back out. "Hold on," she said, disappearing out the door. I stared after her perplexedly, and took one of the seats by the mirrors, pillowing my head with a hand.

Octavia returned a few seconds later, dress in tow. Except that this one wasn't of the many shades of blue she'd hoarded, but a brilliant yellow, hinging on the color of gold.

She stopped in front of me and held it out. "Try it on."

I stilled, and shook my head. "What? No. No, I'm okay."

Octavia's eyes narrowed, and I could suddenly see the resemblance between the two Blake siblings. She had an authority of her own for someone so young and seemingly so pleasing. "Try. It. On."

I wanted to argue and I cast a look out the door to where Bellamy stood now. He was leaning against the door frame like he had that morning, looking at me.

I gave him a pleading look. But he just made an exaggerated drinking motion with his hand, before crossing his arms over his chest again, waiting expectantly.

I shot him a glare as I took the dress in my hands, waves of resentment emanating from me. Octavia grinned and flitted off to her room while I pursed my lips and stood up, glowering at Bellamy. "Playing Barbie was not one of the clauses," I quipped.

Bellamy smirked and this time, I thought I saw a glimmer of amusement in his obsidian eyes. "You're the one who wanted to help." He swept his hand at me, gesturing me to go and I sent him another scowl before disappearing into one of the changing rooms after Octavia.

With a long sigh, I disrobed, down to my underwear and bra, the metal bird jostling against my throat. I didn't want to take that off.

I pulled the dress over my head, the material soft against me like silk, thin as water. I managed to zip it up on my own and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

It was a pretty gown, if you liked that sort of thing. Sleeveless, empire bodice, running down the length of my body in currents of gold. It was a nice blend with my blonde hair and light eyes, but I didn't much care for the neckline. The V-neck ran past my collarbone and to my chest, deep enough to showcase the scar splicing upwards. The year had given it sufficient time to heal from the shard of glass that had once been embedded there, but it still ached with a strange ghost pain, whenever the reminders showed up. Like my skin remembered how it felt to bleed.

I instantly missed my jacket, but willed myself to open the door and step out.

"Okay, Octavia," I said as I rounded the corner. She already had on one of the dresses-a deep, royal blue,- that fit her in all the right places. Her eyes went from looking in the mirror at herself to looking at me, and her mouth dropped open.

"Whoa," she said, twirling around to face me. She started at my bare feet and drew her inspection upwards. "I knew there was a girl under there!"

I grimaced. In my periphery, I glimpsed Bellamy and looked across at him. For once, the glare seemed to be snuffed out, smirk gone. He almost looked surprised and it struck me that he was looking at me, looking at the scar.

"What do you think, Bell?" Octavia asked him.

At his name, Bellamy blinked, the heat returning to his eyes. He shook his head and looked at his sister. "You look good. A little short, though, don't you think?"

She rolled her eyes. "I meant Clarke."

He didn't look at me as he said bluntly, "Fine." He shrugged. "It's just a dress."

I grimaced, stifling the urge to glare at him again. I settled for a small nod.

Octavia waved off her brother and appraised me. She hadn't even noticed until she was this close, surveying the material, eyeing the necklace. "Oh," she mumbled, gaze stopping at the scar and it instantly throbbed, as if hating being noticed. As if the metal bird and scar ached as one.

"What's that from?" she asked.

I bit the inside of my cheek, wishing I had my jacket now more than ever. Right now, I felt naked and vulnerable, and I hated that feeling.

"Just a cut." I murmured, turning away from her and acting like I was actually marveling at the dress.

"Looks like it was bad."

I swallowed at the typhoon of memories that surged through the floodgates, filling up my mind: A mangled web of metal. A scattered street full of broken glass. A curtain of rain, undisturbed as it mixed with red.

"Yeah," I said. "It was."

"How did-?"

"O, come on," Bellamy interjected, cutting her off. He sighed impatiently. "I don't want to be here all day."

That seemed to distract her and she nodded, hurrying back to her dressing room.

I met Bellamy's eyes. For a second, the fire in them abated, morphing into something studious. He'd seen the scar, yet he didn't ask. Didn't point it out. Didn't ask me how it got there.

It was like he already knew.

I looked at him for a moment longer before I broke away from his gaze and headed back to my own room, grateful when I had my jacket back in my hands.