I realize this chapter had been left out and it takes place after Salt and Rain. 

____________

I didn't know how long it took for the rain to stop. The shaking in my body turned from fear into cold, the last of the water pooling in the folds of Bellamy's jacket.

I looked across at him.

His dark hair clung to his forehead. Rainwater dripped down the tips and fell from his chin. Parts of his white t-shirt were plastered to his body and mud was caked on the soles of his shoes. He must've been freezing, but he sat stoically, balancing his forearms on his kneecaps.

He met my eyes and I waited for some kind of reprimand, because this was Bellamy. Surely he'd be angry.

But he only said, "Think we can get back in the car now?"

I nodded and hurriedly wiped my face, as pointless as it was. The rain had only washed away my tears and had left their own. I pulled his jacket off me and held it out to him but he ignored it, taking my hand and helping me up instead. His fingers were stiff. I was right; he was cold.

We trudged to the car in silence and I stood for a moment, concerned with getting the interior all wet. But Bellamy climbed inside without a second thought. Eventually I followed suit.

He turned on the engine and blasted the heat. It raised more goosebumps across my skin, chilling my already drenched clothes. I shivered uncontrollably, trying to think of something to say.

"Thanks," I said through chattering teeth.

Bellamy said nothing.

An awkward silence sat heavy between us the entire drive. I couldn't think of anything else to say to break it and soon gave up the attempt. Twenty minutes later, he was pulling up beside my house. He put the car in park.

I ground my teeth hesitantly, casting him discreet glances from between strands of waterlogged hair. The seat under him was equally soaked and I filed through a list of responses. The silence was maddening and I stated the first thing that came to mind.

"You're wet," I said stupidly.

Bellamy looked at me. "I've noticed."

I pointed with my thumb to my house, my mouth opening and closing as I searched for words. I honestly had no idea what would come out until I said, "I have towels."

"I'm fine."

"You could get sick."

"I'll manage."

I gnawed on my lip, exchanging looks between the front door and his damp figure. His jacket was still draped over my legs and the shirt material stuck to his skin, allowing me to see the grooves and valleys of his arms. Guilt mounted inside of me.

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you just going to sit here all day or do you actually plan on getting out anytime soon?"

I deliberated, picturing his face, devoid of anger. For once kind. He hadn't left me on the side of the road in my state. Was it really fair to send him home in his?

"C'mon," I said, before I could think better of it. I popped open the door and stuck a leg out. A cold puff of wind tickled me to the bone.

"What?"

I looked back over at him. "I don't want you to get sick. I told you I had towels, now c'mon."

He made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. "I'm not"—

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," I told him. "It's a towel."

Bellamy's expression turned incredulous. "Me? I'm the one making this difficult?"

I didn't answer, and I didn't get out of the car. I waited.

He stared at me and I stared back determinedly. It was a war of will; who would break first. A minute passed.

Bellamy released a long, hapless sigh and opened his door.

I led the way to the front of the house and retrieved my keys, then gestured for him to go first.

Inside it was dark, and I flicked on the entry lights. The emptiness of the place seemed to house its own chill and I shivered.

Bellamy's eyes scanned the house, gaze going to the vaulted ceiling. He looked around as if expecting someone to emerge. "Where's your mom?"

I shrugged and motioned him to follow me up the stairs. "Work."

"What time is she off?"

"I don't know. Sometimes midnight. Sometimes the following day. It changes with her surgeries."

Bellamy didn't seem to have anything to say to that but I cast a look behind at him, in time to catch the frown on his face. He looked down and stopped. "We're tracking in mud."

I grimaced, but waved my hand. "Don't worry about it. I'll get it later. Bathroom's up here." I climbed the rest of the stairs and led him to it. I went to the closet and grabbed a pile of towels.

"I can take your shirt," I said in the bathroom, and at his look of surprise, my face instantly flushed. "To put in the dryer, I mean," I quickly amended, swallowing my embarrassment.

Bellamy shook his head, drops of water flying from his hair. He snatched one of the towels. "Bad time if your mom decided to show up," he said, as he went to pull off his shirt. He looked back at me. "Do you mind?"

I twisted away instinctively, and held out my hand behind me for the shirt, giving him privacy. The sodden cloth dropped into my hand and I left him in the bathroom to toss it in the machine.

Once finished with that, I hurried to my own room and peeled off my layer of clothes, replacing them with a warm cotton sweater. I left my wet jeans on and hurried back to the bathroom.

Bellamy was facing the mirror, masked by the towel he was using to dry his hair. He turned slightly until his back was to me, completely bare.

I stared, but not for the reason girls stared at boys.

I stared because no one could help but notice the carved portrait that was his back.

Decorated across his shoulder blades were ugly gashes. Thick, old welts rose over his skin in ribbons. There were other scars, too. Smaller. Rounder. But all were ghastly, forming an eclectic assortment of old wounds I couldn't fathom the cause of. Some resembled the imprint of a belt while others looked more like burns. Others like crescent moons, adorning his skin.

A quiet breath left me, like the sight had physically forced the air out of my chest.

But it was enough for Bellamy to hear.

He whirled to face me, the towel resting around his neck.

My lips were open, my mouth going dry for the second time today. No clear thought entered my mind. "What . . ." My voice snapped in half. "What's—?"

"It's nothing," Bellamy said. He dropped the bunched part of the towel so it fell more like a cape, covering the scars. He looked at the floor as if searching for his shirt, momentarily forgetting it was in the dryer.

My mouth didn't seem to want to close. "Bellamy, that's not nothing."

His eyes grew hard. "Just forget it, Clarke."

"Who did that to you?"

The heat returned to his gaze, snuffing out whatever kindness I'd glimpsed there. "Doesn't matter. Drop it."

"But I"—

A storm brewed in his eyes, burning from brown to black in a second. "I. said. Drop it."

I did. No use in pissing him off again, but that seed of horror wouldn't leave me. I grabbed the other towel and started on my own hair, avoiding any glances at his back. Questions swam through my head and that quietness butted between us again. I tried unsuccessfully to think of anything other than those puckered scars.

"Do you want anything to drink or eat? Like tea or something?" I asked when the silence was close to making me scream.

Bellamy still seemed put off by my earlier questions, purposefully keeping his back away from my line of sight. He still had no shirt on and I also avoided staring at his chest. It left very little else to look at and I settled for his face only. He cast me a look through his drying curls, hesitant, like he was thinking about declining. After a moment, he asked, "Got any coffee?"

*****

It was surreal, being in my kitchen with Bellamy as I busied myself with the coffee pot. He was like the elephant in the room-I couldn't look anywhere without seeing him— and that silence returned. It was almost comical; not too long ago, I'd felt as if I were breaking into a million different pieces, being swept away by the rain and wind until nothing would be left. But here I was, still breathing, making coffee.

I got out two mugs and poured myself a leisurely amount. I took a greedy mouthful. It burnt my tongue but I ignored it as the warmth curled inside of me, chasing away the kind of cold no blanket could reach. It was perfect.

But apparently, Bellamy didn't think so.

When I poured him a cup and he took a sip, he abruptly pulled back, a look of revulsion twisting his face. "What is this?" he asked, flicking his tongue in disgust.

I frowned, glancing at my own mug. "It's coffee."

"That's not coffee."

"Yes it is."

Bellamy set away his cup far from himself and pushed off from the kitchen counter he'd been leaning against. "You're the school's role model and yet you don't even know how to make coffee properly." He sauntered over to the coffee machine and pulled it towards him.

I followed behind him. "I'm not a role model."

He nodded with faux enthusiasm. "Ah, right. I forgot about the bulletin board scheme of yours. What did you write again?"

I dismissed the question. "Not just because of that," I said. "I never was a role model to them. I was just doing my best for me. Not for anyone else and certainly not for some ridiculous title."

"And now you're failing," Bellamy deadpanned. He rifled through the cabinets until he found the coffee beans, scanning the few kinds we had. "Which one of these did you use?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. It all tastes the same to me."

"Unbelievable," he muttered, retrieving one of the bags.

"And I'm failing because"—

Bellamy held up a hand. "I know. Because you don't want to be a doctor anymore. I've heard the story. But so what? You still want to graduate, don't you?"

"To do what?"

"To avoid the McDonald's career-path, maybe?"

I grimaced at the thought and sighed. "To be honest, I never thought of it. I've only ever wanted to be a doctor. Now it just . . . doesn't feel like it matters."

"You're just screwing yourself over," Bellamy said, retrieving one of the bottled waters on the counter. "Don't use tap water for coffee, okay?" he instructed, as he uncapped the water. "Filtered or bottled. Did you ever learn ratios in school?" He poured it into the pot.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I can't tell if you're lecturing me on coffee or grades."

"I'm telling you not to burn the grounds," he said, flipping the switch to the pot. "Five minutes. No more, no less. Otherwise it'll taste like crap."

"You're surprisingly strict when it comes to caffeinated beverages," I said, trying hard not to smile. It was ludicrous. Not half an hour ago, I was on the side of the road, crying in the rain. Now I was in my kitchen, laughing at a half-naked man I didn't like, complaining about coffee. It was absurd and yet, I felt better. The dark waters were receding. I'd been scared to let it out before, because I never knew how long that darkness would last for. Days or months-grief was always undetermined. But maybe it was less like a storm and more like the tide; it came and it went, sometimes on time, and sometimes without any warning at all.

Bellamy retrieved his glass and poured my brew down the sink. "Habit I guess. I spent some time working in a café."

The personal reference piqued my interest. "For how long?"

"A while."

"That's vague."

"I'm a vague person."

"Why?"

He huffed, setting his glass on the counter. He looked at me, face drawn in annoyance. "Because I don't like answering a bunch of questions."

"You know personal stuff about me," I pointed out, feeling somewhat embarrassed by that fact.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Probably too much. And I didn't ask to know any of it. You just told me."

"So I can't ask anything?"

"Nope."

"Not even one question?"

He scoffed, staring at me with a look of disbelief. "Why should you? I'm the one that did you a favor today, not the other way around."

I pursed my lips, again cornered by his good point. "Fine. You get an IOU for being . . . chivalrous and not leaving me on the side of the road. So," I raised my palms. "What'll it be?"

Bellamy smirked, but quickly dropped it. He cast a look at the stove's timer. "Can I have my shirt back yet?" he asked instead. "Or are you enjoying the view?"

I shot him a glare. "It should be done. Are you leaving?"

"It's getting late."

He was right; it was nearly five. Maybe it was the rainwater clogging my head, but for a moment, I actually liked having him here. It made the house feel a little less ghostly, the noise breathing some life into the still rooms. "What about your coffee?" I asked.

Bellamy glanced at the pot. "You drink it and take note of the taste. For everyone's sake."

I scoffed but held back any retort. I left him in the kitchen as I darted up the stairs and retrieved his now-dry shirt from the machine. He was waiting at the base of the stairs and I handed the clothing to him. "And the IOU?"

He made a sound that was part laugh, part disbelief. "I wouldn't count on it."

"Well, it's valid," I said, somewhat resentfully. I had nearly run him off the road. And possibly, gave him pneumonia. A little debt was called for, I just didn't get why he seemed to be the one I was always indebted to.

Bellamy smirked, taking the shirt from me. He handed me back the towel. "I'll make a deal with you, Princess," he asked as he slipped it over his head. "The day I come for that IOU is the day you get that one question."

And with that, he opened the door and stepped out into the cold.